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

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Warning: references to battle violence, post-traumatic stress disorder, and attempted suicide in second section.

Gandalf wandered about the grove behind the great house, his mind making a vain attempt to comprehend what he'd just learned.

She learned about Thorin's quest from a book, according to the riddle. But how is that possible?

He knew that Elrond's libraries were full of books, some even originating from Valinor itself back in the First Age and brought to Middle-earth in the Noldorin Rebellion. The yellowed pages were carefully preserved and, if necessary, recopied by hand so that the tales and legends and lore would continue to live on and educate those who were interested in the histories of Middle-earth. His house was truly indeed the last Homely house east of the sea, and visitors had come from far and wide to study the ancient texts, mostly the descendants of Numenor and elves from Loth Lorien. However, Cirashala hadn't possibly had the time to peruse the vast library, as she'd been recovering from her warg bite during her brief duration in the elven valley. And she was most certainly no elf.

Gandalf could see that she may have easily learned about the fall of Erebor and Dale so many years prior from travelers, the event being quite cataclysmic compared to other happenings in the last four hundred years. News of Smaug's atrocities had spread far and wide, and never had a single dragon become more infamous for his devastation since the days of Ancalagon the Black.

But to know of Thorin's quest, when Ori's book wasn't even close to being finished? Gandalf could not see that it was even possible. The only people he knew of who could even have an inkling of what the future held were lord Elrond and lady Galadriel, the most learned Noldor that dwelt in Middle-earth. But they were elves, immortal beings whom, at least in Galadriel's case, had been educated by the Valar themselves and seen the Undying lands with her own eyes. And even then, their visions may only prove to be true should certain events happen, and noble hearts failed.

No, he decided, tapping out his pipe on a rock by a clear, gurgling stream. It's not possible. And yet, somehow she knew that they planned to retake the mountain, and she knew who they were and that they had come here after the goblin tunnels, though I had never said such a thing. She is intelligent and clever with her deductions, but something else is at work here- something I cannot describe. She should not have known these things, especially from a book.

Wizard though he may be, he knew that even the very wise could not see all ends. As his gaze landed on the house to the east, his brow furrowed with concern. He had been curious of her ever since she'd willingly risked her own life to save the young dwarf from a deadly warg bite. Her actions had puzzled him greatly, though he saw no evil in her countenance. But there were some things she simply should not know, and that concerned him deeply.

As soon as her fever broke, he would have to speak with her- alone.

XXX

The last time Fili had held his swords, his heart had been drowning in grief as uncontrollable anger pulsed through him, and all he could think about was vengeance.

Slay the vermin that killed my brother, and let me die at their hands, and he will be avenged.

Now, as he felt the familiar leather beneath his fingertips, the young dwarf found his mind swirling with the images of that night. The howls of the wargs, the shouts of his kin, the tangy, pungent smell of woodsmoke and brush as it filled his nostrils and blinded his eyes. The glow of the fire separating his uncle and himself from all but two of the wargs intent on mauling them to death.

And through it all, despair and rage intermingling with overwhelming sorrow coursing through his veins. One phrase running through his mind over and over again.

My brother is dead. Kili is gone. I have failed him.

He had wanted to die. His brother, his best friend, his confidante, had fallen. The bandages that peeked out beneath the edge of his bracer served only to be a reminder of the moment when he realized that he'd rather die than bear the grief of having killed his younger brother simply by not being fast enough to prevent it from happening.

He knew that Frerin had fallen at Azanulbizar. There was an etched stone wall in Ered Luin that honored the brave dwarves who had given their lives so valiantly against such impossible odds, since they could not be entombed befitting the customs of their people. His uncle never spoke of it, but he had always known. Frerin had died valiantly and with honor and courage, but he was too young to have been out there in the first place.

The way Thorin had been hesitant for Fili and Kili to accompany him on this quest, and his reaction when Kili was thought to have died, spoke volumes about that history. The brothers were far older than Frerin had been when he'd breathed his last, but Fili somehow knew deep down that Thorin also blamed himself for Frerin's death. He did not know why, as his mother and brother never spoke of the battle with regards to the uncle he'd never known. But one thing he knew now, though anger and blame had clouded his eyes before- no one understood the loss of a younger brother better than his uncle.

As cerulean blue eyes looked up at his opponent, the young heir found that, no matter how he tried, the images from that night could not be shaken from his mind. As he went to lift up his swords, he realized that he could not do it. His body seemed frozen in place as he stared at his hands. Green eyes returned his gaze, the stern lines around them softening in understanding.

"Easy laddie," Dwalin said quietly, removing one hand from the handle of his warhammer to place it gently on the young heir's shoulder. Wide eyes looked back up at him, misting despite the younger valiantly attempting to prevent it. "It takes time for the injury to heal, and for the arm to remember what to do."

"It's not that," Fili whispered, relieved that the others were content to give the pair space and privacy as he began to restrengthen his injured arm. "It's just..." The younger trailed off, and Dwalin frowned. Realization entered his features as his eyes searched Fili's face.

"The images haunt you." It was a statement, not a question, and Fili nodded.

"I-I can't get them out of my mind," he whispered, tears of shame pricking his eyelids. "The fire...a-and the wargs, and..." The younger's face filled with shame, and he looked away, fearful of the truth being evident to his much respected mentor. Dwalin's expression softened further, and he glanced over at a fallen log off to the side. Fili nodded.

As the two dwarves sat down, sheathing their weapons, the elder sighed deeply. Casting away his usual mien of toughness and resilience, the elder felt tears fill his own eyes. Memories surfaced of the many battles he'd fought in, but none were clearer than Azanulbizar.

