I tried to make this chapter unique, but we all know how it ends, lol. Thanks for the favorites, likes, and especially reviews!

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"I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me. They, and the love and loyalty that I give them, form my identity more than any word or group ever could." -Veronica Roth

~Chapter 16~

A Frightened Rabbit

Standing outside the Troll's disgusting cave, I debate whether it's even worth going inside. I want to explore the cave because I've always been fascinated by them, and the book hints at all sorts of treasure that would be neat to go through. However, the putrid smell of sweaty feet and cabbage makes my eyes water.

Gandalf, Thorin, and some of the company have already gone inside, coughing and hacking as they continue deeper into the cave. I try to follow them, breathing through my mouth, but the smell is so potent that I can taste it on my tongue. I only manage to take a few steps down the stairs before I turn and rush back outside, gasping for breath.

Bilbo will later tell Frodo, fifty years from now, that the chest of gold from the trolls still reeks of troll. I don't think it's worth it to have that kind of grime stuck to my shoes.

Instead, I take a moment to admire the unique forest surrounding us. Soft, spongy moss blankets everything it can find, creating a lush green carpet over the rugged rocks. The trees seem to be dripping with it.

I notice Bilbo rummaging through his pack, his expression downcast and a bit upset. "Hey, Bilbo," I say, coming over to him.

He looks up at me but then down at his pack, continuing to rummage through it. "Hi, Peyton."

Uh oh.

"Um, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I mean... I didn't want to get you in trouble, and I-"

"It's quite alright," he says firmly, still not looking at me.

"I mean, it wasn't your fault, you know? So, I don't get why they took it out on you. They're just grouchy because they didn't get any sleep, you know?"

Bilbo chuckles humorlessly, almost frustrated, but continues to rummage through his pack. "You truly don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" I inquire, my eyes widening in curiosity. What have I missed?

"Nothing." He sighs, standing up and facing me. His nose twitches, and he purses his lips, an expression tinged with self-doubt. "They were right, though. It was my fault that the company got captured."

"No, Bilbo, that's not-"

"I couldn't even manage to sneak away with the ponies!" He exclaims, exasperated. I watch him, surprised; I've never seen him this agitated before. "I'm an utterly inadequate burglar!"

He starts to walk past me, but I raise my hand, gently halting his progress. "It wasn't your job to watch the ponies." I assure him in a low, earnest tone, "And the company was going to be captured by trolls regardless."

Bilbo shakes his head, so I dip my head, even more earnestly, "I'm serious! You actually did better than I thought you would! Gandalf was supposed to distract the trolls, but YOU did instead! You were great!"

Bilbo regards me closely, searching for any sign that I'm just trying to make him feel better before he finally looks away and shrugs. Clearing his throat and blinking rapidly, before looking down at the ground and back at me, "I doubt the others will share that perspective, I'm afraid."

"Give it time," I say gently.

He sighs once more before nodding again and turning back to his pack, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

I sigh too before walking over to Bombur. It's nearly 9am, and we still haven't gotten breakfast ready for the group. It's peculiar, but understandable given the circumstances. "Hey, Bombur, what can I do to help?"

Just then, the dwarves come out of the troll cave, and I watch Gandalf pull Bilbo to the side, handing him a sword. My lips widen into an excited smile. It's Sting!

But my view of Bilbo with his trusty sword is suddenly obstructed by a familiar dark-haired king approaching me, holding a different sword. I examine Thorin's face, wondering if he's still upset from our previous encounter.

However, his gaze is surprisingly calm as he extends a sword towards me. "Here."

I stare at him in disbelief, "Is this for me?" I hesitantly wrap my hand around the dusty handle, lifting it from his grasp. It's not too heavy, but it isn't feather-light either.

"Aye. For your training."

Part of me cringes at the thought, but another part is now excited. "Wow... Thank you!"

Buying a sword is expensive. And now I have a free one? Huck, yus!

Thorin's eyes briefly lower to the forest floor before returning to meet mine. "I also express my gratitude."

I stare at him in surprise, caught off guard by this unexpected gesture. "You do? What for?"

"For your brave but foolish intervention," Thorin states as he folds his arms across his chest, looking reluctant. "You meant well, though it won't be repeated." He gives me an imperious look, reminding me of his leadership position and our previous argument regarding orders being obeyed.

