In light of the tragedies and disasters that have befallen Paris, Japan, Baghdad, Beirut, Mexico, and anywhere else that may be going through hardships, I would like to encourage all my readers to pray. Pray for peace. It doesn't matter if you believe in a god, or multiple gods, or no god at all. We all live on the same earth, and I think everyone agrees with me when I say that detachment is not the answer.

So many horrible things have happened in the past two days that it makes you wonder whether this is how the world will end.

If, by some slim chance, I have any readers out there from the given countries that are going through such hardships, please know that the people of the Philippines stand with you. If I can't offer comfort by my presence, please find solace in my heartfelt words: I stand with you.

And in the subject of ISIS, I condemn them. Their methods of "doing Allah's will" are sickening. But I would also like to say that, despite the ISIS group being Islam, do not condemn the general Islam people. Those who truly have nothing to do with the terrorist group deserve fair judgment, for they are still our brothers and sisters in the world.

Again, I offer my sincerest condolences to anyone who might be reading this who are from Paris, Japan, etc. My prayers are with you.

Pray for the world.

Afterwards, Fheon went to the kitchen immediately, for she was hungrier than she could give her stomach credit for.

Unfortunately, none of the dwarves had been able to go hunting for supper and Bombur was left to create some sort of porridge with anything he could get his hands on. Fheon trusted him enough to know that he had not placed anything disgusting into the gruel, so she scooped her fill into a bowl and decided that it would be best for her to eat separated from the others. They were sure to have questions for her, if they were not going to give their condolences, and she was yet to fully prepare herself.

She took her pouch of mint leaves from Oin and then asked Ori where the sleeping quarters were, for he was the quietest of the group and was therefore her safest bet. He instructed her with a set of directions, most of which she made a point to remember. It was far too late in the night for her to get lost. She wanted to gain as much rest as she could.

She followed Ori's instructions and arrived at a long corridor. The sides were lined with doors, and she figured Ori had thought she'd meant the servant's sleeping quarters… Did dwarves even have servants? She decided she did not care. Shrugging, she entered the nearest room and found every object in the room coated with dust, except for the one bed at the far wall, surprisingly. The dwarves must have gone to bother dusting the mattresses off beforehand. Perhaps the servant's quarters were the only rooms they had. Perhaps their true bedrooms, which they had left behind years ago, were found in the deeper sections of the Mountain. If so, then Smaug was sure to have levelled the chambers.

Fheon was no farther from having simple guesses about the structure of Erebor as she had been months ago.

Nevertheless, she settled down on the bed and welcomed the softness of the mattress. Sitting cross-legged, she started shoveling down the gruel and resisted the urge to grimace. It was bitter, but sweet at the same time. Not a very good combination, considering the texture of it. She unclasped her canteen from her belt and washed the gruel down with the cool water.

For several minutes after that, she played with the condensation on the container, tracing random marks out of the drops of water, watching the beads of moisture travel down her fingers and to her wrist, where it eventually soaked into the sleeve of her gambeson. The room was humid, but not hot. Soon her skin had become sticky with sweat. She removed her belt, chainmail hauberk, and her gambeson as well, for the time being. Then she dug the brown pouch out of her pocket and undid the lace. The aroma of mint leaves immediately entered her nostrils and soothed her weary senses.

She crushed the leaves into a fine powder between her palms and then trickled a bit of water onto it, before mixing it together. Careful not to let the balm slip off her hands, she gathered it onto her left hand, sunk three of her fingers into the mixture, pulled away the top of the shoulder brace, and then dabbed it onto her left shoulder. The result was almost instantaneous. Coolness spread forth from where she rubbed the balm, gently massaging it onto the bruise. As she did so, she dropped her head onto the pillow and continued massaging.

Unconsciously, her eyelids drooped closed in exhaustion, and eventually, she fell asleep.

The first thing she noticed was that it was a very long hallway. She did not know why Bard had sent them to this part of the house; neither could she fathom the oddity of their situation. Bard's house was not wide, though it was considerably tall, yet this hall before them seemed to go forward for a mile, if not more. Perhaps it had been built underwater so that it could continue on? Without the proper knowledge of its structure, Fheon was left to wonder if the passageway would lead them right smack in the middle of the lake.

As they walked, Elijah tapped the walls in a continuous rhythm, creating an unsystematic beat. He hummed along with it, and the sounds he made reverberated up and down the passage.

