"Wake up. Quick."

I was jarred out of my wonderfully sound sleep as two strong hands grabbed my own and pulled me upright, forcing me onto my feet before I was even fully awake. I mumbled and stumbled, squinting through tired eyes at Bofur who was still holding me steady. He smiled so broadly I couldn't possibly be mad.

"Bilbo is here to let us out. We have to go - now." he explained in a quick whisper and I managed to clear my head.

"Bilbo?" I repeated incredulously as I looked to the door. Indeed the hobbit was just outside, fumbling at our lock with a set of keys. Bofur squeezed my fingers slightly before letting go of my hands and moving to greet our rescuer.

"Master Bilbo!" exclaimed Dori, who had shuffled over to the bars as well. "What are you doing down here?"

"I've been scouting the place for ages, trying to find a way to get you all out of here." Bilbo explained in a quick whisper after shushing Dori unceremoniously. "We only have one chance, so let's not mess it up, and do try to be quiet."

We had been kept imprisoned for a number of days; it was difficult to determine how many, yet I was growing weary of listening to Thorin in the next cell over growling under his breath about wasted time. The elves, however, had kept us well fed and also regularly allowed us out in turns to wash up. I was even allotted a silk blanket to use in the cell, a privilege that seemed to only be offered to myself. In truth, although the dwarves has grown increasingly impatient, I found that being a prisoner of Thranduil was exactly what I needed in order to fully rest and recover from the violent ordeals we had previously been through.

Perhaps the most promising benefit of being confined, however, was the fact that Bofur had begun speaking to me again. For the first day or so he had done his best to avoid looking at me - which was a feat in itself given that the cell was not very large and there wasn't a whole lot of space for him to avert his gaze to otherwise - but eventually he must have realized that he couldn't keep up that charade without acting really obnoxious, so he started to allow his eyes to glance over me, even settling on me for a fraction of a second, if he were speaking. Again, as it was rather cramped, no one could exactly have a private conversation with one another - so if you spoke, you essentially and inadvertently addressed everyone in the holding.

As restlessness set in, Dori suggested we play games to pass the time. One such game involved deception as you conveyed of a series of statements where one of which was false - unbeknownst to your opponents. It was up to them to determine which one. At that point Bofur had no choice but to meet my eye, to study my face even, and speak directly to me in order to try and determine if I was being truthful. After a few rounds, the tension between us began to slip away. It felt good to smile at him again and have him smile back. For that alone I couldn't quite feel sorry for our 'wasted time' as prisoners, and hoped that upon our escape Bofur would continue to interact with me even though he'd no longer be forced to.

We tiptoed out of the open cell door and into line behind the others that had been released. I saw Bilbo dash up a few steps and open another door to let out Kili. Then we were off, creeping down the deserted pathways led by the hobbit, who luckily did seem to know where to go. My stomach knotted in worry as I kept a keen eye out for the guards, yet the entire kingdom seemed strangely vacant. After a tense journey we found ourselves quietly entering a wine cellar. Bilbo directed us past some sleeping elves and down a set of large stone steps, at the bottom of which was an expansive but cluttered storage area. The room was lined with shelves of wine and currently full of stacked empty barrels.

"You were supposed to be leading us out, not further in!" Bofur hissed when the group became aware that they were now lost somewhere in the very depths of the kingdom with no immediate exit in sight. I swatted Bofur's arm to stop him from further chastising our rescuer.

"I know what I'm doing!" Bilbo retorted, to which Bofur glanced at me, and then uncouthly shushed the poor hobbit before shuffling further in.

"Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly!" Bilbo ordered when we had all descended the stairs and were now crammed in the narrow space between a wine rack and the barrels.

"Are you mad?!" Dwalin demanded, shoving his way back towards the hobbit. "They'll find us!"

"No, no, they won't, I promise you." Bilbo insisted as quietly as possibly. "Please, please, you MUST trust me!"

We eyed him, then the barrels rather speculatively, but nobody otherwise moved.

Bilbo looked to Thorin desperately.

"Do as he says!" Thorin ordered, which instantly had the desired effect. With their leader's encouragement the dwarves quickly ambled forward. I began to piece together Bilbo's plan and hung back as they began piling into individual barrels. I stared at the hobbit, wondering what madness had come upon him to think that this was a good idea.

"Do you prefer to ride on the top, or the bottom?" Bofur asked me, I wordlessly turned to him to see his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips. My own eyebrows narrowed, clearly showing I was not impressed with his comedic timing, but I bit back a grin.

"I think I'd like the top." I retorted as innocently as I could, but fixing him with a pointed look of my own.

He nodded towards one of the topmost empty barrels, back to business, and leaving me wondering whether his comment was an innuendo, or a legitimate question. He then linked his hands and offered them for me to use as a step to hoist myself up. I shook my head sceptically, hoping our luck would not run out, then placed my foot into his hands and pushed myself up. Grabbing onto the barrel on the second row I was able to climb up to my perch on the third row. Once I had sorted myself and turned the proper direction I stuck my head out and noticed Bofur had climbed into the barrel below mine.