I huff a smile and shake my head. Stubborn dwarf. "Don't worry; I promise I won't try to save you from trolls ever again." We won't be facing any, so that's an easy promise.

There's a unique bond that forms between people when one saves another's life, and we both feel it as we exchange glances. What's more, is that it's the second time in three days. I had completely forgiven him for calling me a liability as soon as the trolls went on a rampage to find me. It makes sense now why he and the others were initially against a woman in their group. Not because they thought I was inferior to them, but because of the increased danger my presence presents. This realization makes me appreciate their bravery even more.

"I do have a question though," I tilt my head slightly to the side, "Kili said that you're the best sword fighter in the company. Why aren't you going to train me instead of Dwalin?"

Thorin's gaze scans over the company as he answers, not looking at me, "Because Dwalin is a professional trainer. He excels at teaching."

I look over at Dwalin, standing beside Nori, who are surprisingly watching our conversation. "Huh. So when he's not in a battle, he's training for a battle?" Sounds like Dwalin.

"Aye."

Curious to know what the great Thorin Oakenshield likes to do for work, I look back and ask, "So, what do you like to do when you're not in a battle?"

Thorin falls silent for a moment, slightly taken aback by my question. "I'm-"

Suddenly, he pauses, his eyes narrowing as he hears something in the distance. I stop and listen as well, but I don't hear anything.

"Something's coming!" Thorin's voice rings out to the company.

My heart skips a beat, and I can't help but picture giant trolls crashing through the green forest, eager to eat me. It's an illogical fear since the sun is shining, but my heart still races, and my body trembles.

Thorin and the rest of the company rush past me towards the sound, ready for action. I hold my sword tightly in my hand, my heart nervously pounding.

I gasp and jump back in fright as a bunch of tiny animals shoot out of a bush. A man on a sled shortly follows behind them.

"Thieves! Murderers!" he shouts, his brown hat reminding me of Bofur's, and his clothes are also a matching muddy brown. I look closer at the animals at the front of his sled. Bunnies?! Very large bunnies.

"Radagast!" Gandalf sighs in relief, having been as frightened as the rest of us. "What on Middle-earth are you doing on this side of the Misty Mountains?"

Radagast?! This is... 150% NOT how the story goes!

"I came to find you, Gandalf! Something's wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong!" Radagast shivers, seemingly terrified.

Gandalf asks, wariness back again, "Yes?"

I step forward, listening closely, my worry growing.

Radagast lifts up a hand and begins to speak, only to pause. He makes to speak again but again is halted in his thoughts. "Just... just give me a minute..."

Puzzled, I look over at Thorin. He glances at me, aware of my gaze, and then back at Radagast.

"Oooh, why can't I remember?! I had the thought. It was right there! On the tip of my tongue! Oh!... it's not a thought at all." His tongue becomes strange in his mouth as I watch on, equal parts disturbed and confused until he opens his mouth wide, and Gandalf pulls a long, thin stick insect from his mouth like a nightmare come to life.

I lose it.

Unable to stop myself, I turn and dry heave into the bushes, feeling as if something is crawling and tickling inside my throat. Why? Just why?!

I hear Radagast's embarrassed muttering, "Oh... oh dear! I... I didn't know there were females present! If I had known, I would have cleaned up better! I'm so terribly sorry!"

As I continue to gag and choke, I can't help but wonder, are there not many females in Middle-earth? Are they all eaten or something? I'm so glad the company hasn't had breakfast yet.

Feeling someone patting my back, I hear Bilbo's embarrassed voice as he mutters to the rest of the company, "She's fine. She's fine."

Gandalf and Radagast move away from the main group, leaving me a moment of privacy. After a while, I'm finally able to collect myself and stop my retching. I take deep breaths. My stomach aches, and so does my head. Ugh. I never want to see something like that again.

"You okay, Pey?" Fili laughs, sitting beside me on a large mossy stone.

"Nope," I say before giving him a small smile. "Thanks for asking, though."

"You do look a little green," Kili jokes, sitting as well.

The two nitwits begin regaling me with tales about the different bugs they've eaten in their lifetime taking great delight in my expressions as I am forced to ignore them and continue taking deep breaths. Curse these two.

To distract myself from their immature prank, my gaze remains fixed on Radagast and Gandalf, who are engrossed in their hushed conversation.

