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 fanfics would not be in existence.

As always, please review, favorite, and follow -it is really encouraging :D

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"Where's the path?!"

The shouted words echoed through the giant beech boughs high above the company's heads, the cacophonous waves quickly disappearing amongst the thick autumn leaves. Heads swung around, beards, braids, and curls alike flying as they all peered into the forest in every direction, as far as their eyes could see…only to see nothing but silvery trunks sprouting up from a thickly carpeted, red forest floor. There was no path, no ancient cobblestones, not even a measly little ribbon of bare dirt anywhere to indicate where it may be.

It had just mysteriously…vanished.

Bilbo knew a little of elven magic. Between his many books, travelers through the Shire, and tales, he had learnt both much, and way too little, of these ethereal beings. But he knew of elven magic. He had felt it keenly as they entered the hidden valley of Imladris, or Rivendell in the Common Tongue. He had seen both dwarf and elven magic as Elrond used the moon and the light table to reveal the secrets of Thror's map, hidden in the moon runes. He had felt it in the air, in the sound of the many waterfalls. In the mere presence of Elrond's house, he could feel it, heavy as a morning mist, yet wholesome and fair.

Here in this forest, he had also seen what he thought might be elven magic…only it wasn't wholesome, or fair. The enchanted stream had been vile, dark, disgusting, and smelly. But, though addled, sleepy, and quite cranky upon waking, Bombur had fared all right. He had been so terribly heavy for the others to carry, as were the extra packs he and Cirashala had to bear so the others could carry the rotund dwarf. He had slept for days, and couldn't remember his own face if asked, let alone the hobbit and young woman. But, overall, he wasn't harmed by the water. It was a terrible inconvenience, and a right bother, but he wasn't hurt, though it was fortunate that he hadn't drowned.

Though that stream was far less wholesome than the hidden valley, Bilbo somehow sensed that the stream's enchantment wasn't meant to be evil. He suspected it was more enchanted in such a way in order to be more of a deterrent to outsiders than meant for actual harm. It certainly didn't appear to be something one would wish to swim in, it definitely wasn't intended for a clumsy, fat, bumbling dwarf to climb on vines, slip, and fall in (of that, Bilbo was certain), but it was an effective barrier to intruders from outside the elven realm. Even just being near the banks made him drowsy, and he suspected most would fall victim to its enchantment by trying to drink the water, or merely touching the edge of it, thus protecting the realm, but not harming them (other than a long nap and an addled mind, of course). In other words, the exact same things that Gandalf had cautioned them against.

The hobbit had come to the conclusion that the stream was enchanted by the elven residents of this land, not by whatever had made the forest sick and diseased. It was slightly more wholesome here, though still quite dim, and infuriatingly endless. But, though dense, the trees appeared healthier overall, and a tiny bit of light here and there did pierce the thick red canopy above, unlike the part of the forest on the western banks of that stream. He could almost feel the elves' presence here, too, though it was very faint, not obvious like Rivendell.

The path vanishing without a trace must be elven magic, too, he concluded. How else could one explain such a strange thing? Still, the thought of losing the one means by which they could escape this stifling, dense and endless forest made him quite anxious, and his right hand subconsciously made its way into his side pocket.

As his hand felt the cool, smooth ring, Bilbo let out a small, relieved sigh. For some reason, touching the gold ring eased his anxiety a little. Though he did not know why, the hobbit was comforted by its presence. It was a strange little thing, this ring he pocketed from the pitiable, spindly creature in Goblin Town. Not only did it fit his finger perfectly, but it had the power to render him invisible to the eyes of others, a trait very, very much appreciated by a hobbit! And it had the power to calm him, even in the dire situation they found themselves in now.

His anxiety assuaged, Bilbo turned his attention back to the far more anxious group around him. If they were argumentative before, now they were more so. They were without food, low on water, and now, decidedly and unequivocally lost.

"It was just here a minute ago!"

"Maybe over there?"

"I just looked over there…twice!"

