Wow! Oh my gosh, you guys! Thank you for the likes, follows and reviews to my last chapter! I'm surprised how many of you liked it! Sometimes the best healing words are just a genuine apology, you know? A nice 'I'm sorry. You were right.' Thanks and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

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"The only way change will ever happen is if we speak up, and we have to know that it actually will have an impact. We have a lot more power than we think we do, I think." - Paulo Coelho

~Chapter 11~

An Interesting Development

I'm not a morning person, but as Bilbo settles at my side with the quiet Bifur on my other, the three of us holding the hot coffee between our cool hands, it's actually nice experiencing the world so early. There's a unique sense of accomplishment in beating the sun at its own game, even if it takes a painful ten minutes for my body to cooperate. The forest is still and peaceful, serenaded by the morning call of local birds, while the air is crisp with an invigorating smell. In the distance, a faint stream trickles, adding to the natural symphony. It's all very lovely.

It's been a week since we have left the comfort of Bilbo's home, and things have been going remarkably well. Thorin and I are civil to one another, with no more dark looks. It's refreshing to meet his eyes across the campfire and not feel like he secretly wishes that my pillow is hot on both sides.

Dwalin and Balin have also been more accommodating. When I dropped a quill of Ori's as I walked across camp, Balin picked it up and handed it to me with a warm smile. Progress, you know?

And as for Dwalin? Well...he's not exactly a fluffy teddy bear. But he's not been a spiky porcupine either. So, also progress!

Riding a pony all day isn't easy, and my glutes protest from constantly centering my weight on Sir Gallahop for hours and hours. Yet, my booty has toughened up a bit, seeming to adapt, and the discomfort is now almost bearable. The company has settled into a new routine of sorts- wake up at the butt crack of dawn, a light breakfast of porridge, douse the campfire, do our morning doo, and leave within the hour.

Then we ride - for five hours.

My butt eventually goes numb (I'm assuming everyone else's does as well) and we stop for a lunch of cheese, bread, and dried meat. Bilbo and I hobble around for two hours, and everyone rests, allowing the ponies a well-deserved break.

Then we ride again - for five hours.

Finally, a little before sunset, we'll stop for the night and let the ponies have a much-needed twelve-hour rest. It's a grueling 10-12 hour day, depending on the ponies' condition. I've taken to napping on Sir Gallahop, though I'm sure he doesn't appreciate it.

My pants hang looser on me, a welcome sign that I'm shedding the extra weight gained at Bilbo's house. When you're indulging in five to six delicious meals a day, it's no wonder most hobbits have a bit of a pudge around their middle. On the trail, however, we rely on three hearty meals a day and Honey, a pony who trails along behind Bombur, is designated to carry all our food. Poor thing.

Kili provides fresh game almost every day like rabbits, pheasants, or quail and those are added into the stew along with durable vegetables. Things that don't spoil easily like onions, carrots, cabbage, and potatoes are the main staples. Every once in a while, thanks to Bilbo's keen eye, we'll get lucky and find mushrooms which are thrown in to add an exotic twist.

As we mount our ponies this morning, Thorin shares the news that we will soon arrive in Bree. Fili captivates the group with his adventurous account of sneaking into the Blue Mountain treasury and finding himself unintentionally trapped overnight. Listening to his tale, I can't help but think of my gold coin. I still haven't gotten it back from Thorin. He hasn't brought it up and I'm torn on how to approach the subject or if I even should. Does he think that since it's from Erebor it's his? I wrestle with the decision of whether to broach the subject with him, recognizing that no matter what happens, I MUST not bring up the Gold Sickness again.

There's really nothing for it...

"Uh, I'll be right back." I murmur to Fili apologetically.

Summoning my courage, I nudge Gallahop into a trot, my heart racing as I keep my face facing forward. The company's curious glances follow me, but I maintain my composure.

I slow Sir Gallahop to a walk right beside Thorin before he can look behind to figure out why everyone is so quiet

"Beautiful scenery!" I say cheerfully, attempting to appear casual.

He turns, his face surprised and a bit confused when he realizes it's me. "Aye, it is." He glances back at the company questioningly before looking back at me. "Can I help you, Miss Peyton?"

Give me mah coin dude! Yeah...maybe I should try some small talk first?

"Uh, no! No, I was, um… I was just curious about where the first pony went. The one that we rode to Michel Delving? This one is different." I nod towards the black one he's currently riding.