Radagast... is disgusting. In every way, shape, and form. The guy looks like he hasn't bathed in years... the bird poop dripping down the side of his face is a testament to that. Why allow animals to leave their excrement on your FACE?! Does he have no dignity, or is he just high all the time?

But the unexpected arrival of the brown wizard isn't lost on me, and my curiosity heightens as he retrieves a wrapped object from his tattered cloak. It looks like a sword? I can't help but shiver as an inexplicable tingle crawls up my spine. A moment of panic grips me, and I instinctively swat at my shoulder, half-expecting to find an insect or some other unsettling presence. The sensation vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving me bewildered and even more intrigued.

"Miss Peyton." Thorin addresses me, breaking my concentration as he approaches from where he had been conversing with Dwalin, clearly intending on asking me something.

"Yes, Mister Thorin?" I respond, turning to him with a smirk.

He pauses, looking somewhat confused by my use of the formal title. Up until now, I had always addressed every member of the company by their first name. This is the first instance where I've added a "Mister" when addressing someone.

My smile broadens. "You called me Peyton during the troll incident. It's too late to turn back now."

I am semi-aware of Fili and Kili sitting beside me, appearing quite invested in our conversation. Nosy?

"It's not proper," Thorin shakes his head, a hint of embarrassment in his expression as he also glances at his nephews. "I called you that to get your attention."

"Everyone else calls me Peyton, except for you," I remind him, raising an eyebrow.

He responds with a look of his own. "Dwalin doesn't. Balin doesn't."

"You're right. They refer to me as 'lass,'" I chuckle. "If you insist on not using my first name, then I'll have no choice but to address you as 'Mister Thorin' every time I speak to you. That way, you'll know how I feel."

A sudden howl pierces the air, causing whatever Thorin and I were discussing to be instantly forgotten. Everyone stands up, alert and ready. What was that?

"Is that a wolf?" Bilbo's brow furrows nervously as he looks at our leader in shock, "Are... Are there wolves here?"

A growl is the only warning I get before I turn around, and the air is abruptly forced out of my lungs as I hit the ground with a pained wheeze. My sword flies out of my hands clattering somewhere in the distance.

Death stares me in the face in the form of long yellow teeth and foul breath. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die, but there's no time for that. I can't scream; my lungs are devoid of air as my vision fills with the dark gaping throat and pink tongue beyond the wolf's pointy teeth while my chest is crushed into the soil of the forest floor by an enormous paw. The wolf's growling muzzle snaps shut as Thorin slams his sword down upon its head in a killing blow. The others start stabbing its body as well, even though Thorin's blow was powerful enough on its own.

Time stands still in that brief second as I look up, my entire being focused on the upside-down image of my hero's face. He bends down, offering me his hand like a lifeline and the light reflects around his head like a halo. I place mine in his with zero hesitation, my thoughts in a daze. His hand is as I remember it, calloused and strong as he pulls me out from under the heavy weight of the dead wolf. One hand grips mine and the other holds Orcrist, still lodged in the wolf's skull. I can only stare at his worried face in amazement, seeing only him.

"You DO know how to use a sword!" I whisper in awe.

Thorin's blue eyes are the only thing I see in that brief moment. That makes this the third time he has saved my life in the span of only two days.

I'm so grateful to be alive that I could kiss him.

He's distracted by the look on my face and doesn't notice the other warg suddenly appearing right behind him until it's too late. There's no time to even gasp as a swift arrow from Kili's bow buries itself in the warg's skull. The warg crashes down, almost rolling over the two of us. A strong tree trunk blocks its way, but the monster isn't dead as it rolls around it, snapping its jaws at me. Thorin's reflexes are unmatched as he immediately pulls me further out of harm's way.

Dwalin raises his axe and with a mighty chop, instantly kills it. He knows how to use his axe as well!

"Warg scouts!" Bofur cries, in a panic.

Yeah. We know, Bofur. Thank you.

"That means an orc pack is not far behind," Thorin snarls as he finally manages to wrench Orcrist from deep within the warg's head.

I'm trembling, my breaths coming in frightened gasps. I can hardly breathe. In that moment of chaos, the only anchor I have is Thorin's firm grip on my arm, pulling me away from the dead carcass toward the rest of the company.

"Who did you tell about your quest?! Beyond your kin?" Gandalf demands, his voice urgent.

"No one!" Thorin denies firmly.

"WHO, Thorin?" Gandalf presses, his voice edged with desperation.