"What do we do now?" Bofur asked, peering out as well. All the others stuck out their heads too, looking towards Bilbo and awaiting his next direction.

"Hold your breath." Bilbo said simply as he stepped up and grasped a large lever that came up from the floor alongside the barrels.

"Hold my breath? What do you mean?" Bofur asked worriedly, yet he did not get a vocal answer. Instead, Bilbo pulled the lever and the trapdoor we were all resting upon suddenly swung open.

My view of the world pitched violently to one side, followed by a teeth-clacking drop as Bofur's barrel beneath me fell out from under my own. We then rolled to the end of the ramp, upended into empty space and plummeted to what I was sure would be the death of me, all the while serenaded by the strangest scream I had ever heard.

"Aiaiaiaiaiaiaiiii!"

I admit that I also did my fair share of screaming during our brief plummet into the underground river. I had the good sense, at least, to notice the water fast approaching and take in a quick breath, bracing myself firmly in the barrel only a moment before its wooden frame collided with the steely cold current. The staves of the barrel protested the extra weight it was not accustomed to making the drop with, but held firm and righted itself based on said weight, so that I was now upright along with all the others.

I had only just gotten my bearings and cleared water from my eyes when the wooden ramp swung open once again. Afraid we were about to be caught in the slow moving water, I spun around and looked upwards only to see poor Bilbo slide backwards, stiff as a plank, down towards the water. I could only imagine a back-flop would hurt as much as a belly-flop, and cringed inwardly as he surfaced and was tended to by the nearest dwarves.

Thorin praised him and moved on, with no more sympathy than the water and stones around us.

At this point though, I knew speed was of the essence, and that Thorin was right to press ahead. I focused on figuring out how to shift my body from the uncomfortably squished position it was currently in, and managed to raise myself into something hardly better off by bracing my knees on the front of the barrel, my toes crammed into the back corner, while leaning over the front edge and pulling water with my arms. My stroke would not have won me any races in Laketown, but my familiarity with the water paid off and I found that if I was not careful I began to outpace even the strongest of the dwarves, unsavvy with swimming as they were.

Yet as we exited the darkness of the cave, we barely had time to adjust to the bright sunlight when Thorin shouted a warning and I found myself clinging to the sides of my barrel as the current increased tenfold and we were flung over a waterfall.

To say 'flung' was a bit of an over-exaggeration, but the speed at which we were now going made it feel like if I were to let go, my momentum would vault my fragile human body right out into empty space. No doubt gravity would then take offense to my attempts to elude it and promptly reintroduce my body to the earth, likely onto a wicked, pointy boulder just out of spite.

In any case, with a dramatic spray of foam and more screaming we pitched over the edge of the falls to join the turbulent, roiling river below.

The waterfall, however, proved to be the least of our worries. While we were busy testing the aerodynamic tendencies of elvish wine barrels, which regrettably did not actually involve drinking any of the wine, the elves decided to punish the keeper of the keys. They did this to the poor, hungover wretch by blowing the most obnoxious sounding horn I had ever heard. So miserable was the sound that I was sure the creature who supplied the horn must have died of shame, and not of some majestic hunt of a bygone age.

This punishment was equally unpleasant for us. Downriver, the guard detail - no doubt surly after missing the festivities - heralded the call of the horn and took their frustrations out on us. One such elf wasted no time in shutting the river gate to thwart our escape. This was no delicate twirly gate with leaves and flowers on it either, and though Thorin desperately slammed against it, the bars were of thick iron and would not give way. We were stuck. I found myself jostled in amongst the other barrels as fighting broke out across the gateway. I ducked down lower into my barrel as an arrow hit the stones directly next to my head, causing the shaft to explode into a million splinters.

A sudden chaos erupted as the orcs descended and the elves were forced to avert their attention from us and instead fight for their lives. Kili took the opportunity and disappeared up and over the bank, while the dead bodies of multiple orcs began to drop down to add to the clogged waterway. Then Fili shouted for his brother, and though I had no idea what prompted the panic in his shout, I feared the worst. For that brief moment, the roar of the water hushed in my ears. The slaughter of the elves was complete, and now we were easy prey. I tried to see up onto the bridge, to see if Kili was the first to go, but barrels clacked on barrels, and the current flowed on, its noise rising once again to a crescendo.

The sound of running footsteps above echoed in the stone archway of the gate.

Then a faint thud of what could only be the runner dropping directly above us.

It was a mere moment later when more elves arrived to take up the fight. Led by Tauriel, the warriors of the woodland realm dealt swift retribution for their fallen kinsmen. As grateful as I was for the rescue, I was unwilling to return to Thranduil's dungeon so soon, and looked about to see if anyone else was making a move for the gate controls. Just as I prepared to take matters into my own hands, standing up to full height in the barrel, the gates creaked open and I just barely managed to duck back down to avoid a massive concussion that would have ensued had my head collided with the masonry that then rushed by.