Thorin quickly looks back to the front. He doesn't answer for a moment, gaze remaining steadily focused on the road in front of him. I smile to myself. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say he's embarrassed that I brought up our two-hour ride together. It must have been a very bad memory for him.

"That pony got a lame foot and I left him in Bree." He finally responds in a curt and short tone.

"Oh, poor thing. Did it happen before or after you met Gandalf?"

Thorin's gaze sharpens. "It was before I met Gandalf," he finally admits. It's evident that he's not keen on discussing the past.

I realize this sounds like an interrogation and I quickly backtrack.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to get the timeline right. I honestly thought the meeting at Bilbo's house was the day after you left me in Michel Delving. Once I realized I was in Middle Earth and you were who you said you were, I thought you were going to Bree with the company after stopping in Hobbiton. So, I hightailed it to Hobbiton so I wouldn't miss Gandalf."

Thorin processes this before replying pragmatically, "I would not have offered to accompany you to Bree if I had other plans."

"Well, I know that NOW," I shrug, embarrassed for some reason.

I'm not sure what else to say to continue the conversation.

I'm both relieved and gratified when he is the one to ask his own question, "How did you travel from Michel Delving to Hobbiton?"

I puff out an amused breath through my nose. "I walked for four hours until a guy almost ran me over with his cart. He felt bad enough to give me a ride the rest of the way."

"You were almost run over by a cart?" He drolls, raising an eyebrow.

Our previous conversation of how dangerous this quest would be comes back to mind and I roll my eyes good naturedly, "Yeah, yeah. Forget all the other dangerous things in Middle Earth- it was a blind horse and cart that almost did me in. With my luck, I'll probably choke to death on a chicken bone at dinner."

I'm suddenly worried that Thorin will get upset that I reminded him of the super-weak chick he was forced to bring along. I turn away and make an annoyed face at myself that he can't see. Why did I say that?!

"Yes, that would be most unfortunate."

I glance worriedly back at him. He's staring straight ahead at the road before us...but there's a teeny, almost smile that he's doing his best to conceal. A warm feeling of relief grows in my chest and my worry turns to satisfaction. It's a small victory, a glimpse of the 'real Thorin' beneath the stern exterior.

"So, when you were around Bree you searched for your father, right?" I ask, remembering I had heard Gandalf mention it at the meeting.

His good mood vanishes, "Aye." He responds curtly.

Whoops. I should've just stuck with the chicken bone.

"Any luck?" I ask softly.

"No sign of him."

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. I don't know his pain, but I can imagine. It's probably close to the same pain my family is feeling right now as they search for me.

He glances over at my face, perhaps hearing the sadness in my tone and the tenseness in his shoulders eases. He nods in acknowledgment to my sympathies, not expecting anything else.

Dang it, I've run out of things to say.

"So! Um, that gold coin..." I tread carefully. I watch him like a cat watches a canary and, although subtle, I can see him immediately straighten, like a porcupine on the defensive.

Ah, so he DOES think that it's his. I mean, sure, I can see where he's coming from. But that gold coin brought ME here, and so I have a claim to it.

"Yes?" He replies in a guarded tone, revealing little but not shutting down the conversation entirely.

There's a little girl in me who wants to stomp her foot and demand he give me my coin back and explain all the reasons why it's not his anymore. But...it's not like I really need it at the moment. Hopefully, he'll give it back when he sees all the other gold coins that Erebor has to offer. In the meantime, I'll just get as much info about it as I can.

"You explained what the face of Durin means, but the other side of the coin is a boar. Is a boar symbolic of something? What does it mean to your people?"

My question is unexpected as Thorin seems momentarily taken aback by the direction my question has gone. His brow furrows as he considers the question.

"A boar holds significance in many cultures and mythologies," he begins, his voice thoughtful. "In our dwarven culture, the boar is often associated with strength, resilience, and ferocity in battle. It is a symbol of courage and determination, traits that we hold in high regard."

He stops, but I need more than that. I gaze at him earnestly so he knows I'm waiting for more. He gets the message and his expression turns distant, "The boar is also linked to our ancestral homeland, Erebor, as it is said that the great boar, Yraugduin, once roamed the halls of the Lonely Mountain. It's a myth, of course, as no such beast has ever existed. However, it represents the connection between our people and our lost kingdom." Thorin's voice grows resolute. "So, yes, a boar does hold symbolic meaning for us dwarves. It embodies our heritage, our spirit, and our unwavering resolve to reclaim what is rightfully ours."

I pretend I don't hear that last bit or the way he said it.