"No one, I swear!" His voice deepens with the rising stress. "What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You're being hunted!" Gandalf replies, panic evident in his voice, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

Thorin and I exchange simultaneous glances. The very breakdown I had expected to witness after revealing Azog's existence unfolds before me. Panic fills Thorin's entire being, a profound despair he struggles to contain, even as his breaths grow heavy. Everything I had told him about Azog all comes flooding back, but he battles within himself to find an explanation, any explanation, for the sudden appearance of the warg scouts. He closes his eyes, shaking his head, endeavoring to keep his composure as tormenting memories flood in. His hand, clutching the sword, trembles, and he lowers it so no one will see.

"It cannot be," he whispers to himself, anguished.

His agony surprisingly snaps me out of my mini meltdown. My mind is torn between going into shock after a warg had almost chomped my face off...and trying to help Thorin. How could the orcs and wargs be upon us before we've even set foot in the Misty Mountains? It was only after the Goblin King died that they were supposed to send the wargs after us!

However, at that moment, my only concern is him. I place a hesitant hand on his arm; the touch of his rough clothing beneath my fingertips grounds me in the midst of the chaos.

"Thorin-"

But before I can say anything, the warp poop REALLY hits the fan, and the world around us descends into sheer pandemonium.

"The ponies! They've bolted!" Ori cries, running to the group from a ledge ahead. He had been in charge of taking care of them since Kili and Fili had butchered that job the night before.

Now it's my turn to freak out. Terrible, paralyzing fear closes in all around me. The ponies?! The ponies that stay with us until they are stolen in Goblin town? The ponies that help us travel up the steep banks of the Misty Mountains? Those ponies?!

Sudden howls rise up all around us, and I let out a whimpered gasp, stepping closer to Thorin. The sense of impending doom tightens its grip, and I feel like a hunted rabbit waiting for the inevitable. My mind races with dread. We're trapped. There's no way out. I've changed the story too much, and we're all going to die here.

Thorin looks around the forest, eyes open for more pouncing Wargs. His knuckles are white from how hard the sword is clenched in his hand.

"I will lead them away from you!" Radagast says, drawing all the company's attention to him. "It should give you enough time to get to the Valley."

"They are Gundabad Wargs! They will outrun you!" Gandalf argues what everyone's thinking, frustrated.

"These are Rosgabell Rabbits!" Radagast argues back.

Gandalf falls silent, and I watch the conversation intently.

Radagast's expression is that of a card player who has all the Aces. "I'd like to see them try."

"Rosta-what Rabbits?" I interject breathlessly, hoping that it's a super-fast kind of rabbit. I've never heard of them.

"They're the fastest rabbits in all of Middle Earth!" Radagast confirms, hopping onto the back of his sled. "I will make sure the wargs focus on me." His eyes carry a determined look.

I stare at this strange man, feeling a tinge of guilt. Guilt that I thought such unkind thoughts about him. Sure, he may appear stinky, grungy, and utterly unconcerned with social norms or personal hygiene, and yes, insects seem to have made a home on his body. But now, as he prepares to put himself in harm's way for people he doesn't even know, I realize that I misjudged him.

But before I or anyone else can thank him, he clicks to his rabbits, and they shoot off through the forest like a blur. One second he's there, and then the next he's disappeared.

"Grab your packs and get ready to run!" Gandalf gruffly tells to us all, facing in the direction that Radagast went.

My heart races as I sprint towards where Bofur and I left our packs. The weight of my pack feels like a lifeline as I sling it over my shoulders, and for a brief moment, I'm thankful for its lightness.

I don't realize I'm breathing heavily until I feel a calming hand on my shoulder. I turn, and I'm surprised to see none other than the wide chocolate eyes of Kili. "Just breathe, Pey," he says kindly.

I'm surprised and touched by his gesture. He doesn't promise me that everything is going to be okay and that we're all going to make it out of here. That's what I should technically be doing. I'm the one that's supposed to have all the answers. But the order he gives me, to just breathe...well, that I can do. I can keep breathing. One breath at a time.

I put a hand over his hand and give it a squeeze. I just escaped death by hypothermia, and they escaped getting eaten by trolls. Now we're all going to get eaten by wargs. What a horrible way to go.