"Stop that, will you?" Fheon finally said.

"Why?"

"It's distracting."

"Why?"

"Because it's annoying."

"Why?"

"Because you're acting childish."

"Why?"

She turned her head and threw her brother a glare, though even that was half-hearted. The corners of her lips twitched upwards in a slight smile, and she looked away so he wouldn't see. Sometimes, she had doubts whether he was actually older than her.

"Where do you think this leads?" she asked, changing the course of the conversation to something more productive.

Elijah shrugged. "No idea."

"Why do you think Bard told us to go here though?"

"Who's Bard?"

Fheon stopped in her tracks. Slowly, and with a frown, she looked at her brother to find an utmost confused expression on his face. "What do you mean, 'Who's Bard?'?

His frown deepened. "Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"He smuggled us into Esgaroth with Thorin and the others… Elijah—"

"What's an Esgaroth? I'm guessing I'm Elijah… but who's Thorin?"

She growled and hit him on the arm, unamused. "That's not funny."

He opened his mouth to say more, but then a sudden creaking sound registered to Fheon. From the corner of her eye, she saw a wide slit appear on the wall. She jumped back and away from it in surprise, but Elijah remained where he was, transfixed on her. Before she could pull him to safety, a glistening plate of metal, about ten feet long and as wide as the passageway, shot out from the wall; it acted as a barrier between her and her brother. She ran up and pounded against it with all her might, calling to Elijah.

From the other side of the barrier, he said, "What happened?"

"What's wrong with you?" she screeched, but then thought better of herself. "Look, we'll get out of this mess. I promise you."

"Aren't you overreacting a bit?" he asked. "It's just a wall. And there's a slab right here so you can see me. I'm still with you."

She frowned and searched the barrier for the slab he was talking about. When she found none, she shouted, "What are you talking about—?" Then she cut herself off when a rectangular grate slid to the side, revealing a hole long and wide enough for her to look through. Instead of seeing Elijah, she saw a man with dark brown hair and kind green eyes.

"True siblings can work when they are apart just as well as they can when they are together," said Leon. "Don't worry, Talia. The rabbit just nicked him, that's all. Serves him right, he kept playing with it as if it was a bunny." A soft voice, a woman's voice, echoed down the hall and reached Fheon's ears. Her father smiled. "That'd be your mother calling. Take care of him, will you, Talia? I'll be back in a bit."

Fheon looked away from her father and found Elijah lying on the floor by the wall. He was pinned there by a wooden beam taller and wider than Fheon herself. Blood caked the side of his face and when he coughed, red liquid flowed out from his mouth. A scream jarred the silence. It might have been Fheon's. Desperate, she unsheathed her blade and buried it within the tiny gap between the barrier and the wall—to the hilt. She was hoping the wall would slide open just a little bit for her to be able to pass through, but it did not budge.

"That hurts, Talia," Elijah suddenly said as more blood poured down from his nostrils. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

"I'm doing what I can," Fheon growled in response, but it seemed he was not talking to her.

"Mother taught me as much as she did you," a girl's voice replied; her voice came from the other side of the wall. "Now hold still—"

Another shrill yell pierced the air, a man's. For all she did, Fheon could not move the barrier. Her blade gave out and broke, until nothing but a ragged piece of metal was jutting out of the hilt. She dropped the useless thing and looked into the grate again.

She was horrified to find water streaming in from the walls, quickly filling the room. Elijah, who was on the floor, was already waist-deep in it. His blood mixed into the water, resulting in clouds of red spreading from where he sat. Yells of alarm and terror reached Fheon's ears, but they seemed far-away: a man, a boy, two separate voices of two girls, and a woman, who seemed to own the most enchanting voice Fheon had ever heard. It could not have been human.

"Elijah," Fheon sobbed, pounding her fists against the wall in vain.

"You did well, Talia, but you have to leave me now," he said. Then he turned his head and offered her a bloody smile. "The Company goes first, after all."

The water reached his jaw and he could speak no longer. The water that flooded into Fheon's chamber through the grate was slow progress compared to the chamber behind the wall, where her brother was. But still she was up to her knees in the oddly warm water.