For the second time that day I felt my barrel pitch and the world upend as the river suffered a sudden vertical adjustment. When my barrel righted itself, my coughing and spluttering was cut short by the view before me: the entire riverbank teemed with orcs. I spun to see if all my companions had made it, and was relieved to see that even Kili had returned to his barrel.

The fight that followed was one of the most amazing displays of skill and grace that I had ever seen, though my time was mostly spent ducked below the rim of my barrel and hoping not to get shot, stabbed, crushed, drowned, or otherwise deceased or captured. Elves danced across the treetops matching the speed of the river - a feat in itself - all while making blind leaps and firing arrows with deadly accuracy into the orcs below.

The dwarves, who were in the same wretched situation as I, were forced to join the fray as well, and they made quite a show of it. In the half-second breaths between submersion in the rapids, the dwarves pulled orcs into the river, pinned them to trees, chopped down their vantage points, beat them to death with fish, and even took the battle to land, though all I saw of that was Bombur's barrel spiralling through the air overhead from bank to bank, and then his return to the waterways in a completely different barrel.

I began to think I might just get out of the battle without doing a single thing. It would have been refreshing for me, a fragile human maid, to do what was expected of her for once on this trip... but that was not to be.

As we dropped down one of the cascades and rounded the corner, I saw the bane of many a whitewater bargeman: a strainer. A massive tree had been uprooted by the constant erosion of the stony shore, and then fell to brace against boulders jutting up from beneath. Smaller branches and trees were caught in the tangle; causing a blockade that water alone could pass through. The main current thundered by mid-stream, drawing the majority of the barrels ahead of me with it, and for a moment I thought everyone would get by safely - until an orc with a barbed grappling hook emerged on the far shore.

The orc spun the hook over its head once and then let fly. The hook dropped over the edge of the nearest barrel - Balin's - and then bit hard into the wood. The orc nearly lost its grip as the hook took hold, but despite rope burns it managed to hold fast. It didn't even need to haul. The current did the work for it, swinging Balin's barrel like a pendulum into the course of the strainer. In a moment of rapid action, Balin managed to grab the rope and pull the orc into the water, where it disappeared amidst the howl and spray, but that did nothing to change his course.

I leaned dangerously far forwards, and with a modified front stroke I pulled my barrel with all my might, guiding myself towards, not away, from the looming tangle of branches. Balin had already collided with the mass, and despite his best efforts the bottom of his barrel was being pulled under at such an angle that the river began to pour in over the upstream side. My barrel crashed just next to his, and without warning I scrambled up and onto the tree trunk, and then to the steep cliff face. My feet touched down on the edge of his barrel, causing him to look up in alarm at the added weight, but I then slid further down, wedging myself in the small space between the bank and where he had gotten caught. I braced my back on the stone; my feet on the side of his barrel, and pushed his barrel perpendicular to the current.

I pushed so hard my whole body shook, and the barrel inched along the tree trunk, and then slid further, and then in the same instant, his barrel slipped free and I fell. As I felt the cold water envelop my body I panicked, madly grasping for any purchase, knowing I would not be able to free myself once I was pulled under. I would be pinned against branches and stones, the air crushed from my lungs as the hard current beat against the blockade.

Death in such a way would be horrible.

Luckily I was spared from such a death.

My body was flung into the bramble, my last breath forced out of me, the sheer pressure of the churning angry river ready to snuff out my life. Then a hand grabbed the back of my clothing and hauled me free from the water. A familiar red-haired face came into view while I was supported, trembling and still reeling from my close encounter to such a terrible demise.

"A valued member of the company indeed." Tauriel remarked, releasing me once sure I was steady. "It appears your 'luck' has not yet run out."

I smiled at her in gratitude, graciously as I could while still trying to catch my breath, but then began to wonder if she would now recapture me. Perhaps Thranduil would attempt to use me as a hostage to lure back the dwarves, or would he simply lock me away? But this time I would be alone, and there would be no secret rescuer prowling around the kingdom to set me free. I took a tiny step back from her, trying to decide the best course of action.

"There are safer routes to Laketown..." She began, perhaps misinterpreting the worry in my eyes.

I bit my lip and cast my gaze downriver, hoping to catch a glimpse of a floppy, soggy hat, but many of the company members had now rounded the next bend, and were now lost to my sight.

"Go." She said without further preamble, gesturing to where my barrel was now floating amidst the eddy created by the last branches of the strainer - free of its weight, it now bobbed unharmed by the current below. I glanced back at her, surprised, but she simply nodded and ushered me to hurry.

"Thank you." I said, trying to weigh my words with as much sincerity and gratitude as I could muster.

"Look after him." she said softly. I looked back at her once more before climbing down the banks, and she offered me a small smile. "Look after both of them."