The thick, mossy forest gives way to grassy, yellow fields dotted with tall pillars of grey stone. They tower over us, providing shade and cover as we sprint along, boots sinking into the soft, dusty grassland, our panting breaths synchronized to the ominous braying of wargs in relentless pursuit. The maniacal laughter of Radagast reaches our ears every once in a while.

My chest tightens, my legs threaten to cramp, yet I persist, gasping for every breath. An old knee injury flares up, and I feel a painful stitch in my side. My whole body is still recovering from the earlier battle with hypothermia, and my lungs struggle to take in the needed air through my dry throat.

But I can't give up, and it's not because of the menacing wargs closing in. It's the two obnoxious dwarves running alongside me, who won't allow me to surrender to my fate. I'd have given up every minute for the past fifteen if it weren't for Kili and Fili, the two dwarves I'm somehow supposed to save along with Thorin. How ironic. Nori, struggling just as I am, clutches his chest in pain, while Ori and Dori steadfastly remain by his side. Surprisingly, Bilbo keeps pace remarkably well.

Gasping for breath, I manage to express my gratitude to my companions. "Thanks... guys," I huff, my breath ragged and my legs burning. My backpack now feels like a lead weight, thumping with my movements, though it's lighter than the dwarves' packs. Fili is carrying my sword, a fact that astonishes me. He's like a walking armory. How can he run with all those weapons hiding in his clothes?!

Kili, hardly breaking a sweat, shakes his head and says, "I've never seen someone so out of shape. Even Bombur runs faster than you!"

Oh, that's cold.

I struggle to respond between gasps for air. "Yeah… well…" I wheeze, desperately trying to gather enough oxygen to form a coherent response, "I'm... not a... dwarf! And... in... my... world... we have... cars!"

"Cars? Save your breath. Explain later," Fili says and pushes his hand firmer into my back, silently urging me to keep up the pace. I had started to slow down and I'm not allowed to do that.

That's fine. Didn't want to talk anyway. Can't breathe.

Finally, the entire company reaches an outcropping of rocks. I collapse against them, struggling for air.

"Quiet, Peyton!" Thorin whispers urgently.

When I can't, my lungs not allowing me to stifle my own gasps, Thorin suddenly jerks me close and covers my mouth with his hand. I clutch his arm in desperation, attempting to remove his hand, but he doesn't budge. I almost pass out from the lack of oxygen. The only reason I don't pass out is because I resort to breathing heavily through my nose. However, my nose is dry from running and it produces an audible whistle. We all stand there, trying to be silent while I'm just whistling away.

The embarrassment of it all weighs on me heavier than the warg's paw.

There's no way the orc can't hear it. For a scary moment, I wonder if Thorin's going to plug my nose and make me pass out. Instead, he quietly releases an exasperated sigh right into my ear, holding me close, and I feel him nod to someone. Kili, beside us, nocks an arrow and readies his bow.

The shadow of the warg grows nearer, its ears perked up, listening to my obnoxiously loud whistling nose. Kili steps out from the rock and smoothly shoots the warg. But the yelps and howls that follow, as the company kills the warg, are much louder than my nose could ever be. I watch in horror as the grey, furry animal and the blackish grey orc are hacked into pieces right before my eyes, their red and black blood mixing into the dry earth and grass of the plain.

"Move! RUN!" Gandalf yells as the braying of the wargs signal to us that they've found us.

We're doomed. Thorin seizes my arm, pulling me out of my shocked state, and once again, we're running. My throat burns, my calf muscles ache, and everything is on fire. I'm dizzy, and at this point, getting eaten by the wargs seems preferable to all this running. It'd be quicker at least. We're never going to make it to wherever Gandalf is leading us.

The large stones soon give way to sporadic evergreen trees, but there's no cover for us and we soon find ourselves surrounded.

"Kili!" Thorin bellows, "Shoot them!"

He does. But the wargs, undeterred, come closer.

"Where's Gandalf?!" Dori cries, alarmed.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin shouts.

"No! He'd NEVER do that!" I yell, breathlessly angry at him for even suggesting such a ridiculous thing. But as I look around, I see no sign of him. "Gandalf!" I yell, my shrill voice breaking, "We could use some wizard-y magic right about now!"

There's no response.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin roars, raising his sword in preparation for the bloodbath to come.

Bilbo and I exchange a glance. This is it. The terror in Bilbo's eyes mirrors my own. I had promised him he would return home. But now...

"This way, you fools!"

