I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

Please review! I love getting them-they keep me encouraged! J

After the pheasants were plucked, the innards had to be cleaned out. Cirashala, despite the rather disgusting smell, was relieved. This she could do. She felt very embarrassed about crying over as silly of a thing as a few haphazardly plucked feathers, but really, it was far more than that.

It was the fear that she had failed yet again. She didn't want to anger Thorin again, fearing his wrath. The only way she knew she could do that was to be very polite and respectful to every member of the company, and not mess anything else up. She still ached over the loss of her family, and felt that she was to blame.

She had been driving, and as she went over the event numerous times during the long walk that afternoon, she felt as though she could have done something. She should have done something to stop it. Turned the wheel a different direction, hit the brake sooner, paid attention more. Somehow, she felt that it was her fault her family died. Her fault, that under that upturned earth had lain the bodies of her loving husband and her beautiful, precious, sweet girls. One a sweet baby, still toddling on unsteady legs as she explored the world around her. One a four year old, so smart and talented and determined to do everything by herself, and yet still crawled into her mama's bed to cuddle every morning after daddy left for work.

Wracked with survivor's guilt, she could not bear to have any member of the company die because of her presence here in Middle-earth. She knew that certain members of the company were destined to die at the end, and pushed that thought away. Fili and Kili were far too young, far too kind, and far too undeserving of their fate. The two had shown her far more kindness than she could ever deserve, and she felt many times that they should have left her to her fate in the troll cave. No one should be kind to a child killer. And she felt that was what she was-a young woman who killed her husband and children because she happened to be unable to prevent their death in that terrible accident. Thorin should have beaten her to death. It was far less than she deserved.

All of this came to a head when faced with the unfamiliar task of plucking the pheasant. While she was a very good cook in her world, and had had some experience with farm animals, she had never started actually cooking with newly killed animals before. The closest she had ever come to removing the outside of an animal came in her Anatomy and Physiology class in college when she had to dissect a preserved cat. And the cat didn't have feathers.

Her mortification had come from fear that, because of ruining supper (as she perceived she had), Thorin would be furious, and her well deserved end would come. She was walking on eggshells around the company, fearing all of them save Bilbo.

The hobbit had truly been a blessing. He was a gentleman, but more than that, she could see genuine empathy in his gaze. He was an outsider among the group, same as she, and he felt nearly as much out of place among the tightly knit group of dwarves as she did.

Well, almost, she thought to herself as she scooped entrails out of the dead bird. At least he is actually from Middle-earth, and knows how to pluck dead birds. Which is more than I can say for myself.

XXX

Having cleaned and washed out the birds (and thrown the entrails in the fire), Bombur looked at her.

"Do you know how to roast a bird at least?" he asked her, his voice gentle. She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. That she could do.

"If it is on a spit, I can do that," she said so softly that the ginger haired dwarf almost didn't hear her. He nodded, turning to Bofur.

"Brother, would you go get the turning rod and Y rods out of my pack?" he asked, and Bofur nodded, making his way to the pack. He returned within seconds carrying the items, and stabbed the Y shaped iron rods into the ground on either side of the fire.

Bombur handed the girl the turning rod.

"Hold this," he instructed, and shoved the dead birds onto the spit, skewering them through the now empty body cavity. The rod was a bit heavy after both birds were on it, but Bombur grabbed the opposite end and they both placed the handled rod on the Y rods. Bombur turned to her.

"I will get some spices from my bag. Start turning them, and make sure they roast evenly," he instructed, heading toward his bedroll that Bofur had rolled out beside his own. Cirashala nodded and began to rotate the pheasants, turning them every few minutes so that each side would have exposure to the fire.

Her eyes drifted over the fire, and she shielded her eyes with the hand that was not turning the spit, before they lit up a bit. Finally, she could put some of her survival skills to use! Bombur returned with the spices, and as he mixed them with water and began to brush them on the birds, Cirashala turned toward him.