After I pushed my barrel away from shore it quickly found the current once more, and after rounding a large bend I saw the others far ahead of me. I thought I should paddle a bit with my arms to try and catch up, but I was now cold and sore, and there was no sign of orcs trailing us at the moment, so I discarded the idea and settled down into my barrel, letting the river take it as far as possible.

I eventually felt the current slow and looked out to see the others ahead paddling towards shore, some of them attempting, without much success, to tip their barrel in order to try and get out. Bombur was rocking himself back and forth so intensely I feared he would flip his barrel right upside down, plus, as it was, he appeared to fit so snugly I wondered if he was stuck.

I flipped out of my own and began to swim towards land, though it quickly became shallow enough to clamber to my feet. I pushed the wet strands of hair from my eyes and then saw Bofur coming towards me. Yet something about his stance made me pause knee-deep in the river, and as he neared I saw his face was... well, it looked angry. Very angry. I looked over my shoulder, half-thinking that something just behind me was causing his scowl, but there was nothing. He was looking at me.

He halted in front of me and then completely surprised me by pulling me into a fierce quick hug that near squeezed the air from my lungs. But when he let go and stepped back his bearing had not changed.

"What on earth were you thinking?" he half-shouted.

I stared at him blankly, unsure what was causing his agitation.

He shook his head. "Do you have any idea what I've been through?" he asked savagely, meeting my eyes. His expression then faltered slightly, from angry to helpless. "I thought..." he shook his head once more and looked away from me.

"What? Bofur, what is the matter?" I demanded, my voice rising with concern and confusion.

He looked back to me, his eyes dull with remorse. "I thought you were dead."

"Oh... That." I responded softly.

"That!" Bofur exclaimed furiously, tossing his hands up.

I quickly took his hands and tried to calm him. "That... was not as bad as it looked. I'm fine." I smiled reassuringly, but he yanked his hands out of my own and shot me a glare of daggers.

"Well I'm not." he replied coldly. Before I could say anything else, he turned on his heel and sloshed back towards the group.

Feeling somewhat shaken, I made my way to Kili who was sitting on a rock up on the shore. His leg had been bound but, judging by his expression, I knew it was still bothering him. I wondered what had happened as I did not actually see him receive the wound,

"Are you alright?" I asked worriedly, kneeling in front of him and looking up at his pale face.

"I'll be fine." he said lightly, and managed a grin that was almost not a grimace. I frowned at him, knowing he was most assuredly not fine, but he nonchalantly swiped a few strands of hair away from my face.

"We're going to have to braid this properly again." he remarked, eliciting a small smile from myself.

At that point the group suddenly became nervously quiet. Kili frowned and we both turned to see what their attention was fixed on. A man with a longbow had come ashore unbeknownst to us and was aiming it threatening at Ori. I moved aside as Kili slowly reached down and picked up a large stone. Dwalin suddenly leapt out in front of the man, brandishing a thick branch, but the archer released his arrow, sticking it right through the middle of the branch, luckily not through Dwalin himself. During that span of time Kili had stood up and was about to throw when the man turned and the stone was forced out of Kili's hand by another expertly shot arrow.

The dwarves hesitated when he drew his bow a third time and said "Do it again, and you're dead."

"He's from Laketown." I whispered to Kili who had sat back down. I recognized him; he had been friends with my father. "I believe his name is Bard."

"Go talk to him then." Kili whispered softly, nudging me slightly. I frowned and stayed put, not sure I'd be able to think quick enough to tell whatever appropriate lie the dwarves would see fit in order to keep their identities secret. Luckily Balin took charge of the situation, approaching the man cautiously and speaking in his most friendly voice.

"That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?" Balin asked cheerfully, as if the man hadn't just been firing arrows into our midst.

Bard, sensing the change in attitude and concluding that we were not a threat, put away his bow.

"What makes you think I will help you?" he asked as he began to roll a barrel onto his barge.

The dwarves seemed at a loss of how to respond so I stood up and stepped in front of them. Bard paused what he was doing as I made my way to the side of his watercraft. He frowned in confusion, looking from me to the dwarves.

"A woman." he stated gruffly as he stepped off to retrieve another barrel.

"A woman of Laketown." I said, lifting my chin a tad, causing him to pause and study me once more. "I am travelling home, while my companions..." I nodded back towards the others while raking my brains for a suitable explanation, "...are merchants from the Blue Mountains... journeying to see their kin in the Iron Hills. They have seen me safely for many leagues thus far, but we have no means to cross the lake."

Bard looked at me critically. "Simple merchants, you say?"

I nodded, and was about to add more details to help convince him when Thorin stepped up and cut in. "We'll need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?"

Bard hesitated, and then moved to grab another barrel. He ran his hand over some of the damage inflicted on the wood from the fight and escape.

"I know where these barrels came from." he mused.

"What of it?" Thorin snapped.