A wave of relief washes over me as I spot Gandalf, signaling us from a massive rock.

You don't need to tell me twice!

I book it, grabbing Bilbo's arm and running as fast as I can with what little energy remains and tumble into the hole, far from the graceful slides the other dwarves manage. My muscles feel like jelly, and my legs are unresponsive. Dori pulls me up and out of the way as the others slide in, and Gandalf counts us all like a school teacher on a field trip. The cavern is cramped, with barely enough room for all of us to stand. My relief quickly morphs into worry. Why did Gandalf lead us here? Now we're trapped in a cave with no escape, easy prey for the orcs and wargs! Like sitting ducks waiting for them to devour us!

Suddenly, a horn blares and I look up at the cave's entrance, puzzled. The riders of Rohan don't travel this far north, do they?

The company listens in silence to the clashing of metal, the chilling shrieks of orcs, and the yipping of wargs.

An orc suddenly tumbles into the hole. I shriek and recoil, while the dwarves advance, weapons poised to strike. At the last moment, they pause. An arrow protrudes from the orc's chest.

Thorin kneels down and extracts the arrow. "Elves," he mutters, flinging the arrow away in disgust.

Elves?! My heart feels such immense relief! Thank the Valar! We're saved! We're not going to die!

"Seriously?" I retort, completely exasperated, "It's as if you prefer the orcs!"

Thorin scowls, standing up abruptly.

"You have the loudest nose I've ever heard, Miss Peyton." he growls, not answering my rhetorical question as he shakes dirt from his clothes. "Every warg from here to Erebor could hear you!"

Back to 'Miss' Peyton now, huh?

I feel my face redden in embarrassment, but my pride makes a swift comeback. "Well, if you hadn't been covering my mouth, then I could have breathed quieter, Mister Thorin!"

He hesitates for the briefest moment at my formal address, then retorts, "That would have been worse!"

"No, it wouldn't have! My mouth doesn't whistle! And your hand smells horrible, by the way." I retort, with a hint of vindictiveness. His hand didn't really smell bad. But a friend of mine once taught me that if someone is being a jerk, just tell them that they have a booger in their nose and it'll shut them up real quick. It's not my fault I have such a dry nose!

My comment works to shut him up and he scowls at me, and I back at him. He's much better in the scowling department than I am with that stupid face of his, though. Argh! He drives me crazy!

"If the two of you are quite done, we have a more pressing issue," Gandalf snaps, clearly exasperated with our incessant arguing. Thorin and I seem to have a recurring cycle of getting along, followed by a descent into another argument. Like a yapping contest between a Tibetan mastiff and a Chihuahua.

I turn to smile sweetly at Gandalf, "But we were just getting started!"

He waves his staff in warning, reminding me that he isn't above smacking me with it. I quickly fall in line, remembering Dr. Pudbrook's cane all too well. Okay, no more arguing.

"There's a path this way! Should we follow it?" Dori asks, finding an exit where I hadn't seen one.

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur says frantically.

"That would be wise," Gandalf murmurs.

Thorin and I are the last to follow, and I notice he smells his hand when he thinks I'm not looking. I smirk to myself.

We follow along the narrow passageway for a minute before it finally opens up. My eyes widen as I pause before slowly moving forward in awe.

When I was 18 years old, fresh out of high school, I signed up for a 5-month teaching program. I wanted to do something unique, something none of my other accomplished siblings had ever done. So, I traveled to China to teach English to little kindergarteners. During my time there, I had the incredible opportunity to explore ancient civilizations, including iconic landmarks like The Forbidden Palace, the Great Wall, and the Terra Cotta Warriors. However, amidst all these remarkable experiences, the pinnacle of my journey was undoubtedly my visit to Guilin, a small city that left an indelible mark on my heart.

In Guilin, I rented a bicycle and set off on a four-day adventure alone through the enchanting Karst Mountains. Words fail to capture the sheer beauty that unfolded before my eyes. Even the most stunning images on Google cannot do justice to the breathtaking landscape that surrounded me. As I pedaled through this awe-inspiring scenery, my imagination soared. I couldn't help but imagine to myself that I had found the biblical paradise, and if I were a spirit, I would effortlessly float to the mountain peaks and gracefully leap from one majestic summit to another.

It was the most beautiful place I had ever stepped foot in. Like a piece of Heaven had fallen from the skies and landed on earth.