"Mister Bombur?" she asked. Bombur looked up. Cirashala pointed to what she had seen, and the large dwarf followed her finger.

"There are cattails over there through those bushes I think. They aren't quite as good as potatoes, but they would go well with the roasted pheasant," she said, and Bombur's eyes crinkled as a large grin broke out.

"Aye, I suppose they would, lass," he said with a wink. "Off you go then! We need to get them started so they are done in time." Cirashala scurried up, and headed past Ori and through the bushes.

XXX

She picked her way carefully through the now dark wood, lit only by the slightly waning moon. She still wasn't positive it had been cattails she had seen, but they sure had looked like it. She hoped it hadn't been merely shadows playing tricks with her mind.

She took great care with each step she made, knowing that cattails grew in marshes and that she did not want to get stuck, or trip into a slimy bog. She had no way of knowing how long it would be until they found another river, and really didn't want to walk through Middle-earth covered in dank algae-ridden muck. Plus, she hated mosquitoes, and didn't want to gain any bites.

I should have brought a torch, she thought to herself. With the shadows of the trees, it was almost too hard to see where she was going. She finally reached the small pond, sighing in relief when she saw her eyes had not tricked her, and carefully began to wade toward the tall cattails. She reached the first patch, the water halfway up her boots, and reached up to pull it off.

It didn't budge, and she groaned. She sighed as she drew her sword, determined to not take any more impromptu "swims" today. She felt ridiculous as she began to use her sword to hack at the base of the brown prize atop the cattail, feeling pretty darn confident that was not what Lord Elrond had in mind for the sword when he gave it to her.

The cattail's reed snapped back upright as the long, round cattail end came loose, and she realized that she had not brought any sort of basket to carry it in either. She sighed, before holding her prize in the crook of her arm as she reached around to grab her cloak.

She held the gray cloak in front of her as a pouch, before realizing that she needed two hands to harvest the cattails. Tucking two sides of it into her belt solved the problem, and she quickly managed to collect fourteen more. Hoping the dwarves would be content to have just one each, she turned around and began to make her way back to camp, sword still drawn. She didn't want to put it back in her scabbard until it was cleaned.

She had just made her way to the edge of the marsh, but still among the reeds, when she heard a twig snap off to the side. Her eyes widened, and she sank down to just above the water.

Gripping her sword tightly, she held it in front of her, somewhat annoyed that she now may as well have a pregnant belly with the fifteen cattails in the cloak in front of her.

The rustling continued, and she was just about to leap out of her hiding place, when the light from a torch appeared on the trees in front of her. She waited silently, her heart racing as she tried to breathe as silently as she could.

XXX

Thorin sighed to himself in frustration. The foolish girl had left the camp alone. Didn't she realize that they were in the wild? He was impressed with the way she had managed to get the arrow out-he didn't think she would have been able to figure it out. But sneaking off from camp without taking someone else with her was just foolish.

"Mahumub!" he growled to himself under his breath as he searched through the bushes.

Doesn't she realize she could get herself killed out here? She is really far too inexperienced for this, he thought to himself.

Hadn't he told her to help Bombur with supper? Why was the toymaker sitting by himself roasting the pheasants then? He stopped short as he heard a very slight rustling to his left, almost inaudible. Turning, his eyes beheld a slight flash of steel amidst the reeds, and his hand drifted upward to the hilt of his sword.

He drew it silently, before setting the torch down on a rock and creeping up toward where the glint was, stepping lightly. He held it at the ready, before he jumped ahead with a growl and swung it downward toward the dark shaded figure in the water.

XXX

The growl and the unmistakable clang of steel against steel reverberated through the forest, causing the company to jump up in startle. Several pairs of eyes darted between each other, and Dwalin cursed loudly as he realized Thorin was not with them. Fili and Kili's eyes widened, before both drew their weapons.

"Thorin!" Fili cried as they took off at a run toward the direction of the sounds, diving into the underbrush.

Bombur paled, staring in the direction the sound had come from as the company began to follow the two princes through the underbrush. The same direction Cirashala had gone.