"I don't know what business you had with the elves, but I don't think it ended well." he began as he rolled it onto the barge. "No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He will see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen." Balin piqued up after a subtle grunt from Thorin.

"Aye. But for that, you will need a smuggler." Bard casually explained, continuing to ready his vessel.

Balin and Thorin exchanged a quick glance and I noticed the leader give a slight, reaffirming nod. Balin took it as his cue to negotiate. His words were confident and unwavering when he next spoke.

"For which we will pay double."

After an agreement was struck and hands were shaken, some of the dwarves helped Bard load the remainder of the barrels while the rest of us gratefully piled onto the barge. Not much longer and we were setting off, though even with our haste I found I was not alone in casting subtle looks over my shoulder up the river to look for signs of the orcs. It was then that I noticed the trees, their leaves hinted with hues of red and gold, and I suddenly felt puzzled by the crisp snap in the air. How many weeks had exactly passed since we entered Mirkwood at the end of midsummer? The dwarves, however, did not seem surprised, though perhaps they had better internal clocks then I - it would explain Thorin's ability to be constantly aware of the length of time left until Durin's Day at any rate.

While the dwarves took up residence at the bow, I lingered at the back to listen in on Bilbo's attempts at small talk with the bargeman. I thought I would soon cut in and enquire about the happenings of the town from the past few years - perhaps I would also ask after the correct date. Yet after Bilbo introduced himself and got barely more than a grunt for an answer, I figured that Bard was in no mood for chatting, and so I decided to keep to myself for a little longer.

Instead I moved to the very back of the boat and looked over the ledge at the swirling lake we were gliding over. I was familiar with this water. Though it was currently cold and dark, I felt the warm feeling of nostalgia trickle through me and I smiled. I was almost home.

I glanced towards the front at the group of dwarves, wondering what would happen when we reached Laketown and they departed. Would I ever see them again? If they were successful, and Erebor was reclaimed, would I be welcome in their world?

My eyes settled on Bofur who stood at the bow. I was, to say the least, very confused by him. His actions and words often conflicted. Sometimes it seemed as if he greatly cared for me, and other times I was left feeling as if he would have preferred to never have met me. Yet as difficult as it was, I found I could not simply drop my feelings for him.

I tried to remember the exact point when I had fallen in love with him. Wait...had I fallen in love? That was a very strong word, and a very serious realization… but I knew the truth in my heart, even though my better judgement implored me to ignore it.

Why him? I looked briefly at the others. Each one had their own strengths, and their own fair share of weaknesses. None of them could be considered quite normal, not by dwarven stereotypes, and especially not by human standards, but then neither could I at this point. If I returned to Bree with a companion only two thirds my size, dressed in a mixture of elven and men's clothing, and as well armed as I was apt to travel these days, I would be stranger than any of the company.

Why him indeed. I looked briefly at Kili, then Fili, and had to admit they were very pleasing to the eye; young and proud and fierce, with their wavy locks of gold and ebony. I glanced over Thorin; noble, strong, even majestic in a sense. Yet then I looked back to Bofur, who, by all appearances sake was far less princely, and not kingly by any standard. Instead he looked like the kind of man who was gentle to women and kind to children. He looked like the kind of man that would always prefer to laugh than complain, and would never be deliberately cruel. He had shown me great kindness when others looked at me with scorn and distrust. He had treated me fairly, and as an equal. All of this made him far more attractive in my eyes. In fact his large list of admiral qualities had made it difficult not to love him.

So when did it happen? It was not at first sight, no, he had been kind, charming even, but at first I felt we had simply grown to be unlikely friends. I thought back to Rivendell where our friendship deepened, when I no longer thought he looked like a strange dwarf, but instead saw him as more of a man. That's also when the flirting began, but for all I knew he could have been the type to flirt with any woman - some men do. Either way, it was harmless, or so I thought at the time.

Maybe it was when we were parted in the mountains - when I realized that being separated from him was actually painful, and I worried for his safety above my own. Or perhaps it was after, when he helped me endure through the agony of my injuries... Or when he kissed me by the river. Or when he truly kissed me that night… I couldn't pin it down, it must have been gradual. Now, however, I felt it. I truly felt the sheer agony of love when I looked at him.

I was so caught up in my thoughts, intensely gazing towards the focus of my musings, that I didn't even notice Balin had sidled over to me after exchanging some words with Bard.

He cleared his throat politely when I failed to acknowledge his presence. My head snapped towards the unexpected noise, however, and I grinned a sheepish apology when I saw him standing before me.

"Are you well, lass?" He asked, peering up at me thoughtfully.

I nodded, unsure how else to explain myself.

"You were quite deep in thought there," he continued, looking over his shoulder to where I had been obviously staring. I remained silent but couldn't help myself from quickly glancing towards Bofur once more. I tried to not display any signs of guilt or embarrassment when I looked back to Balin. He was annoyingly perceptive however, and sighed knowingly before grabbing my elbow and leading me to a chest. He gestured for me to sit, and I did so rather reluctantly, wondering how uncomfortable the oncoming conversation was to be. He sat down as well and seemed to seriously consider what to say next as he looked at me. His eyes were kind, but a slight frown lingered around his mouth.

