Disclaimer - I do not own any characters, places or materials in this story. I am simply an inspired fan of Tolkien, writing out something that popped into my head. Everything belongs to him and his universe.

A string of muttered curses, rumbling and angry like the distant thunder, and she pulled the hood of her cloak lower to hide the unrestrained smirk she wore. Her stubborn traveling companion had been at his task for quite some time, struggling to get a fire lit with rain-soaked kindling. The weather had not been kind to them—intermittent showers with steamy temperatures—so conditions were far from ideal, but they were nothing that her magic could not easily improve, had she simply been asked. Instead, she watched in mild amusement as the mule-headed dwarf tried and failed to spark a flame, over and over.

Thorin Oakenshield, a would-be king and a reluctant beggar, the dwarf was a dynamic mixture of misfortune and unbridled passion. Their arrangement was conceived in necessity, and had been uneasy at best; she did not need her powers to know that he did not trust her. So stubborn though he may be, he was also wise enough to be cautious; and the long, rarely punctuated periods of silence between them were to be expected—after all, they were forced acquaintances. He needed her help, and she had agreed to provide it, for reasons she did not even completely understand herself. His gains from their alliance were obvious, but hers were far from it. This was not the first time that the plight of those less powerful had intrigued her, but those requests for aid had been much simpler and made by far less interesting supplicants. It took a certain mixture of insanity, bravery, and desperation to seek out someone like her, and her companion, unlike his predecessors, had more of the latter two and less of the first.

The moment she had laid her eyes on the dwarf, something within him beckoned to her, and then the curiosity sat in. Pride was a dangerous thing, but she thrived because of her cunning, and their bargain simply provided her time and a means to discover what about this stranger had managed to reach her so deeply. From time to time, she even found herself studying him, trying to read him like she would one of her tomes, and she did so unabashedly, openly, and without any remorse. He often catches her staring, and it obviously unnerves him, an unmistakable scowl forming half-hidden beneath his beard, but she won't be deterred in her efforts.

A snap, the result of a careless foot in the forest, and from her seated position, she can barely make out a man in the shadows at the edge of camp. "Lookie at what we found here boys…"

Lifting her head just a bit now, she saw more of them, at least a half-dozen rough-looking and haggard men surrounding them from multiple directions. Their visitors sauntered closer, each with a weapon drawn, and she waited patiently for the inevitable as these fools had no idea the mistake they were making. Thorin, to his credit, reached for his sword, but a bandit had circled behind him, raising a knife menacingly to his throat, "I would not move another muscle, dwarf. That is, if you care to live."

The group laughed, and she readied herself, the mantra rolling through her mind like a wave that she guided through the rivers and streams of her being. In the ebb and flow, she could feel the energy pulsing eagerly beneath her skin. Her lips moved without sound, "Peace."

The direction was meant for Thorin alone, as she needed him to keep his cool, and she saw his eyes widen in shock as her voice echoed within his mind. For a second, she was worried that no matter her efforts, he would ignore her, but he listened, bringing his hands forward while resting them reluctantly in his lap.

"So, let's find out who else we have, besides a very deaf dwarf."

The loudmouth of the ragtag bunch was clearly the ringleader, and she noticed Thorin's hands clench at his glib remark. The idiot strolled towards her casually, but she remained seated on the ground, unmoving. The tip of his sword hovered inches from her temple as he lifted her hood up and off her head. Whistles and yelps went up the moment her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, and the sickening smile on the pig's face almost made her wretch. "A pretty lass and her servant, traveling the road to Bree alone and at night? That is most unfortunate."

A snarl came loose from Thorin's throat at his description, and she waited to speak so that they could all hear her very clearly. "It is unfortunate, for you. I do not like being disturbed."

More laughter, and even a call of "Show that bitch, Cren!" met her ears, but she kept her very nonplussed look plastered on her face. Now, at least, she knew the name of the lamb she was about to sacrifice. The energy within her was begging, and she soothed it internally with promises of release. Cren smiled as he sheathed his weapon, leaning into her space. "I won't need a sword to break you, girl."

He called over his shoulder, "Take whatever gold and trinkets you find, boys. But this," and he turned, grabbing her hair while pulling her to her feet and bringing her face just inches from his, "This prize is mine."

Rancid, his breath reeked of spoil and ruin, and the stench made her eyelids flutter in protest. Her lips curled upward, a hungry grin of her own to match his depraved one. Voice low, for the scumbag's ears only, she murmured, "You win…"

Control abandoned, she unleashed the magic, the wave cresting as a buzzing filled her ears. Her senses were pulled in a thousand directions as she became the swarm of Midgewater wasps that she had called upon. Living curtains of iridescent green moved in harmony, and the bandits scattered as they recognized the insects that were well-known for their venomous stings. One wasp could only cause pain, but a thousand could kill, and she had a specific target in mind.