"Wait!" he shouted, running after the dwarves. "Lower your weapons!" But no one heeded his frantic cries.

The two lads reached Thorin quickly, and stopped dead at the sight, their eyes wide. Dwalin and Balin, who were right behind them, didn't have time to react as the younger pair stopped suddenly, and nearly ran into them, barely missing them with their weapons.

"T-Thorin?" Fili's questioning voice wavered, as he stared wide eyed at his uncle, who was frozen in place.

"Uncle?" Kili's voice echoed, barely breathing as he stared at his uncle in shock. "W-what are you—"

"Thorin!" Balin's angry voice sounded above them. "What in Mahal's name do you think you are doing?"

Suddenly Thorin seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and gasped as he drew back, lowering his sword.

The shuddering form of Cirashala was also frozen in place, curled in on herself with her eyes shut tight and breathing heavily. She was clutching the rather lumpy "pouch" in her front with her left arm as her right arm was raised, holding the sword she carried in an overhead block. A block-that had saved her life.

XXX

Balin looked from a shocked and stunned Thorin to the girl, before sheathing his sword and turning to the company.

"Nothing to see here! Get back to camp!" he barked, and the company immediately turned around and headed back to camp, except for Dwalin, Balin, Fili and Kili. Bombur also lingered, his eyes wide.

Dwalin glanced to Bombur, and glared at him.

"You heard him! Back to camp, and don't let supper burn!" the burly dwarf growled, and Bombur turned and scampered off, looking back a few times at Cirashala with worry on his face.

The two princes sheathed their weapons, and jumped back as Balin rushed past them, before kneeling cautiously in front of Cirashala, who still hadn't moved.

"Lassie?" he asked softly. She let out a strangled cry and swung her sword forward, eyes still shut as she sprung up. Balin jumped backward, having expected it, and grasped her wrist easily, before bringing his hand up and prying her white knuckled fingers off the sword hilt. Taking the sword, he reached behind him, handing it to Dwalin.

She was shaking like a leaf, and her eyes slowly opened. Dwalin had gone and retrieved the torch, and held it up, the light revealing her white face. She glanced fearfully at Thorin, before backing up hastily and turning to run, only to smack straight into Kili. He threw up his arms defensively, grabbing her to keep her from continuing to run, and hoping that she wouldn't strike him again.

"No! No, please! Please don't let him kill me!" she cried out, shaking violently in her fear. Kili looked up at his uncle, who looked about ready to vomit. Fili did as well, before moving to stand in front of his brother and the young woman.

"He won't," Fili said, his voice laced with steel as he planted his feet and fixed his uncle with a dangerous stare. "We won't let him harm an innocent girl."

"Aye," Kili agreed, arms tightening a bit around her. Balin looked at the two brothers, before looking at Thorin.

"Now, Thorin," he said, his voice saying plainly, you are not getting out of this.

Thorin sighed, sheathing his sword as he swallowed heavily. He made to move past Fili, who stepped in his path.

"Fili, move," he said quietly, and the blonde shook his head.

"Not until I have your word that you will not lay a hand on her," he replied, looking his slightly taller uncle in the eye and crossing his arms.

"You have my word," Thorin said. Fili gave him a hard look, before stepping aside. Kili slowly lowered his arms, stepping back, but Thorin could see that his younger nephew was following his every movement with his dark eyes. He had no doubt that his eldest nephew was following him as well.

She didn't run, and Thorin breathed a sigh of relief, stopping several feet away from her in hopes that the distance would not frighten her any more than it already had. He looked at her, and the wide blue eyes immediately darted toward the ground. Her chest was moving rapidly, indicating her quick, anxious breathing. Thorin's eyes traveled toward the strange, slightly wet bundle in front of her, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What do you think you were doing, going off on your own?" he heard himself say. "This is the wild! You could have been seriously hurt!" She flinched as though she was struck, and he mentally cursed himself for speaking without more control. He could see Kili tense, eyes fixed on him as his hand clenched. The dwarf king took a deep breath, sighing.