"I have to thank you, for earlier," he began, "I owe you a life debt, and I will do all I can to repay it."

I tried to object but he shook his head then patted my hand before he continued.

"You should know that I have no ill-will towards you, or your kind," he said carefully. "In fact I hold you in quite high esteem, that's why I wanted to offer to you some advice. Welcome or no, it may help you to avoid some... distress."

I bit my lip, unable to think of anything to say but wishing I had an excuse to get up and leave without seeming like an awful person. I vaguely contemplated diving towards the gunwale and pretending to hurl into the lake in a bout of seasickness. Surely he wouldn't think me rude if that were the case.

He began again before I could do anything drastic. "The thing you have to understand lass, is that dwarves seldom marry. Many dwarf men are so enthralled with their craft that they have no desire to start a family, or they may have such love of gold that no woman could sway their heart." Balin shifted in his seat slightly and cleared his throat. "Dwarf women are sparse, and fickle. Not all will take on a husband, even if sought after. Others pledge themselves to dwarf men that are unavailable, or unwilling, yet those women will have no other, and will pursue their sole interest until the end of their days."

I listened with growing discomfort as he spoke, wanting to cut him off but not trusting my voice to do so. I looked pointedly at me feet, gritting my teeth with embarrassment.

"We are a long-lived race... and we do not idly marry, as when we do, it is always for life." He paused for a moment, then stood up and looked down at me. I continued to be innately interested in looking at my boots. "If a mate is lost," he continued quietly, despite the lack of any kind of response on my part, "then no other is ever taken. It is strictly unheard of. Bofur has experienced a rare tragedy. Dwarves do not fall to sickness or disease, so it is rare for a dwarf woman to lose her life so young. But he will not, he cannot, pledge himself to another, that much is clear."

"I understand." I managed to vocalize, my voice so soft I wondered if he even heard me, but I felt him lay a hand on my shoulder.

"You are a good woman." Balin said. "I wish you much happiness and a worthy husband... but I fear you will not find it where you are looking. Even if things were different, dwarves do not pledge themselves to... non-dwarves."

There it was, he finally said it, the root of the problem. I nodded, trying to keep my anger in check. I willed him to leave and let my breath out when I saw him finally turn away. I knew he had not been trying to be malicious, but I had never before felt so scorned for being human, for being the wrong race.

I spent the remainder of the day digging deep into my own thoughts, wallowing in frustration and shame, and resolutely looking anywhere but the front of the barge. However, I did not want to reunite with my mother while in the blackest mood of my life, so I vowed that by morning I would let it all go and attempt to cheer up. I was almost home after all and had endured so much to get there. To finally return home, it was what I wanted most - wasn't it?

Many of the dwarves did not seem to sleep that night, but instead kept watch at the front of the barge as Bard slowly steered through the dark, moonlit waters.

I, however, curled up at the back and somehow managed to get a few hours rest - at that point I was quite accustomed to sleeping on hard, cold surfaces. After getting up and while stretching out my stiff muscles, I began to hear some discord rising among the dwarves at the front of the barge. As much as I was still embarrassed by my talk with Balin, my curiosity won over and I walked towards to the group. Balin was sitting in the middle of them, piling gold coins into stacks in front of him.

"Gloin, come on. Give us what you have." Thorin urged.

The red-haired dwarf huffed indignantly but eventually reached into his coat and then tossed over his purse. Balin emptied it into his hand, counting them out.

"We have a problem." He said as he neatly stacked the last pile. "We're still ten coins short."

Thorin looked at each dwarf, all of them shaking their heads.

"That's everything." Dori said. "It's all we have." The others grumbled and nodded.

"We have been bled dry by this venture." Gloin added with a scowl. "And what have we seen for our investment?"

Thorin took a step away to the railing while the rest squabbled, and from my vantage point I noticed him look down at a large ring he wore, clearly at conflict with himself whether or not to give it up. His eyes dropped to the waters below, his fingers idly toying with the ring while he studied his reflection. I studied it as well, and for the first time since meeting the company I saw uncertainty etched across his noble features. I desperately wished I still had my coins from the troll-hoard, with them they might have had enough.

Thorin sighed and moved to remove the ring when I suddenly remembered I still did have something: a treasure that meant far less to me than what was likely a family heirloom of Thorin's. I quickly undid the necklace that had somehow survived the journey thus far.

It was all I had left in the world.

I worried for a moment about my livelihood, but I still had my family. They would take me in until I had a means to support myself. Perhaps Thorin would even repay me if he was successful in reclaiming his home. It was said that Erebor contained vast hoards of gold...