Bilbo glanced around again, for good measure, but it was to no avail. Even though his eyes were a little sharper than they used to be, even he couldn't see anything resembling the path. Thorin's voice rose above the din.

"The path is lost," he stated firmly, causing the others to quiet some. "We need to keep heading east, and we will find our way out of this Mahal-forsaken forest." Nori scoffed.

"This forest is endless," he whined. Dori moaned as he nodded in agreement. Thorin rolled his eyes.

"Have none of you ever studied maps?" he asked grumpily. Bilbo raised his hand.

"I have—" he began, but Balin quickly shook his head as a warning, and the hobbit shut his mouth. Thorin continued, seemingly oblivious of his interjection.

"To the east of this forest is the River Running," he continued, "and beyond that are the grasslands of Dale of old, extending to the Iron Hills of our kin. It does end, as long as we keep heading east."

"But which way is east?" Gloin asked. "We've lost the sun!" Bilbo's mind began turning, and the dwarves arguing faded into a dull hum.

The sun, he thought to himself, glancing upward. The tiniest ray of sunshine peeked through the canopy, traveling between the thick boughs of a great beech tree right next to them. The trunk leaned ever so slightly, just enough that a tiny little hobbit might be able to scamper up it. The ancient tree trunk had slight indents and boles sticking out, and they were big enough for his hands and feet to grip onto.

Bilbo looked upward, and his throat plummeted into his stomach. This tree had to be every bit of one hundred ranga high at least, and hobbits were not known for their love of heights!

He stared at the silvery old beech, and his stomach rumbled loudly. Suddenly, he felt very, very small indeed. But, as he glanced upward into the ray of sunshine, he knew what he had to do. For the sake of all his friends, the dwarf king, Bofur with his floppy hat, the gentle Balin, the gruff Dwalin, the mischievous lads, even the grumpy Dori and sticky-fingered Nori, as well as the very frightened-looking Cirashala…he must do this, for all of them. If he didn't, they would starve to death.

And he was the only one small enough to reach the top without the branches breaking beneath his weight.

Fingering the gold ring in his pocket once more for courage, he took a deep breath. Whimpering in fear, he walked over to the giant tree and began to climb up. Higher and higher he climbed, weaving through thick, twisted boughs and thinner branches filled with red and green leaves. The hobbit stepped on something sticky, and shook it off. It didn't feel like sap. It almost felt like a thick, white, sticky rope. Paying it little heed, he continued upward. If he paused to take in so much as a little beetle, he knew he would lose his nerve, and give up on his little quest altogether.

The air slowly became thicker, as the forest floor disappeared. He was surrounded by musty-smelling leaves, and poked and prodded by twigs and branches. He even ended up with a few leaves in his mouth when a branch hit him in the face, and promptly spat the bitter things out. He passed by clusters of tantalizing beech-nuts, and resisted the urge to pick them, knowing that it would not only distract him from his goal, but could also increase the chances of a fall. He also didn't have any way to carry them, and could not be expected to feed a whole passel of dwarves, himself, and the young woman with the meager amount that would fit into his pockets.

He also didn't want to lose the ring.

The thought of the ring in his pocket distracted him momentarily, and, by some great force of will, he shrugged it off. He had to reach the top, he had to find the sun, he had to see where they needed to go…

Suddenly, his head broke through the canopy. The sunlight just about blinded him, and he gripped the too-thin-for-comfort branch he was hanging onto with a vice-like grip that left his knuckles white. Bilbo couldn't hear his companions from the forest floor anymore…the leaves were too thick, and drowned out their arguing. It was several minutes before he could see, but as he breathed the fresh, cool air in, he felt his heart lighten with joy.

Finally, he was able to open his eyes, and what a sight! Black emperor butterflies danced around the top of a sea of red, the leaves glistening with the last vestiges of the morning dew. The sun shone warm on his head, and the cool breeze was like a long drink after being deprived of water for weeks. He breathed deeply of the fresh, wholesome air, overjoyed to be free of the stuffy, dim dankness of the enclosed forest below. They had been in this forest for so long, he'd forgotten what fresh air even smelled like!