"Will you give it back to me once we've reclaimed Erebor?" I ask pointedly, deciding to stop beating around the bush. Give me mah coin!

Thorin gives me a look, "I thought you said you didn't want a single coin?"

"Aw, come on Thorin! Don't be like that." I roll my eyes as I watch the porcupine in him flare up again, "I'm just going to throw it into the treasure hoard anyway. So, it'll still technically be yours when I go home."

Thorin gives a solemn shake of his head, "As I said before, magic does not work that way."

"You also said I'm a 'first for many things'." I remind him.

He doesn't respond for a moment but when he speaks, his voice takes on a strange tone, "What if you can't go home? What if there's no way back? What if you're here permanently?"

Now it's my turn to bristle. My anxiety and pride that I keep hidden raise their sleepy heads a bit and I try to quickly calm them down, telling them to go back to sleep. Thorin and I just got to a good place a couple of days ago, and I don't want another wall to come up between us.

But try as I might, I can't keep the hard resolve out of my voice. "Or perhaps, when there's a will then there's a way. And I will find a way home. You should understand that better than anyone."

Thorin looks back to the front. He doesn't answer for a long moment but remains steadily focused on the road in front of him, the ponies clopping along. I sigh, and pull my pony to go back to ride by Fili when he finally speaks, his tone soft, "I will give you the coin to throw in once we have reclaimed Erebor."

Something in his tone of voice makes me pause, but I give him a nod and a smile.

I had always assumed that Bree had been portrayed as dark and rainy and sinister because it was a representation of the scary feeling of leaving the shire, aka 'your safe place'. But...it looks better in the dark to be honest. That way you don't have to see all the human waste in the street.

It's the first human village I've been to in Middle Earth and I'm not too impressed. The houses aren't bad, formed of stone and hewn wood with mud filling in the cracks. Very reminiscent of old German homes with beams on the front of them and high vaulted roofs. But after living in a hobbit hole, I feel like the roughly hewn wood seems unnatural. Almost abrasive. The colors are dark and completely unlike Hobbiton with the colorful dresses and ribbons.

Even so, as I catch my first sight of humans in Middle Earth I feel a pang of homesickness, the size of everything and everyone reminding me of what I grew up acostumed to. I think of my family and friends who must be worried.

Bree's occupants stare at the large company of dwarves, led by a wizard and I bear the looks with as much grace as I can, determined to hold my own. They do a double take when they see that I'm actually a woman, initially thinking me to be a dwarf as well with how short I am. The fact that I'm wearing Bilbo's pants probably doesn't help any.

Thorin takes charge when we dismount at the public stables, his voice commanding the company's attention, "Stay together. Gather supplies and acquire anything still needed. Offer fair payment for goods and services, but no more. Meet at the Prancing Pony afterward. We won't be staying overnight."

I frown, confused. Why wouldnt we stay?

"Thorin?" I come up to him after a few moments, and he turns in my direction "Why won't we be staying the night?"

"There are unsavory characters in this town." Thorin doesn't look at me and instead watches the men passing us by with a wary look as he speaks, "I encountered a few of them when meeting Gandalf. The wilds are a safer place for us than the cities of men." He glances at me at the last bit, checking my response to his words.

I'm not offended. It's not my world or my people.

I shrug, "Yeah. It smells better out than then here too."

An almost smile crosses his face once more before he's serious again, "Here. This is payment for the Mazuldar." He rumbles, handing me five silver coins.

"Uhh, the what?"

"The gold coin is known as a Mazuldar. It is forged of high-gold, and is worth five ghuldar of silver."

"Oh! Uh, thank you." I blink, accepting the silver coins into my palm.

I didn't sell the gold coin to him, and it's a bit presumptuous on his part, but I'm grateful to not be left high and dry until we get to Erebor. If I tilt my head and squint, it's actually very kind of him to pay for the coin even though he feels that it's his.

"How will I know what everything is worth?" I ask worriedly, feeing protective of my precious silver.

"I've asked Balin to accompany you." He nods towards Balin, before turning to other members of the company who have questions for him.

Balin steps forward with a gentle smile, "Anything in particular that you'll be needing, Miss Peyton?"

I smile and shake my head, "Nothing in particular. I'll just follow you."

I watch as the dwarves negotiate, their shrewd bargaining skills on full display. It's clear they're well-versed in the art of trade and I follow Balin and some of the other dwarves around, looking at the different vendors and wares. It's like Michel Delving, only with humans and less cheerful. The objects are much bigger as well, made for human hands rather than hobbit ones.