"Behold, The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf announces, almost sacredly. "Also known as..."

"Rivendell," I hear Bilbo murmur in awestruck wonder.

Rivendell evokes the same feelings inside of me as the Karst mountains and lush valleys of Guilin had. The only sounds that fill the silence are the exotic calls of unfamiliar birds and the powerful rumble of many large waterfalls cascading down the valley. But it's the air that is truly remarkable. It feels so pure and wholesome that I find myself taking big gulps of it, filling my lungs to their capacity until they feel about to burst! The scent that reaches the company is a mix between honeysuckle and jasmine flowers with a subtle hint of fresh white pine.

While there's certainly no angelic singing like in the movie or the book, Rivendell feels vibrantly alive. It's as if, for this timeless moment, the elements of the earth and all life upon it are holding hands and joyfully celebrating their harmonious existence to anyone willing to listen.

As we continue down the trail, my legs protesting with every step, I marvel at the architecture. I'm captivated by the bridges, the buildings, and the stones. Each structure bears the enchanting marks of swirling vines or roots, delicately engraved into the stone or sculpted onto the bridges. These subtle details infuse the entire place with a sense of grace and elegance, yet something about it feels deeper somehow.

A hidden symbolism, I wonder? It seems to suggest that everything is connected. That all elements, whether wood or stone, are linked together in a grand tapestry of existence.

It almost makes me want to shed a tear at the sheer beauty and tranquility of it all.

After transitioning abruptly from awful, mind-consuming terror to this peaceful and inspiring place... I almost wonder if we DID get eaten by wargs and simply passed on to the other side?

"-which is why you will leave the talking to me." The latter part of Gandalf's speech finally breaks through my poetic thoughts, and I turn my attention away from the graceful architecture around us.

It dawns on me that the dwarves have been trying to communicate with me, their expressions etched with scowls and evident frustration. They seem angered by my apparent enjoyment of what they perceive as a misfortune. I've been so mesmerized by the beauty of the place that I haven't even noticed them calling my name or asking me something. Even Bofur looks peeved.

I glance at Bilbo and notice the same lost look on his face that I have. Our eyes meet, and in that moment, we share a knowing smile, a silent understanding passing between us. At least he 'gets it.'

As we make our way across yet another beautiful stone bridge, a slender and tall figure appears before us, greeting us as he walks gracefully down the stairs. I can't help but stare, transfixed - an elf! An actual elf! The first one I've seen in Middle Earth!

The elf's face seems almost alien, with symmetrical features that border on the otherworldly. It lacks the imperfections, lines, and blemishes that characterize human faces. Suddenly, I become very aware of my own perceived flaws: the slight asymmetry of my eyes, a tiny mole by my left ear, a few acne scars on my cheeks, and even the subtle differences in my eyebrows. If I were to look in a mirror, I would consider my face as a peculiar Picasso painting next to his flawless visage. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice tries to remind me that I am the only one who truly notices these things due to my own vanity. But that voice is drowned out by another, louder voice that cruelly emphasizes how unattractive I am compared to this elf. In that moment, for almost the first time since arriving in Middle Earth, I find myself longing for the comfort of my makeup. I wish I could somehow hide my irregular flaws and bridge the gap between myself and the ethereal beauty of this elf.

"My Lord Elrond is not here," the elf replies to Gandalf's inquiry in English.

Suddenly, a resounding trumpet echoes from behind us, capturing our attention. Majestic horses come parading across the bridge, accompanied by even more perfect and inhuman-looking elves than the one on the steps. I stare in awe, my mouth agape.

Before I can fully process what's happening, alarmed shouts happen behind me and someone forcefully grabs my arm, causing me to stumble backward and stand behind the company. Confusion fills the air as the dwarves, seemingly convinced that we are on the brink of a violent attack, react with alarmed shouts and defensive postures.

"Uh, guys?" I try to say, but my voice is drowned out by the clamor of hooves and the heightened tension among the dwarves. This is Lord Elrond we're talking about here. He's not going to do anything. Unless this is also different than the book?! I feel a flash of worry.

And then I see him - Lord Elrond in the flesh atop a powerful horse. He speaks in Elvish to Gandalf, and I listen to the beautiful language spilling out of his mouth, as fluid as the water running down the Valley of Imladris. Such a beautiful language!

"And this," Gandalf turns towards the company as Thorin steps forward, "is Thorin Oakenshield."