Suddenly, an earth-shattering roar sounded from somewhere behind her. The grate on the barrier flew shut and Fheon whirled around. She was met with the sight of eyes the color of fire boring into her, and then teeth the size of swords; claws as large and sharp as well-forged spears—

Fheon shot up with a gasp. Wildly, she scanned the room for the blazing eyes of Smaug, her arms covering her face to shield her from his claws. But it would have done nothing to keep her from burning when he opened his maw.

It took her a full minute to gather her thoughts and realize that there was nothing dangerous in the room, that it had just been a nightmare. Panting to catch her breath, for her lungs seemed to have tightened and restricted her breathing, she moved to let her legs dangle off the edge of the bed. By doing so, she accidentally sent the bowl she had used for her gruel to the floor. It was empty and dry, luckily, and yet Fheon made no move to pick it up. She remained on the bed, staring at the far wall, and could not help but to recall the nightmare.

Elijah pinned by a wooden beam, and then drowning… Was that how he had died? It was her perception of it, her assumption. Smaug had not burned him, or eaten him. He had fallen.

She shuddered at how much pain he had to go through before his lungs finally gave out. The blood that was escaping his body proved too much for it to not have been fatal. But Fheon deeply wished that her nightmare was less accurate than she was giving it credit to be.

Ultimately, she decided that it was best not to be left alone with her thoughts. Getting to her feet, she noticed how her sweat had soaked through the sheets of the bed; she had forgotten to wear her gambeson again before she fell asleep. The feeling of the lemon balm on her shoulder had faded, so she was more careful with it. She laced on her gambeson and attached her belt around her waist, and then, walking to the door, picked the bowl off the floor on her way, along with the spoon. Once outside, she walked away from the sleeping quarters and made for nowhere in particular.

Because of the continuous passageways with no windows to be found, as well as the immensely opaque walls, it was impossible to know for certain whether she had slept through the night, or if she had only been sleeping for a few hours. Yet if she had to guess, her slumber had only been for a few hours. Her limbs and eyelids were heavy with exhaustion.

Ignoring these, she ventured forth until she arrived at one of the many doors that led to the treasure room. She turned around and picked another route, for it was one of the chambers she did not want to be caught walking about in without anybody else, lest she be branded as a traitor and a thief—which she was anything but. Soon, however, she realized that it was pointless to keep wandering the lower levels of the Mountain, and so she stopped ignoring the staircases.

Up and up and up she went until her legs felt like they were going to give way. It was senseless to try looking for windows or openings that showed the world beyond, for she was inside a mountain, if not below. Breathing heavily, she settled to lean against the wall and wait for her strength to return.

As she was staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling, the faint sound of sniffling reached her ears. And then very, very light footsteps.

Frowning, Fheon poked her head out of the corner to see Bilbo step into a doorway, one of which she had just passed but paid no heed. Yet it seemed this was where the sniffling was coming from. Bilbo was facing away from her, so he would not notice her presence unless she made a sound, which she was determined not to. She held her breath and looked into the doorway, and then saw the white hair of Balin. He was standing amidst shelves, and his shoulders shook as his weeping came to a halt, seeming to notice Bilbo's company.

"Dragon-sickness," said the dwarf. "I've seen it before—that look, the terrible need. It is a fierce and jealous love, Bilbo. It sent his grandfather mad."

Bilbo took slow, careful steps into the room until he was in front of the old dwarf, to whom he said, "Balin, if Thorin had the Arkenstone—" His voice was so hushed that Fheon dared to move until she was standing pinned against the wall on the right side of the doorway, so Balin would not see her—"or if it was found, would it help?"

"That stone crowns all," said Balin. "It is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who bears it. Would it stay his madness? No, laddie. I fear it would make him worse. Perhaps it is best it remains lost."

The hobbit could have nodded in reply, but Fheon could not have been sure; for all that followed was a series of mumblings too low even for her to hear in her position. And then the continuation of footsteps. She thought against staying hidden, for what good would it have done her? At such a point in time, all of them wanted to heal the sickness that had seeped into Thorin's senses. So when Bilbo stepped out of the room, he held a look of surprise, but not of anger.

"You heard?" he asked, to which she answered with an affirmative. And then he lowered his voice to barely a whisper, and said, "What do you think of it?"

After a moment's thought, she said, "Thorin's not as deep in the sickness as we might think." Then she continued under her breath. "But I agree that you should keep it, at least until we find out how to heal him of the curse."