"Wait." I said stepping in front of Thorin before he could turn back to the group to give Balin his ring. "Will this help?" I dangled the piece of jewellery for a moment, the light reflecting brilliantly of its surface and the facets of the stones that adorned it. I could hear some low muttering around me as I relinquished the exquisite item, setting it down beside the coins.

Balin raised his eyebrows as he picked it up and inspected it. "This is a fine piece. White silver inlaid with diamond. Looks to be of elvish make. It would fetch a fair price." He looked up at me with a frown. "But we cannot expect you to part with it."

"Would it cover the rest?" I asked firmly, ignoring his last remark.

Balin stared at me for a moment but I kept my gaze neutral, eventually he nodded slightly.

"Take it then." I said, moving to step away and ignoring the dubious looks from him and all the others. "Honestly, it means nothing to me."

As I removed myself from the throng of excited dwarves Thorin caught my eye, causing me to halt my steps. His stare was at first gentle, kinder than ever before, but then the familiar doubt began to corrupt his gratitude. I could see the warring emotions play out clear as day, on one hand wanting to thank me, on the other wondering why I would do such a thing, what my ulterior motive was.

He was saved from himself and his choice though, for suddenly he was no longer staring at me, but through me. Beyond me. Northwards. He stepped past me without a word and crossed to the far gunwale, while the others began to take notice and rise as well. I turned, and saw it rising up before me. Their home, and the ever present landmark of my childhood.

The Lonely Mountain.

I left the group to their gawking and went to strike up a conversation with Bilbo - whom I could tell felt just as excluded as I at the moment. Neither of us were able to share quite the same depth of reverent excitement as that of the dwarves over seeing the remnants of their bygone kingdom.

We spoke quietly for a while of small things, both of us too shy or too polite to bring up topics of more substance. Perhaps it was because we were so near the completing the goals of our respective journeys that it felt surreal to talk of what might come next. Although curious, I couldn't bring myself to ask him of what role he was to play in helping the dwarves evade or defeat the dragon. I was scared for him. Perhaps he was just as nervous to ask me exactly what my life would be like once I returned to Laketown, with the dragon still threatening my future there. Everything was so uncertain and it was too uncomfortable to voice aloud anything that would inevitably lead to hard questions, to shed light on the worry we were all undoubtedly weighted with. So instead we commented on the weather and the landscape, what we wished we could eat for dinner, and the state of our threadbare clothing.

When I found I could no longer make productive small talk with Bilbo, I excused myself and sidled up beside Bard, deciding I should not be so timid with fellow Laketowners - even the grim ones.

"What area of Laketown are you from?" I asked politely, though I got a suspicious look even so.

"Middle-east side." Bard replied curtly.

"Oh," I felt a touch of excitement start to grow. "Then you might know Sarabelle and her new husband?" I mentally chided myself for the slip of forgetting all the years that had passed. And then quickly tried to move past it. "Well, sort of new… they reside middle-south?"

Bard glanced at me, at first confused, but then his frown deepened. "Aye, I knew them."

I paused and my stomach did a flip. "Knew?" I asked, unable to keep my voice from jumping up a few octaves.

Bard nodded but returned his cold gaze to the waters ahead. "They both died a year ago from a sickness... It took many lives."

Time seemed to lurch to a sudden, dizzying stop and I staggered back, the air leaving my lungs in shock. I shook my head, trying to force myself to believe that I had misheard him, that it was a mistake.

"No." I whispered after a torturously long silence. "That cannot be true. Are you sure it was them? Are you certain?"

Bard stepped towards me, his features even more grim. He studied me while I looked at him imploringly, waiting for him to take back his words, to admit he misspoke. When he offered me nothing, I felt my eyes begin to prickle.

A look of realization, then pity, crossed over Bard's face. "You're her daughter." He stated slowly. He then whispered my name as he remembered who I was. I nodded slightly, still trying to wrap my head around my new reality. He reached out and placed a sympathetic hand on my arm. "I'm sorry." He said huskily. "I did not recognize you. It should not have been me to tell you this news, especially with no warning." He shook his head sadly.

"An illness?" I asked dumbly, fighting to keep my composure.

"Aye. It swept through the town quickly, we suspect it had been brought in by a trader... It took my wife as well. It was a dark year."

I looked up at Bard and saw the same raw pain in his face that I was sure was reflected in my own. "I'm sorry." I whispered, vaguely remembering the kind woman to whom he was married.

He tried to manage a small smile then straightened up and took the tiller once more.

"She spoke of you often." He added while looking ahead. "She was a good woman, your mother."

I didn't want to make Bard feel uncomfortable by breaking down right in front of him but knew I could only contain myself for another moment. I backed away then turned and quickly walked to the back of the boat. I had just barely grasped the railing when the sobs began to rake my body. I slumped over it and covered my mouth to keep from crying out.