Finally, he remembered his original purpose. Looking around, the joy of breaking free of the forest below began to lessen considerably. He could now tell which way was east, but…that was it. There were trees and more trees, as far as his eye could see, just like it had been below. He didn't realize that it was possible he was facing the west side of a small mountain in the distance, about ten leagues away, that obscured his view of the grasslands Thorin spoke of. He did not realize that the edge of the forest lay a mere thirteen leagues from the tree he was in, and could be reached in a matter of days. He did not realize that Laketown was a mere seven days' journey away. All he saw was a sea of red leaves, extending as far as the eastern horizon, and his joy quickly faded. His companions would not appreciate this news at all…but at least they knew which way they needed to go.

He had studied the maps, though the elven path was not on them. He now knew which way to go, yes.

The only question was…would they be able to reach the eastern bounds of the forest before starving to death?

For that, he had no answer.

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Cirashala kept looking around her, oblivious to the arguing amongst the dwarves. Her senses were on high alert now, and even so much as a leaf fluttering made her nearly jump out of her skin. The images in her mind of giant spiders jumping out from behind every tree, bush, and bough scared her spitless, and she was beginning to sorely regret leaving the elven path.

Her eyes landed on Kili, and she remembered why she'd left the path in the first place. Not for the first time did she regret even joining them in Rivendell in the first place.

I'm an idiot. I should've stayed in Rivendell, or gone to Bree as Elrond had planned. Why did I ignore his advice? Oh, right…I'm an idiot.

She was glancing around, hyper-aware of her surroundings, only to blink in surprise.

"Where's Bilbo?" she asked. The others continued arguing, and she raised her voice as loud as it could go without sounding like she was yelling.

"Where's Bilbo?" Cirashala repeated. The arguing ceased, and everyone started looking around in confusion.

"He was here a moment ago," Fili said, clearly bewildered. Kili nodded.

"Aye," he agreed. "Last I saw, he was standing next to me." Dori moaned again.

"He's abandoned us, too!" he cried in dismay. "Just like the wizard!"

"What did he say?" Oin asked.

"He said he abandoned us!" Gloin shouted into his brother's earhorn. Oin jumped back, and glowered at him.

"For Mahal's sake, ye didn't have to yell!" he grumbled.

"Where is the lad?" Balin asked. "I can see a ways into the forest now, and I don't see him anywhere." Thorin glanced around as well, worry in his gaze.

"You don't suppose he got lost?" Nori asked. Dwalin rolled his eyes.

"We're all lost now," he snapped. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"Of course he hasn't forgotten!" Dori snapped, stepping near his younger brother. "He's not a half-wit!"

"Could have fooled me," Dwalin retorted. Dori and Nori's eyes both blazed, and Thorin quickly stepped between them and the burly dwarf.

"Enough!" he cried. "Bilbo is around here somewhere. Spread out and find him, but do not lose sight of each other! We need to stay togeth—" The dwarf king never finished his sentence, for in that moment Cirashala saw a solitary leaf flutter down before her face. Glancing upward, the young woman found herself staring into the biggest, most hideous pair of bulbous eyes she'd ever seen in her life.

Cirashala's heart stopped dead in her chest. Hanging above them was a salivating spider, its pincers glistening with venom as its legs bent, coiling into springs ready to pounce. She should reach for her bow. She should nock an arrow. She should fire it. It was a mere twenty feet up, and the large body took up most of her vision. She could not miss it if she tried. She should shoot it, should alert the others…but none of that entered her mind. No thoughts of defense. No rationality. No logical course of action. No words could pass her lips as a terror unlike any she'd ever experienced before coursed through her. She could not move, could not speak. Fear, cold, bone-chilling fear paralyzed her, rooted her to the spot. The spider hissed, and leapt.

The last thing she remembered was the loudest scream she'd ever heard in her life rip from her own throat, before total darkness took her.

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Thanks to all for your patience! I'm sorry updates are slow. Real life has been so, so busy this year. Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow- you all are amazing! : D : D : D