Elrond's voice carries a tone of respect as he addresses Thorin, saying, "Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replies, sounding cordial.

"I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

That was obviously the wrong thing to say because Thorin abruptly scowls and he retorts with a dismissive remark, "Indeed? He mentioned nothing of you."

My mouth drops open, and my eyes pop out of my skull at his response. What. The. CRAP, Thorin?! I theatrically lean back while gaping at him in dismay, wishing I was close enough to smack him upside the head. This version of Thorin, so dark and brooding, seems to lack the politeness and tact that I had come to expect from the character in the book. I am left speechless, struggling to comprehend the reason for his lack of courtesy.

Lord Elrond notices, however, shooting me a curious but polite expression before his eyes flicker back to the dwarf king. His gaze is intense and he speaks Elvish to him. The company stiffens for a moment and I'm worried that Elrond is insulting his grandpa for a moment. Apparently, the dwarves worry the same thing.

"What did he say?! Does he offer us insult?!" Gloin growls, as the other dwarves start echoing that sentiment and take a menacing step in the Elf Lord's direction. Oh dear.

"No, he's offering us food," Gandalf reprimands, annoyed.

I smile in relief and notice a strange almost amused look on Elrond's face as he watches the dwarves converse amongst themselves.

"Alright, lead the way," Gloin finally says.

Elrond inclines a head, and I'm amazed at how respectful he is to this unrespectful company. I would have booted us back out into the wild and said you're welcome for killing the wargs. But instead, he turns and walks up the steps, indicating for all of us to follow him.

We reach the main building and he turns to the elf that had greeted us, "Lindir, please show the lady to her room, as I will show our other guests to their quarters myself."

I take my sword from Fili and make to walk past the dwarves to where Lindir stands with a big smile on my face, excited to get my own room.

"One moment," Thorin stops me with a hand on my arm as he glances at the elves before leading me off to the side. "We need to discuss the wargs." He tries to speak so the others won't hear. Kind of pointless, though, considering there are elves present.

I nod, "Ok. When?"

"Now." He responds, indicating that I should come with the company instead of going with Lindir.

I hesitate, my eyes flickering between Thorin and the elves. "I need a bath first," And I want a nice soft bed to sleep in.

Thorin's gaze hardens, and he leans in slightly, his tone low, "This is far more pressing."

I give him a look, "Of course it is. But, need I remind you that I was treated like a crazy seer-person for a couple of days and ignored after I told you about Azog?"

Thorin shows a hint of shame at that, looking back at me. "While that may be the case, circumstances have altered. We must be ready for what's to come."

While part of me sympathizes, I'm too high-strung right now for this conversation. We're lucky to be alive. The story I remember has changed and the ponies are gone. How are we supposed to even continue on the quest now without ponies?

"I agree," I say amiably. "So, let's get some clean clothes, maybe take a nap, and then eat some food because we didn't have breakfast or lunch? Then we can talk."

I take note of the lines etched around his face, particularly his eyes. Observing the tension he carries in his shoulders, I know he's worried about Azog. I've been waiting for this reaction since the moment I informed him about the Pale Orc! I know it's important to him, but I can see how exhaustion is taking its toll on him. Just because a dwarf can run for three days and nights with no food and water doesn't mean that they SHOULD. Unless, of course, they're saving hobbits.

I pat his arm gently, "I promise, Thorin, we'll all be safe while we're here in Rivendell."

Walking past him, I come to stand beside Lindir who acknowledges me with a respectful dip of his head. Before I leave, I cast one last glance over my company. We had all faced certain death today as we ran for our lives and yet we had survived, together. The memory still thrums underneath my skin as I feel connected to them even deeper than before.

I huff an affectionate smile at their various expressions of concern, "Come on, don't look at me like that. I'll see you guys at dinner."

End of Chapter

Yeah, yeah, I know everyone stops their story here, but this was an action-packed chapter! Lots going on!

Oh my gosh, you guys...I couldn't stop laughing as I wrote about Peyton's nose whistle. Have any of you seen Masterminds? The booger nose whistle scene just kills me. Poor Peyton XD Her dry nose definitely wasn't THAT loud, but still loud enough for a warg to hear. Hahahaaaaaa. I crack myself up.

The ending of the next chapter is going to shock your socks off. MWAHAHAA! You never even saw it coming. :D