Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not my own, yadda yadda yadda. I'm not making any money off of this. (Though I wish I could.)

A/N: A shout out to Gozekuu for their awesome review! Thank you so much! Those of us who write fan fiction do it for pure enjoyment. Getting to share it with others and having others compliment it so thoroughly is all the payment and encouragement that is needed. So read and enjoy… and if you like the story, its always nice to leave a review, even if it is something as simple as "I like it!"

Thanks to Gozekuu for their encouragement, here is Chapter 10.

Oin insisted that I take a break from training over the next few days, at the very least, to allow my wound to start to heal. He didn't want me to pop out the stitches and to be honest, I was inclined to agree. It hurt bad enough the first time around. I really did not want to sit through that again. He had told me how lucky I was that the shale stone had not cut any deeper; it was mostly a flesh wound. I had tried hard not to laugh when he said that and I managed, but only barely. It reminded me of Monty Python, particularly with his accent.

I had to admit, I needed the break. My body was so exhausted, my muscles so worn down, that I felt like I could hardly move. I helped where I could, mostly gathering fire wood- could I ever escape that task? - and helping gather food wherever we could find it. When Kili brought back small game, I skinned it and prepped it for the evening meal and then sat back to watch Bombur cook. At the end of each meal, I would help clean out the bowls and then tended the horses and ponies.

After sharing my story with the company, I felt like I had carved out a delicate and precarious place among them, despite the obvious warnings from Thorin about not letting me get too close. I was included once again in conversation and stories. I shared a few more of my own tales from deployment, though mostly light-hearted stories of the trouble we had gotten ourselves into and the pranks we had pulled. Kili in particular had delighted in these tales and I could tell by the mischievous look in his eyes that we could probably expect him to pull some pranks of his own.

Gandalf had returned to us the day after my injury and shook his head at me as if to say, I leave and this is what happens? When he peered closer at me, though, he had frowned and I wonder what it was that he saw.

The third day of my break from training, it rained for a good portion of the morning. We sought shelter a little earlier that day so we could find some proper dry shelter. We climbed up to some higher ground and, after tying the ponies off on a long line, we set about making camp on a large flat outcrop that looked down on the valley below. I settled myself against a rock and chewed on the end of a long green piece of grass, trying to ignore the fact that I had not been able to brush my teeth in more than three weeks. Sure, I had cleaned them the best I could and rinsed my mouth out with water, but it was a poor substitute for an actual brush and paste.

Leaning back, I crossed my ankles and set about cleaning and sharpening my k-bar with the whet stone that Balin had loaned me. Him and a few others spent a good chunk of time before dinner examining it with fascination. It was a 'crude tool', apparently, but 'it would do in a pinch.' I chuckled to myself and wondered what the manufactures at home would thing about their knife being called crude.

Everyone had fallen into their own conversation, and I enjoyed listening to the quiet murmur of voices and the occasional outburst of song.

Something had been nagging at me since dinner and it was not until a few hours after dusk that I figured out what that something was.

Screams and snarls echoed up from the valley below and I sat up, my heart in my throat. This was something I remembered. My eyes flicked to Bilbo, who had jerked his head up.

"What was that?" He asked in a breathy voice.

"Orcs," Answered Kili.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fili chimed in. "The lowlands are crawlin' with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours of the morn', when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams. Just lots' of blood." Continued Kili.

Bilbo paled and looked off in the direction of the noises. I watched Thorin stand and glare at his nephews, his eyes blazing with anger, and yet not without sadness. The scene unfolded much as it had in the movies. Balin's staunch support of his king had touched me then, but it was nothing to what I felt as Balin's eyes had grown distant and misty as he relayed the tale of Azanulbizar, of the death of the king Thror and the loss of so many lives.

The anger I held within me for Thorin evaporated when he turned around to face us. My heart ached at the pain in his eyes and I realized that some of my anger at him was misplaced. He may have been arrogant and pig headed and kind of an asshole, but this dwarf… He had sacrificed everything for his people. He had faced down a great enemy and had watched his people fall by the thousands. He had lost his father and his grandfather. He had lost his ancestral home. And then, begging and scrapping, he and the others had lowered themselves to do the bidding of the common rabble to scrape by a living. A king of beggars.

It was easy in that moment to understand the distrust he had in me.

"He slunk back into the hole from whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago," Thorin finished, answering Bilbo. I bit my lip for a moment before standing slowly. I followed Thorin as he stalked off to the bed roll he laid some distance away from the company.

"…did you see his body?" I asked softly. Thorin snapped his head around to look at me.

"What?" His voice was pitched low and dangerous.

"A…Azog. Did you see his dead body? My commander always told us to assume that an enemy was alive unless we could prove, without a doubt, that they were dead."

Thorin turned to face me and, for the first time, I feared the dwarf. His body held a fine tremor of rage and he took three quick steps to close the distance between us.

"He is dead," Thorin snapped, "And you had best keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about, woman."