Balin helps me buy some honey and vanilla soap, a pocket knife, and a weather-resistant hooded cloak. The best thing I acquire however, is some genuine leather boots. Bilbo didn't have any shoes to lend me for my trip, and while my sneakers haven't completely fallen apart, I know they will. There's already a teeny tiny hole where my big toe is.

At last we walk inside the Prancing Pony and I can't help but grin as I look around and remember Frodo and Sam coming here. While the floor plan is very different from The Boar's Head in Michel Delving, the materials aren't. Wood, wood, and more wood. The innkeeper greets us warmly and the tavern is bustling, full of tall humans.

The brothers Ur have made it here before us and have tankards of ale they raise to us in good humor as we make our way over to them. Soon, our whole company is sitting at the tables we push together to seat all sixteen of us, boisterous and merry. Bofur's jokes lighten the room, Bombur's warmth is comforting, and Bifur, when not speaking in Kuzdul, adds a sense of quiet solidarity. Thorin, however, is quiet and keeps watch on the other occupants of the room. His gaze is dark and brooding.

I lean over to Gandalf, and ask, "What's with Thorin?"

Gandalf doesn't even need to look at Thorin, to know what I'm talking about, "Just keeping an eye out, my dear. You never know what trouble may lurk about." He gives me his innocent old man look.

I return it with an unamused deadpan, reminding him who I am. I do know what trouble may lurk about.

He studies the room around us in a casual way for a moment before dropping a bombshell, "There is a bounty on Thorin's head."

My eyes widen. "A bounty??" I whisper in astonishment. I didn't know this.

Gandalf nods and gives the waitress a kind smile, at odds with the words coming from his mouth, "Someone wants him dead."

"Who?!" I whisper in horror.

"I think you know who." His eyebrows sternly pull down as he gives me a knowing look.

Before I can ask anymore questions, Gandalf starts laughing with Dori over something that his granddad used to say, a clear dismissal. I'm left blinking, emotions swirling. My foreknowledge may not be as helpful as I thought. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Eventually, tankards are emptied, meat pies are eaten, and Thorin has us all depart.

We reach a very large overhanging ledge next to a cliff as night fell. Thorin obviously liking the spot because no one could sneak up or surround the company. My mind, in its annoying attempt to be helpful, supplies all sorts of scenarios of me falling off the cliff in my sleep, so I keep as far from the edge as possible in order to remain calm.

We quickly set up camp; the perimeter scouted, campfire started, and food dished out. The company is now either relaxing or preparing for sleep.

Exhausted, I groan as I settle into my sleeping bag on the hard dirt floor, leaning against the outcropping. It's been a grueling 12-hour day.

Ori's hand is finally back to normal, and he is eager to resume his role as the company's scribe. My writing pace was apparently too slow for his overflowing observations, forcing him to wait until I was done writing for him to continue with his next chain of thoughts. I'm glad he has no more need for me because my hand has been cramping like crazy over the past few days.

I steal a rare moment to privately observe Thorin. He, like me, is resting his head back against the rock wall with his eyes closed. In my childhood, I played the character of Thorin Oakenshield because, as the youngest of five brothers, I was the bossy one who made commands and demands. (That, and my mom made them play with me).

My brothers had humored me by putting a paper crown on my head, and off we went, battling imaginary villains for Erebor. It had been a special bonding experience for us. 'A family that plays together stays together' my mom always said and it has turned out to be true for the most part. Even though my brothers are all grown up with families of their own, we're all very close to this day. As for my younger sister, she'd always been concerned about getting dirty and was the princess of our large family of seven kids.

I think being raised with dirty, smelly boys has been a saving grace with the company. Burping, farting, and throwing dirt and rocks at each other has been carefree and funny. Slowly, the company have started to learn, like Bilbo did, that they're free to be themselves around me without my 'ladylike sensibilities' becoming offended.

I tilt my head curiously at Thorin's sleeping form. His attire, a blend of black and brown fur with leather and armor, accentuates his striking appearance. His eyes are still closed, so my survey of his features continues in more detail as I work my way up. I start from his midsection and the thick arms of muscle that cross in front of his chest. The steady way his chest rises and falls with each complete breath, the masculine curve of his Adam's apple, and the neatly trimmed dark beard covering the lower half of his face all capture my attention. His bottom lip is fuller than the upper, and those neat identical braids frame both ears. Finally, my gaze settles on the strong prominent nose, a characteristic shared by the Durin line. Kili and Fili have it as well. I can't help but wonder what Durin himself had looked like and if he had been more handsome than the three Durin boys in our company.