"Laddie," Dwalin's voice cracked, causing the younger's eyes to widen in complete shock. He had never seen the burly warrior shed a tear in his life. "I know exactly how you feel. The images, the sounds, everything I saw that day are forever etched in my mind as though it were yesterday." The elder's face also filled with shame.

"I remember...when I saw my king's head in the hands of that filth," he continued, his hands visibly shaking. "I remember it bouncing along the ground, as though it were nothing more than a sack of feed. I remember feeling...fear, anger, vengeance." The elder's back stiffened, and he looked the young heir straight in the eye.

"And I remember wanting to kill myself too," he said, causing a gasp from the young heir. Dwalin nodded, even as Fili turned his face away in shame.

"Laddie, I know," he said quietly, wrapping his arm around the younger's shoulders. "I've known you since the minute you were born, and I've trained you in weapons for most of your life. You would not have let that warg get so close to you, not unless you wanted it to." Fili's shoulders began to shake as tears rolled down his cheeks, his face red with shame.

"I-I wanted to die," the younger whispered, finally admitting the truth out loud to himself. "When Kili died- I mean, he isn't dead, but...when I thought he had, it felt like I'd failed. Like I wasn't fast enough. Like...there was something I could have done to stop it, but I didn't. I couldn't stop it. My brother fell, and..." Sobs began to escape the young dwarf, and tears of understanding and grief began to fall down the scarred cheeks of his companion as well.

"Laddie, when your great-grandfather died, and your grandfather went missing, I felt like I'd failed too," he whispered. "Dwarves were falling left and right. Some were thrown off cliffs. Some were beheaded. There was blood, sheer carnage everywhere." He sighed deeply, and tightened his grip on the young heir's shoulder.

"Laddie, I am going to tell you something that I've never told anyone else, save for your mother and Thorin," he said quietly. Tear filled blue eyes looked up at the green orbs, shame and regret swirling within them. Dwalin swallowed heavily, the tears freely flowing now.

"I saw Frerin die," he whispered, his own shoulders shaking. "I was too far away, and there were too many orcs in my path to get to him. I saw him, just a bit of fuzz on his cheeks, miss the sound of an orc creeping up behind him. The orc raised its blade, and I opened my mouth to yell. I tried to warn him, but another orc swung its blade at my face just then, slicing through my cheek and nose. The blood blinded me for a moment, though I managed to kill the orc that cut me. When I finally had the chance to wipe the blood out of my eyes, the first thing I saw was Frerin, dangling in the air with a bloodied blade sticking out of him. He looked me right in the eye, before the orc shoved him off the blade onto the ground.

"I'd never felt such rage and anger in my life. I'd sworn to protect him and Thorin in the battle, especially Frerin as he was so young. But there were just too many orcs, and they pushed us apart. And I will now go through life regretting my inattention on that day ever since."

The burly dwarf closed his eyes, sighing deeply. The young heir eyed the large scar across the elder's face, one aspect of his battle history that the burly dwarf had never divulged to the lads, and now he understood.

"I wanted to kill myself that night," the large dwarf continued after a moment. "I couldn't face Dis and Thorin with what I'd done- what I'd failed to do. But Balin was there for me, and helped me work through the grief and the anger and accept that it wasn't my fault Frerin died. It took time, and the images still haunt me often, but I've made peace with his death."

The pair sat in silence for a long time. The sound of the forge hammer in the distance mingled with the chirping of birds, the rustling of the breeze in the trees, and the distant sound of sparring and occasional shout. As a child, Fili would have happily gone and played in the tall grasses, picked wildflowers for his mother, hidden with Kili in the barn plotting mischief.

But something had changed in him. He had always felt like a child in relation to the older dwarves, particularly Dwalin, who had been far more an uncle to him than the cousin he actually was. But to see the burly dwarf break down and confess his own inner struggles, the same weaknesses which Fili struggled with, he finally felt as though they were now equals. He was royal, and Dwalin was not, though he was noble blood and distantly in line for the throne of Erebor, but they were both warriors.

Now he truly knew what others had faced in battle. The vacant looks, the restless, tired eyes- he finally understood. Looking at the peaceful sight before him, he thought about the road ahead. Of a strange forest stretching for two hundred miles, Esgaroth, desolation, and finally, the dragon at the end of it all, residing in the mountain that was rightfully their home.

And he knew, now more than ever, that he needed to overcome his fears. His uncle and brother would need him to fight, to help reclaim their home. He could not simply dwell on the past, for it was written in stone and could not be changed. All he could do was be immensely thankful that his brother was indeed alive, and that he would fight to his dying breath to try and defend the ones he loved from death within the best of his ability. And to do that, he'd need to restrengthen his arm and be able to fight again.

Grasping the hilt of his swords, the younger stood up, facing his mentor with a look of determination on his face.

"I'm ready."

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Ok, I HAVE to write this before I post it- my husband just read this chapter (after five months of not being able to write), and told me I haven't lost my touch and that it's really good. I love you! 3

A response to all my guest reviewers (whom I cannot respond to via pm, and also because there were so many of you in the past months)- thank you ALL for your overwhelming patience as I've battled several illnesses and medication switches and complications from chronic illness over the past five months. Life has truly been exceedingly difficult of late :( Here is a update (finally). I apologize if the quality isn't as good as previous chapters, as I'm on bedrest right now and it has been a while since I've written anything for Middle-earth. But I'm starting to get to where I can re-enter the story (I think). But I'm still trying to recover from four hospital visits in the past month and the complications from chronic illness and infection I'm dealing with at present. So I cannot promise consistent updates, but I hope this one will be the oasis in the middle of the desert for those of you whom have waited so patiently :) And if you pray, your prayers would be much appreciated :D

Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow! I appreciate it more than you could ever know! :)