Bilbo nodded, and then an odd look eased onto his face. Fheon asked what was wrong, and he said with hesitation, "Can I… hug you?"

She frowned and said, "Why?" even though she already knew the answer.

"I heard about Elijah…" He shook his head. "I don't know what the loss of a brother feels like, but it must be excruciating."

"It is."

"Just know that you're my friend, Fheon, okay? You've kept me from danger more times than I can count, and we've shared some laughs together. And I… I share in your grief—of losing Elijah. But I know that it is by no means even close to what you must be feeling. So in this, I will do anything I can to at least help lessen the pain in your heart, if you let me, of course…"

"Thank you, Bilbo." A ghost of a smile appeared on Fheon's face. He still is wary of me, even after all this time. But the ache had returned to her heart, weighing heavily on her. She took a second to think before saying, "And I suppose a hug would do some good."

Without another word, the hobbit stepped up and wrapped his arms around her midsection, turning his head to the side as he laid it just below her shoulder blade. He seemed to have remembered the injury on her left shoulder, as he was careful not to hit his shoulder against it. He hugged her tightly, and Fheon felt her eyes stinging with tears. She knew that he would not take advantage of her, for neither of them liked each other in that way, but even she had a brief moment of reluctance before she let her hands slip past his arms as she returned his embrace.

"You still have a family, Fheon," she heard him murmur against her shoulder. "Don't forget that. Don't lose hope."

Hope.

There was that word again. The word that sent a jolt through Fheon's body that was not entirely calming. She closed her eyes in an effort to remove the word from her mind, and then by squeezing Bilbo's shoulder, signaled him that the moment was over. He pulled away without question, and then only sent her a small smile in acknowledgement. But she was not quite finished talking with him yet.

After checking that Balin was still much occupied with his own thoughts, she placed an arm over the hobbit's shoulder and subtly led him down two or three hallways. Once she was satisfied that they were completely alone, she regarded his confused expression and said, "Isn't it time you tell me more about that piece of jewelry you have in your pocket?"

His eyes widened in recognition of her words. Seemingly unconsciously, his hand dipped into his pocket, where there was a small lump. When he said nothing, Fheon tilted her head slightly. "Come now, Bilbo. I know you didn't promise anything, but don't I deserve this much?"

Reluctance crossed his features before, slowly, his fingers pulled out of his pocket, with the gold ring held between them. "In the Goblin-tunnels, I had a most frightening and intense encounter with a creature," he said in a hushed tone. "I don't know what it was, but it was going to eat me had I not tricked it. As I was escaping, I found this"—he raised the ring—"lying on the floor. And apparently it belonged to the creature. Nearly got myself killed trying to leave with it."

"Well, why didn't you just give it back?"

"Do you really think the thing would have let me leave if I gave it back? I held it as leverage, if only for a few minutes."

"But you've kept it, after all this time." Fheon tilted her head questioningly. "Why?"

Bilbo pursed his lips and rolled his eyes a bit. "You've seen what it can do—it makes me invisible! It has proven very useful for us, and I have no doubt that it will continue to be as such."

There was something about the way he held it close to him that unnerved Fheon, almost like seeing the greed on Thorin's face whenever there was mention of the Arkenstone. "What else can it do?" she asked.

"I'm not sure… But once, I used it when we were being attacked by those spiders in Mirkwood. When I wore it, for some reason, I could understand them."

"The spiders?" said Fheon, and the hobbit nodded once, which made her doubt the good purpose of the ring. "If it was in the hands of a creature in the Goblin-tunnels when you found it, and if it lets you understand dark speech… There is a possibility that it is an evil object, Bilbo."

"I know that," he replied. "When it's on my finger, I feel this sort of dark presence surrounding me. It becomes hard to breathe, which is why I only wear it when it's absolutely necessary. You don't have to worry."

Fheon eyed the ring doubtfully for a moment longer before saying, "Very well. I will not alert the others of it. But please, just… be careful, Bilbo. Do not let the darkness consume you. I'm afraid there are only so many enemies a single person can oppose without completely falling to the blade."

Bilbo nodded in understanding, and then tucked the ring back into his pocket. He patted the material over the object, making Fheon narrow her eyes in suspicion. He swallowed, as if in nervousness, before saying a quick farewell and then walking away.

She stared after him and sincerely hoped that there was still a chance of saving both him and Thorin from the corruption of their pure hearts.