A howl in the distance diverts my attention from my inappropriate scrutiny of Thorin's attractive features, particularly his long eyelashes and silver-streaked hair. I turn towards the sound.

"What was that?!" Bilbo inquires, echoing my own anxiety.

"Orcs. Fiends of the night. There'll be hundreds of them roaming around these parts." Fili says somberly.

"Aye. They come upon companies like ours in the wee hours of the morning. No screams, no cries...just a lot of blood." Kili's face looks fearful as he relays this information.

Fear clutches my heart and Bilbo and I exchange frightened glances. And I was going to come out here alone!? That's absolutely terrify-

"You think that's funny?"

Thorin's voice startles me, and I turn to find him rising from where I'd been observing him.

"You think an orc raid at night is a joke?" He addresses the two young dwarves, coming to where we sit.

I turn to see Kili and Fili appearing contrite, their eyes abashed. I scowl when I realize they'd been teasing us about the orcs. There aren't any orcs.

"We're sorry uncle." they apologize, "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." His voice is the coldest I've ever heard from him when dealing with his nephews.

I watch wide-eyed as he stalks off towards the cliffside. Balin, who'd been smoking his pipe next to Gandalf during the discussion comes over to offer some consolation to the two young dwarves. He began to recount the story of King Thror's ill-fated battle with the orcs from Moria after their exile from the Lonely Mountain. As I watch Balin's face, recounting the tale, I remember with a quiet gasp that it was HIS tomb in Moria that was found by the Fellowship of the Ring. How can that be? Why did he go back to Moria? If there was such wanton destruction that day, as his ghastly descriptions of the blood and carnage indicate, then why do it again?

I glance over at Thorin's hunched back, the chilly wind combing through his hair and I think of the horrible battle Balin describes. The beheading of his grandfather before his very eyes. My stomach churns as I try and fail to think of something like that happening to my own grandpa.

"His father attempted to defeat Azog on his own in rage but he fell, and was not counted among the dead. We know not what became of him. We were leaderless, and death was upon us. And that was when...I saw him." Balin's eyes shine with deep love and respect. I feel movement at my side and I glance around and see that all the dwarves have woken up and gathered around, eager to hear Balin speak of Thorin's incredible act of courage.

"A young dwarf prince, facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against his terrible foe. Again and again, Azog smote at him. Destroying his armor, his shield, his sword…"

My heart beats fast.

"His armor rent, wielding nothing but an Oakenbranch that he finds amongst our slain as a shield, he withstood the Orc's mighty blows. Picking up a discarded sword, he smote off the arm of the Pale Orc."

Ballin had initially begun the story focusing on Kili and Fili, and even Bilbo. But slowly his focus remains more and more on me as he speaks. Probably because my expression is the most animated. My mouth is literally hanging down as far as it can go, my eyes wide.

For some strange reason, this story reminds me of Isildur during the battle of elves, dwarves, and men against Sauron's army. His father- killed by Sauron. His sword- broken by Sauron's boot. Using the remnants of his broken sword, he sliced off the hand of Sauron.

A single light... facing a terrible darkness.

"How old was he?" I breathe out, my curiosity forcing me to speak.

Balin's face turns even more solemn, "The prince was only fifty-three. Barely of age to be in a battle of this magnitude. But Azog the Defiler learned that day that the blood of Durin is strong, and his line would not be so easily broken."

Kili and Fili straighten up at that pronouncement, recognizing the need to be strong like their uncle. Kili and Fili are eighty-two and seventy-seven. It blew my mind when they told me they were so old, yet so young at the same time. Thorin had been younger than them when he went against Azog. A literal 'David versus Goliath' story if there ever was one.

"But there was no feast. No song. For our dead were beyond counting. We few had survived." Ballin nods towards the stoic figures of Dwalin, Gloin, and Oin. "And as I saw Thorin walking amongst our fallen kin, I thought to myself then 'there is one I could follow. There is one I could call King'." Balin looks over to where Thorin stands. It's apparent that he regards Thorin more highly than both Thrain and Thror. Perhaps he even holds them responsible for the unnecessary deaths in the Battle of Azanulbizar.