She let none of the hooligans escape completely unscathed; most she ran for at least a mile before delivering a few painful stings, but she allowed them their pathetic lives. Cren was a different story. She gave him a small chase, just enough to grant him the false hope that escape was possible, but she had saved the largest number by far for him. The bugs swirled and hovered, forming an inpatient bubble around him that slowly closed in, trapping him. The arrogant bastard was lost, and all that remained was a quivering pile that pleaded, "Please, please let me go."

A multitude of delicate wings beat in unison, and her voice was carried on the vibrations they produced. She ignored his sniveling, "Tell me...have there been others?"

When she got no answer, she released a few dozen to land upon him, and he screamed, "Yes, yes!"

"Did the women beg for their freedom, like you do?"

"Yes!"

"Did you let them go?"

"Yes, when I was done with them, I did!"

Anger burned, and she couldn't contain herself. His petulant response proved that the disgusting hump actually thought she should be pleased with his answer. "They should be so lucky. When I am done with you, there will be nothing left to set free."

Howls of panic and pain sliced through the night air as the swarm dove upon him, covering the filth in a layer of green servants that stung with her fury. Collective instincts of survival and defense took control, and when the threat no longer existed, she began to pull herself back, the needed price paid for her actions. Gathering the pieces, she reached out to reign the magic in, her form coalescing and shifting into the one she chose to keep in Eriador. Sensations of her hands and knees in the dirt came to her first, as she was curled upon herself in a ball upon the forest floor. Teetering, a wave of exhaustion from her efforts hit her hard, and she wobbled slightly in her awkward position.

Hands pressed fabric against her skin; on second glance she recognized her cloak, and she realized they could belong only to the one whom she did not run off. She turned her head, and there was Thorin looking both mortified and amazed. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might have even teased him. Instead, he spoke before she could figure out what to say, "What, in all that walks Middle-earth, was that?"

"A necessary and wise use of resources."

He dismissed her attempt to downplay what had transpired. "You became the swarm...it was incredible. I have never seen anything like that in my life."

Her legs were still shaky, but she refused to let any weakness linger, pushing herself up carefully and standing. Pulling the cloak around her, she offered, "And you never will again. Now, let's get back to camp," she gestured to move while spitting on the corpse at her feet, "I'm done here."

He shook his head in agreement, but said no more, and she started making her way back along the path of broken tree limbs and trampled grass. She stumbled more times than she would care to admit, and she hardly felt like moving, let alone walking after that expenditure, but she had little option. The further they plodded along, the more she ached, the drain both magically and physically wearing upon her. It was a blessing that they did not have to go very far to find their resting place.

Her patch of earth and ragged blanket had never seemed so appealing, and she threw herself down by the potential campfire as she sent out a single tendril of thought, the flames leaping to life. In her tired haze she barely recognized the grunt of disapproval, "You could have done that an hour ago."

"I could have, were I simply asked."

"I underestimated you and your abilities, again, I am afraid. Should I simply ask you to conjure us horses? Or maybe even make Gandalf appear?"

Something about the flippant tone struck her, annoying her through her fatigue, "As I said before, that is not possible, and what I did tonight was not without great effort and cost. You joke, but you know not of what you speak."

He nodded, eyes cast downward in penance. He looked as though he was about to say something, but she didn't need his apology, longing instead for silence so that she could rest. Quietly, he offered, "Thank you."

Her head snapped upwards in confusion at his choice of words, meeting eyes that were piercingly blue and amazingly open, "For what?"

"Whatever you did, you no doubt saved my life."

Gratitude would be expected—after all, she had run off the bandits, but she never counted on him voicing the sentiment. Not that it mattered, as she had been mostly motivated by her own selfish interests. "A dead dwarf cannot settle his debts, and you owe me, Thorin Oakenshield."

He bristled, "You need not remind me of my obligations. No dwarf takes a gold-oath lightly, and I tire of hearing it at every opportunity."

"Do not test me," she snarled.

"Or what? You'll off me like Cren? Not if you wish to collect."

Too sure and too smart, she thinks, but he's mostly right in his assessment. "I needn't kill you to make you regret pissing me off."

He laughed then, and not a nervous chuckle but a full-on honest belly roar. "Of that I am certain."

Point made, she let the conversation drop. Stretching out, she weaved a few wards around the site, ensuring that they would not be bothered again, though she doubted it would happen. Housekeeping done, she began to drift in her meditations, when a few words reached her ears, "Rest well."

Normally, she would keep information about her defenses to herself, but something about his simple well-meant wish touched her, so honest and direct. "I have warded the camp; you need not keep watch."

A small smile spread on his lips, "I don't think I want to know if you've been doing that since we set out for Bree, do I?"

"No. You don't."