"Im just saying… don't discount…." The words died in my mouth. Thorin's eyes were so dark they were nearly black. His fists were held at his side, his fingers curled so tight that even in the dim fire light, I could see how white his knuckles were. If I didnt know better, I would be afraid in that moment that he would strike me.

"I said to keep your mouth SHUT!" He snarled then. My heart was in my throat and I dropped my gaze and lowered my head. Thorin breathed deeply a few times, trying to collect himself. After a few minutes, his body sagged some and I risked a glance. He was still staring at me, but he had calmed.

"I'm sorry Tho… Master Oakenshield. Its none of my business."

"Go to bed," His voice was cold, his words almost a challenge, as though he was waiting for me to argue. I looked him in the eye one last time before I turned and walked back to my spot. I lay down and turned my back away from the others, knowing my face was tinged red, partially from embarrassment at being scolded, partially at the sheer adrenaline that had rushed my body at the threat of Thorins' posture.

I really should have kept my mouth shut.

I lay awake for awhile before I felt a presence near me. I turned and sat up to see Gandalf approaching. I tugged my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, cold despite the balmy temperature. He sat upon a large rock and puffed on his pipe.

"You fear that Azog still lives?" Gandalf asked. I wondered for a moment why he was asking that when he knew damn well I knew the events of the quest. Then I realized he probably did not want to risk the dwarves over hearing.

"Don't you?" I asked, remember the long gaze he had settled Thorin with in the movie after his parting line. Gandalf puffed on his pipe quietly.

"Yes. The thought has preyed on my mind. While Thorin did indeed deal him a mortal wound, I fear that such evil is not so easily destroyed."

We fell silent and, without meaning too, I felt my eyes search out Thorin's form. He sat off by himself as usual, looking out at the wilds before us.

"You are thinner, my dear." Gandalf said. "You need to take better care."

"I'm…"

"Fine? I am no fool, Talya Conner. You are pale, your skin ashen, and your cheeks hollow. You have been pushing yourself too hard."

"What choice do I have, Gandalf? If I show any weakness, then whatever little nook I have carved for myself here will crumble. If I am to serve my purpose here, then I have to just suck it up and deal."

Gandalf said nothing to this, obviously agitated by my answer. He puffed on his pipe a little longer before standing and walking away, uttering a soft good night as he drifted off.

It poured the next day, the raining coming down in great splashes. We rode along slowly, picking our way through the mud and muck. The dwarves' gear and my own seemed to hold up much better under the weather than poor Bilbos. I had reached into my bag at one point and had pulled out my poncho. I handed it off to him with mild amusement. With his curly dark locks splattered to his forehead, he looked even younger than he actually was. After a confused look at me, I showed him how to put it on.

"This is amazing!" He said as he watched the rain pool and trail off the cloth without soaking in. Most of the dwarves seemed to marvel over the bit of fabric, and I laughed dryly. I tried to picture what their reactions would be if I had been able to show them some of my other gear, like my lighter or my rifle, then sobered and decided I did not really like the thought of firearms in middle earth. The inhabitants here could reek enough havoc on each other all on their own just fine.

"Here, Mr Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" Dori complained

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you had best find yourself another wizard." Gandalf answered sourly.

"Are there any?" Bilbo asked curiously.

"What?"

"Other wizards."

"There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Sarumon the White" I shuddered at that, but kept quiet. "There are two blue wizards, though, you know, I have quite forgotten their names."

"And the fifrth?"

"Well, that would be Radagast the brown."

"Is he a great wizard…. Or is he more like you?" Bilbo asked. Gandalf turned to fix Bilbo with an almost insulted look.

"I think he is a very great wizard, in his own way…."

The rain kept up well through the night. We had made camp as late as possible, hoping to find somewhere dry, but no such luck. We ate cold food and huddled under our cloaks the best we could. Thankfully, the rain tapered off just before dawn. Thorin decided that we would travel a short distance, then set up camp early that night to allow for our things to dry and to hunt for fresh meat once more. It was shortly after mid-day when we neared the remains of an old farm house. My throat tightened and I shot a look at Gandalf.

Thorin dismounted, and the others began to follow suit.

"We'll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them." Thorin called as he entered the ruins. Gandalf followed behind and I did not need to draw near to hear what was being said. Heated words were exchanged and Gandalf turned and began to storm off.

"Everything alright? Gandalf, where are you going?" Bilbo asked, concerned. I turned Grey-mane to face Gandalf, indecision etched on my face.

"To seek the company of the only one around here who has any sense!" Gandalf answered, angrily.

"And who is that?"

"Myself, Mr. Baggins! I've had enough of dwarves for one day."

"Come on, Bombur. We're hungry." Thorin called, having watched Gandalf's retreat with narrowed eyes. I looked after Gandalf and almost went with him when Thorin's voice stopped me.

"Miss Conner," He said sharply. I faced him.

"Do you not have a camp to help make?" I frowned as he turned to speak with Dwalin, dismissing me entirely. I hesitated again and dismounted. If Gandalf had wanted me with him, he would have said so.