I also glance at Thorin, who has turned to look at the rest of us after Balin's heavy pronouncement. His posture displays a weariness born of the heavy burden of kingship and his blue eyes seem tired and sad. Even while I watch him though, they harden as he looks over the company, accepting this mantle placed upon him and his duty to look over his people as he slowly returns to us.

A strange feeling flutters and warms my heart. I've never met anyone like him before.

Our gazes meet as he walks towards us, and I find myself unable to look away. Could I ever be as brave and sacrificing as someone like him? His eyes flit over my face as he studies my reaction to the story and the lines around his face seem to calm as he and I watch one another.

"And the Pale Orc?" Bilbo asks, popping whatever moment Thorin and I have going on. "What happened to him?"

Thorin's glower comes back as he directs his attention on my friend, "That filth slunk back into the pit he crawled out of. He succumbed to his wounds long ago." Thorin walks back over to where he had gotten up from.

I look over at Gandalf who is sharing a look with Balin and I frown at their silence. What are they doing?! Someone should tell Thorin!

If Gandalf is right, and the Valar kidnapped me in the middle of my college semester to ensure Thorin's survival, then he needs to know! The more he knows about this particular event of Azog, the better his chances are. There's no way I can save him from Azog...but, perhaps I can better prepare him for their inevitable confrontation.

After debating within myself for several long moments, I stand up and approach Thorin cautiously.

"Thorin," I mumur quietly when I get to him, "We need to talk. There's something you should know about Azog."

Thorin frowns, his eyes guarded. I gesture towards a secluded spot that is further away from the company and turn away, knowing he will follow. The company's scrutiny makes me uncomfortable and my confidence falters with all their eyes on me. Why are they so nosy whenever I'm around him? Do they still think I'm a spy?

We come to a halt where the faint glow of the fire barely illuminates the surrounding trees. I turn to face Thorin, who stands before me with folded arms. After a few tense moments, he raises an eyebrow.

I feel my cheeks flush, "Oh! I thought you would…I mean… yes. Yes, I will tell you." I clear my throat, "Azog isn't dead."

I'm glad I took us so far from the company because he doesn't attempt to be quiet when his arms unfold and he loses all semblance of calm, "Excuse me?" Disbelief and anger color his tone. He leans towards me, angrily and my eyes widen.

Shoot. Perhaps ripping the band-aid off isn't the best way to go about this since they might think I'm a spy again? I had had a few days to plan my apology and to think of what I wanted to say, but I didn't plan to tell him this. Being subtle has never been my forte and it's too late to back out now.

"Uh, Azog the Defiler? The Pale Orc? He, uh, he isn't dead...He's alive." I mumble helplessly, knowing that he already heard what I said and that repeating it is just painful.

Thorin's eyes are livid. His voice is dark and terrifying as he denies my words, "No. Azog the Defiler is no more. He was slain in battle long ago!"

Maybe I should have eased him into it? You should never poke angry bears…or Dwarf Kings apparently. I really need to work on that. From the way he's looking at me, I should just throw myself over the cliff and save him the trouble.

"I understand why you might think that," I try to say placatingly, but I grimace at my tone. It sounds like I'm trying to calm a child down from a tantrum, "But, no... he unfortunately survived." I fist my shirt nervously to keep myself from bolting. "I just...thought you should know. That way you don't get surprised when he shows up after we reclaim Erebor?" I finish gently, wishing I could get him to stop looking at me like that.

His face is actually very easy to read at the moment switching between anger and denial. I even catch a glimpse of intense pain passing over his features. I feel absolutely horrible for what he must be going through right now. Imagine getting justice for your grandpa and father only to discover that…no, you didn't get justice? That your mortal enemy is still out there, wreaking havoc on other innocent souls?

I want to comfort him, but I just don't know how. He doesn't seem the hugging sort.

He takes in my posture, my expression, and his glower fades to become a blank expression. My stomach drops at his next words, "I don't believe you. Even if what you say was true, which you have no proof of...Why now? Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

It's a valid question. He had asked me to give him proof of my knowledge of the future back in Bilbo's home. But would he have believed me?

I shake my head sadly, "You wouldn't have believed me if I told you earlier."

He glowers, "Aye, and I don't believe you now either."

"Exactly my point!" I plead with him, hoping he'll understand. "I haven't been hiding it from you, Thorin. It's just that the subject of Azog hasn't arisen until this very moment! I never planned to join this quest but I was still going to tell you before Gandalf sent me home. It just never came up until now."

Attempting a gentler approach, I lower my tone, seeking to soothe his doubts. "You have the strength to overcome him, Thorin. I believe in you. And... I will help you in any way that I can. I promise."