"The block was done fairly well, though you should keep your eyes open next time," he continued, his voice less gruff as he averted his eyes. He paused for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. Her eyes hesitantly raised toward his, and he looked at her for a brief moment before turning. He walked a few paces, before stopping and looking slightly over his shoulder. "And don't go wandering off by yourself again. Take someone with you next time."

XXX

Cirashala's eyes rested on Thorin's back as he returned to camp. She was completely dumbfounded.

"D-did he just…apologize?" she asked, confused. She looked at Balin, and the old dwarf smiled, winking at her. Fili chuckled behind her, and she turned to look at the smirking young dwarf.

"Don't let him hear you say that," he said, before his gaze drifted down to her "belly". He looked back up at her in confusion.

"What in the thunder is in your cloak?" he asked, and her eyes widened as she looked down.

"Oh, no! If I don't get them on now, they will never get done in time!" she cried, before grabbing the bundle in both arms and rushing, or rather waddling quickly, back to camp, leaving four very bewildered dwarves behind her.

"Do you think she wants her sword back?" Dwalin asked, holding up the sword. At the sight of such a light weapon in the burly warrior's hand, and then the waddling young woman running rather like a hunch backed duck to the fire, the other three dwarves burst out laughing.

XXX

Cirashala waddled back into camp, fighting to keep from losing the cattails out of her makeshift pouch. She paid no mind to the bewildered stares of the company, and deposited her load down in front of Bombur.

"Th-there's the….cattails for you," she gasped out, panting after running hunched over. The grinning dwarf took them quickly, and threw them into a pot filled with boiling water.

"They will cook more quickly this way than putting them in the coals," he explained when he saw the confusion on her face. She nodded, and he smiled.

"I've got it from here, lass. Why don't you go lay out your bedroll?" the dwarf said, turning back toward the spit. She nodded, and went to her pack.

She grabbed the blanket out of it, and found a spot slightly away from the dwarves. She made sure that there were no anthills or snakeholes, and moved the few rocks and pinecones out of the way before laying her blanket out. She placed her pack at the head of it, and her weapons off to the side so they could be easily reached in the night. She bundled up the end of the long blanket to where her head would be in a makeshift pillow, before laying down on the roll, glad to rest her weary legs.

By the time dinner was done, Bilbo approached her with her bowl, only to find the exhausted girl curled up on her bedroll with her hand fisted tightly on her bow, sound asleep.

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Yay, Thorin apologized! That concludes the first day back on the road with the company :) What an eventful day!

A response to Guest reviewer Ri-chan- She is a bit weepy because she is still grieving, and because she is still suffering some residual of fear from Thorin losing his temper. She does not want to risk making him angry again and attacking her-she really thought he was going to kill her. She can be very tough and strong, but at the moment she is still scared being in a dangerous world that she is finding she does but doesn't know about. She doesn't know why she's here, and the stress she has on her shoulders because she is afraid the fate of Middle-earth rests on her is huge (much like the strain the burden of carrying the Ring put on Frodo in LOTR but without the evil part), and she is suffering from survivor's guilt (an actual mental condition where someone survives a traumatic event but their friends or family don't and they feel guilty for living while the others died, and in her part because she was driving she feels that her family's death is on her hands as well-my husband is studying to be a counselor so I am familiar with some of these conditions). It wasn't the fact that she was plucking the pheasant improperly at all-that was just the straw that broke things so to speak. If Thorin hadn't attacked her, she wouldn't have cried about it. It was the fear that the dwarves would be angry with her because of it. Right now, after what Thorin did, she feels she cannot trust them to not harm her. She will be toughening up here very soon, most likely a bit after Thorin makes his apology. I hope this chapter addressed some of your questions! :)

Thanks to all who reviewed, favorite, and followed! If any of you have a question as a guest reviewer in the future, my replies will be attached at the end of the next chapter like this one is :)