My nerves were shot that night as I waited in anticipation for what was to come. I thought several times about voicing my concerns, but knew they would fall on deaf ears.

Dwalin had, at one point, set some small traps around a few trails while the rest of us made camp and laid out our things to dry. He came back shortly before dinner with a few rabbits and, as usual, I helped skin and dress them. He watched silently as Bombur cooked, his job done, and ate a few bloody fistfuls of what I assumed to be the livers and other edible organs. I pulled a face.

"That is so unsanitary. Hes going to end up with parasites," I muttered. Bilbo looked up at me from his place on the ground, about to take a bite of a stale roll.

"Parasites?"

"Yeah… All manner of gross things. Fleas and ticks could be considered parasites, and I know we are all familiar with those. But eating raw meat… We'll there are these things called tapeworms and roundworms. If the meat you eat is infested with them, then you could ingest eggs and they will hatch inside of your intestines and other organs. They cause a whole host of problems. Weight loss. Stomach problems, stuff like that. Its not pleasant."

Bilbo made a face and it almost looked like he was going to put his food down. His hobbit nature got the better of him, though, and soon he was back to munching on his roll.

Bilbo seemed to pick up on my tense mood, or perhaps he could feel something was off, too. But the longer that Gandalf was gone, the more he began to fret. Dinner was just about done when he began to pace some.

"He's been gone a long time," He said after he passed Bofur for what had to have been the sixth time.

"Who?" Bofur asked finally.

"Gandalf."

"'He's a wizard. He does as he chooses. Here. Do us a favor; take these to the lads." Bofur handed off two bowls of steaming hot soup to Bilbo who promptly sloshed some on his hand. I watched him, only listening vaguely as Bofur scolded Bombur for trying to sneak more stew.

The panic I had felt all day began to reach a fever pitch. I knew any moment, Bilbo would be set off towards the trolls' camp and be taken captive. I refused dinner, and hovered over the others as they ate, quickly taking and cleaning their bowls as soon as the were finished. It earned me quite a few odd looks, particularly from Thorin.

"What haste as been set upon you?" He asked as he thrust his now empty bowl into my hands. I debated a moment.

"I have a bad feeling. Something is going to happen." I answered. He leaned back some and regarded me with cool eyes.

"And I suppose you have some wisdom that we do not? You think we battle hardened warriors would not be able to sense if danger was near…?" Thorin asked condescendingly.

"I didn't say it was wisdom. I said I had a bad feeling. I think we should be prepared for anything."

We heard crashing in the distance and Thorin jerked his head up, then glanced at me. Everyone grew tense as Kili and Fili burst through the brush.

"Trolls! They have captured Bilbo and taken the ponies!" Fili said breathlessly. Thorin quickly looked at me in confusion, but the moment lasted only seconds.

"Quickly, now!" Thorin yelled, standing in a fluid movement. I dropped his bowl and reached to grab my knife.

"No. You stay here," Thorin snapped as the others grabbed their weapons from the ground. "Bilbo is enough of a burden without having to watch your back as well,"

I was a soldier at heart and knew an order when I heard one. I grit my teeth as he brushed past me. He and the others picked up a quick pace and disappeared beneath the trees.

I swore, loudly. It didn't matter that I knew they'd be alright. It was still difficult to stand there when people I had come to care about - Bilbo, Fili, Kili, Ori, Balin… would be put in harms way.

I set about breaking camp as quickly as I could, haphazardly packing bags, not really caring what went where. As time drew by, I grew more nervous, something eating away at me. Finally, I said screw it.

I called Grey-mane to me and, after tossing a few bags up onto the saddle, mounted on his back.

"We need to find Gandalf and Dreysill," I said as I settled myself in my seat. We took off in the direction that Gandalf had went, and I preyed to myself that he had not gone far.

We searched until near midnight when we found him sitting on a large stone, Dreysill grazing nearby He looked up in shock as Grey-mane and I came to a quick stop before him.

"Gandalf… Trolls!" I said, my breath short. He wasted no time in jumping on Dreysills back. We turned and began to ride in earnest. Dawn would be rapidly approaching by the time we made it back and I wondered to myself what would have happened had I not gone to look for Gandalf.

Gandalf left me with the horses and the remaining ponies as he made his way towards the troll camp. I waited with baited breath as the sun began to rise in the sky. A sudden voice carried on the wind, followed by the wails of what I assumed were the trolls turning to stone. I let out a breath that I did not realize I had been holding and, checking that the remaining lines the ponies were tied off on were secure, remounted Grey-mane and took off towards the company.

I reached them just as the last of them were being freed from their sacks. I let out a long breath in relief and dismounted. I smiled as Bilbo made his way to me and gave me a hug of relief. The gesture was oddly touching and I patted his back before pulling away from the embrace.

"Where did you go?" I heard Thorin ask Gandalf as he replaced the things the trolls had stripped from him.

"To look ahead." Gandalf replied.

"What brought you back?"

Gandalf gave a small smile and gestured to me. Thorin turned to look at me, confusion and something else lurking in his eyes.

"Looking behind."