Thorin's eyes bore into mine, brimming with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. After a fleeting moment, he shakes his head and gruffly inquires, "How? If he were truly alive...What in Durin's name could you hope to achieve? Two dwarf kings, skilled and battle-hardened, fell at his hand. As well as the countless lives he mercilessly snuffed out."

In other words 'You're completely useless. You can do nothing.'

He's got me. That's kind of what I was saying to Gandalf this whole time too. But I've been roped into coming along this crazy adventure anyway. I've never held a weapon before unless you count the baseball bat that I keep in my dorm room just in case. But...brains triumph over brawn. At least, that's what all the fairytale stories have taught me.

"Uhh, I'm still working on that..." I admit sheepishly. "Physically, I'm pretty sure I can't do anything. I mean, the guy's huge. But... perhaps we can set a trap or something for him? He won't be expecting that."

Thorin is silent.

"Thorin." I sigh and step closer, trying to infuse my voice with trustworthiness, "You said that you believe my intentions to be genuine. I wouldn't lie to you about this."

More silence. Then finally...

"When is it that you believe he will present himself?" he asks lowly.

I brighten hopefully. He seems to be coming to terms with it!

"I know the major fight with him is after we reclaim Erebor. And-"

"Is everything all right here?" A gruff voice comes up behind me and I whirl with a gasp to see Dwalin. We've obviously been away from the camp for too long in his estimation and he came out to find us. Only, he went around the back in order to come on my other side.

"Uhh, yes! Everything's fine!" I squeak and then clear my throat. "Just preparation tactics. Nothing that Thorin can't manage."

I throw in the last bit to see if a bit of flattery will get me somewhere with the dwarf king. I glance back at Thorin.

He crosses his arms once more and gives Dwalin a somber look, "Miss Peyton says that Azog the Defiler lives." He shoots me a skeptical look as he finishes.

Dwalin growls behind me, "Aye? And how do you know that?" The warrior's whole body is tense, suddenly menacing.

"I told you already, I'm a seer."

Might as well roll with it, right? I'm not telling them that their whole life is a figment of my imagination and that they're actually living in a book. No way in heck, unless I want them to forbid me from coming with them because they think I'm a looney. Maybe I'll try that tactic once we get to Mirkwood so they forbid me from coming with them and then I can avoid the spiders?

Dwalin pulls out a gleaming dagger from one of his pockets and begins playing with it casually in his hands, "I'd be more inclined to believe that you're a spy than a seer, lass."

I take a step back in trepidation. Not THIS again...

"Enough." Thorin states firmly says to Dwalin, "If she were a spy, she would have just exposed a significant advantage of surprise. That being said...I don't believe Azog would have survived such a severe wound."

A smile of relief had shown on my face that he DEFENDED me... only for it to become a frown. How can it be so hard for him to believe? I thought he was coming around to the idea!

My patience has reached it's max and I ignore Dwalin, turning to face Thorin completely. My patronizing tone at a level ten, "Uh, Thorin? You chopped off his arm. People survive without arms all the time!! It's not like you stabbed him in the heart!!"

I can't stop my frustrated eye roll at the end. This guy.

Thorin's eyes flash in anger and he counters, "In a disgusting cesspool of Orc waste?"

"YES!" I throw up my hands, "In a disgusting cesspool of Orc waste! And if I somehow am wrong and I'm in a very strange alternate dimension of Middle Earth, then I will give you a million and one apologies!"

"So you admit then, that he may not even be alive." Thorin narrows is his eyes, voice hard.

"I'm 99% sure he." My voice hard as well.

"And I am certain that he is not."

"Yeah!? You saw his grave?!" I yell back at him, absolutely furious.

Suddenly, I catch sight of Dwalin in my peripheral vision, his fist raised towards his face. I steal a quick glance at him and to my astonishment, it appears he's trying to hide a mocking smile behind that fist. Thorin, noticing my gaze, halts what he was about to say and turns to look at Dwalin and me.

Dwalin, in response to our quizzical expressions, shrugs. 'You two bicker like an old married couple,' he remarks gruffly, gesturing at our mirrored aggressive stances. We'd been so engrossed in our heated argument that we practically invaded each other's personal space.

Simultaneously, Thorin and I relax our postures, prompting Dwalin's mean smile to widen.

In a moment of panic, I resort to my tried-and-true defense mechanism – pushing people away and distancing myself. 'Oh, please. Old married couple? Thorin here is the old one,' I quip, thumbing in his direction. 'I'm in my prime!'