I was so far detached that I did not register a hand stroke my shoulder some minutes later. My head was buried in my arm as I quietly pined over my scattered life. I doubt I would have even noticed had the barge been suddenly boarded by the orc pack that still hunted us, nor would I have had the energy to really care.

"There now, ghivashel, come here." A soft voice said next to my ear. I felt a tug on my shoulder and then arms wrap around me as I turned around. I slumped forward and cried into Bofur's shoulder, his words of comfort doing little to sooth me.

"I'm too late." I said somewhat incoherently between sobs. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

He hugged me tighter and, despite my best efforts to stop, I simply began crying harder. Eventually he pulled me over to the chest I had sat on earlier with Balin and gently eased me down onto it. No longer able to hide my face I leaned forward and covered it with my hands as I tried to stem the grief.

I felt him begin to stroke my back and eventually the raking sobs began to subside, yet I kept my face in my hands until I felt one of his own wrap around my wrist and pull gently all the while assuring me it was alright. I let them drop but stayed hunched forward, looking down as hot tears continued to stream down my cheeks.

"Sorry." I murmured, trying to keep my voice under control. "I hate to cry in front of you all." I wiped my tears with the palms of my hands, and then a handkerchief appeared at the corner of my eye. I grabbed it and cleaned up my face as best I could before I sat up a bit. "Do dwarf women cry?" I asked quietly.

"Aye. Everyone cries." Bofur gently responded, taking my hands in his. "I'm sorry. If I could take the pain away I would, you know I would."

I nodded and glanced at him, though my eyes were still welling with tears.

"What will I do now?" I whispered, trying to swallow back the keening I felt threatening to escape. I shook my head and looked down once more in shame. "I have nothing. No plan...No family... No one."

"You have us." Bofur said softly, sliding his hand under my chin and tilting it up. His eyes locked on mine. "You have me." He said more firmly.

I suddenly heard Bard order something in an urgent whisper. Bofur must have caught the actual demand as he squeezed my hand quickly then stood up. But I grabbed his forearm and forced him to turn back and face me. Forgetting everything Balin had just told me, forgetting we were on a barge with everyone else, forgetting his past reluctance around me - I forgot it all, grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him down to press my lips against his. Tears still wetting my cheeks, I kissed him gently but without shame. I just needed a few seconds of something different… something good. And for that moment nothing else existed.

All too soon the moment was over. I said nothing and refused to meet his eyes as I slumped back down to my seat, afraid of what he would do, or say, and afraid of what may be written across his face.

Luckily we were both spared further response as Bard took a few steps towards us and hastened Bofur towards the barrels.

"Quickly! You must hide" he insisted.

Bofur hesitated and I couldn't help but peek up at him. It looked as if he wished to say something, but there was no time for it. He frowned slightly but acquiesced to Bard's orders and turned to go find a barrel to climb into. I looked at Bard inquisitively, moving to get up, wondering if he meant for me to stash away as well.

"I think you're fine there." He said, motioning me to stay seated before going to check that the dwarves were all out of sight.

He made dock at a station outside the main borders of Laketown, told me to wait and whispered to the dwarves to keep quiet. I watched him debark and go to speak to one of the dockhands. After a few minutes I saw him shake hands with the man. Shortly thereafter, the dockhand readied a large load of fish and I suddenly realized what kind of bargain Bard must have struck. I rushed to the front to the barge and subtly peered in the barrels until I found Bofur's.

"Bofur. Give me your hat." I urged, holding my hand out as casually as possible over the barrel.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Please, if you have ever trusted me, just give me your hat!" I demanded, shaking my outstretched hand in impatience. "Quick!"

He finally took it off, holding it up for me to take. I grabbed it swiftly, hiding it behind my back as I stepped away. Not a moment later the enormous consignment of fish was spilled upon the barrels, filling up whatever space the dwarves didn't occupy. When the last fish was dropped, the dwarves were not visible in the slightest as the barrels topped well past the brim. I began to hear muffled noises of disgust from the dwarves within as Bard boarded and pushed the boat away from the dock. He looked at me, a small amused smirk on his usually dour face, and I couldn't help but smile slightly in return.

After a few minutes I could make out the tollgate ahead and felt a pang of worry settle in my gut. I was almost home, but would it still feel like home without my family? Even after all the years of wanting to return, of dreaming of the day, now I wasn't so sure. I would soon have to face the decision of what to do to support myself, and as it was, I didn't even know where my next meal would come from. What if I ended up a beggar on the street? What if I was forced to leave again? Where would I go? Would the dwarves help if I asked it of them? I knew Bofur would likely do whatever he could for me if my situation became desperate - while many dwarves were selfish, he was selfless. Yet would I be able to deal with the shame begging him for aid because I was too naive to help myself? Would the dwarves even still be alive after entering the mountain? Would Laketown be safe?

Bard snapped me out of my reverie as he swiftly kicked the side of a barrel and hushed the dwarves as we pulled into the docking station.

Ready or not, I was about to be reunited with the world of men.