Thorin scoffs in annoyance at my childish answer, "Really? This again?"

"Yep! I'm going to call you 'Grandpa Thorin' in front of the whooooole company." I smile at him in mock sweetness. That should do it.

Thorin's scowl could peel paint. But then suddenly he pauses, gives me a look and completely changes his tune. "If I recall correctly, you once said I was 'too young and handsome' to be Thorin Oakenshield."

Oh Sh%&*%#

I'm shocked. I didn't know he had it in him. Low blow, Oakenshield.

"Well, I...I didn't know I was in Middle Earth at the time, so...so you can't hold anything I said against me!" I retort, glaring at him, my face flushing as I notice his and Dwalin's growing amusement. "I wouldn't have said that if I knew you were Thorin Oakenshield and...and we're getting off topic!!"

How did we go from Azog wiping out the line of Durin to this?! I would rather have all of Thorin's dark fury focused on me than explore that dark cave of secrets.

Desperate to abandon this sinking ship, I change the subject, "Look...it's late. We can continue this conversation some other time. Just...just forget that this conversation even happened!"

I turn and storm away in frustration, stomping back to camp. I half-expect Thorin to call me back and order me to stop, but to my surprise, he doesn't.

PLEASE Valar! Don't let them talk about me while I'm gone!

Nope. The Valar must be on their lunch break because I faintly hear Dwalin chuckle, "By my beard...too young and handsome, eh?"

Sweet mother of Neptune! Someone put me out of my misery! I should have never brought up Azog. I should have just sprung out of a bush at their final battle and yelled, 'Surprise! He's alive! As you can already see...'

I feel like my face is on fire. Making my way back to the company, I attempt an innocent and happy smile at all of them. "Welp! I'm beat. Goodnight guys!"

I crawl into my sleeping bag, ignoring the inquisitive looks. I pretend to not notice the strange smirks and glances exchanged among the dwarves.

Cliff edge, here I come.

Unfortunately, Bilbo isn't deterred by my lack of eye contact. 'What did you and he talk about?'

Dude!? Can you not read the room?! Sheesh!

"Oh, you know. This and that. We mostly talked about boring Erebor quest stuff. Nothing interesting."

Bilbo's face is puzzled, "I thought I heard some yelling?"

Curse Bilbo's pointy ears!

"Yeah, well...he disagreed with me on the boring Erebor quest stuff. But, he'll come around to it eventually. Night!"

I lay down and face the wall, the fire light reflecting brightly off of it. I sleep better in the dark, but it doesn't matter since I know I won't be sleeping tonight. My mind torments me and I begin to doubt myself. What if changing one thing changes every thing? How much of everything is all tied together?

It reminds me of that one PS3 game about this weird flesh-eating Wendigo creature in the mountains and you have to make different choices that influence everything else. Some of the plot HAS to stay the same though no matter what I choose...

Right?

End of Chapter

Gosh, I was planning this scene for a long time. But then the SwanInProgress posted her latest chapter to The Loudest Silence where Jenna tells Thorin that Azog is alive (Go and read that story RIGHT NOW if you haven't)...and it was just so amazing that I became up and down on whether or not just to cut this chapter completely. But it's just always bothered me that no one seems to warn Thorin about Azog ahead of time when that's what their mission is, lol! It's just always been part of my story that Peyton (who doesn't keep her future knowledge to herself like a good girl) would tell Thorin upfront that Azog isn't dead. And since she has no finesse, it would of course come out as a horrible mess. I blame Thorin's nonchalance about the whole thing as him not really taking her seriously. He doesn't know her well enough yet. As time goes on he'll see that she knows what she's talking about(for the most part).

ALSO! I read this story out loud to my mom, who pointed out to me that I repeat myself. A LOT. With the same words! For example, last chapter I wrote "Thorin raises an eyebrow at my casual mention of regicide, but after a moment, he accepts the bowl with a hesitant nod of thanks. Glancing back at the camp, I notice curious glances directed our way, and it seems like things have gotten quiet for the most part. Everyone seems to be shooting us curious glances, the company wondering how our conversation will unfold."

I've noticed that this happens a lot in my writing and I dunno if it's because there's a glitch in my brain that makes me write the same thing over again but in another way? Lol, but I need to do some major updating to the chapters to help them flow a little more! Does anyone know how I can update my whole story all at once so you don't get a BUNCH of updates? PM me if you do! Thanks!