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

A note- lots of family stuff going on right now. My ADHD is struggling with being able to put the story together due to everything else that's going on, overwhelming the attention center of my brain. I will update as I can focus, so please be patient with me! I really appreciate it! -Tweetzone86

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Kili stumbled wearily to his feet, groaning with pain. His empty stomach threatened to revolt as the forest swam around him, and it took every effort on his part not to collapse on the ground he had just managed to rise from. As his sight began to clear, he felt an arm on his shoulder.

"Kee?" Fili slurred, looking equally miserable. He turned and frowned at his wretched-looking brother, who was covered nearly head-to-toe in spider silk. "Are you all right?" Kili nodded, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"Aye," he mumbled, vaguely remembering the spider fight. It didn't take long for his clouded mind to recall that terrifying moment when Cirashala's scream rang through the air as the biggest spider he'd ever seen in his life dropped down on top of her. Many more had swiftly followed, biting as they descended upon the company. They didn't even have time to reach for their weapons. Within moments, they were all rendered unconscious, and, judging by his brother's haggard appearance, bound in the foul spider silk after. His eyes widened in panic, and he whipped his head around the group.

"Cira!" he cried. The others were fighting to stand up, with Bombur being held up by Bifur and Bofur. It was difficult to tell who was who with the webbing covering them all, but he knew his kin, though starving, were far broader in the shoulder than the young woman. Suddenly, he spotted a prone figure still lying on the ground. Eyes wide, he rushed over and turned her to face him.

"Cira!" She didn't respond, and terror coursed through him. He took her limp form into his arms, and ripped the spider poison off her ashen face. She still didn't move, and he began to shake her shoulders.

"Cira!" he pleaded with her, his heart pounding in his chest. "Cira, wake up!" Suddenly, Gloin shouted.

"The spiders!" he cried, pointing into the trees. "The spiders are coming back!" Kili's eyes widened as the spiders sped angrily toward them, and he shook her harder, to no avail. Tears welled up in his eyes as his heart sank.

No, he thought to himself. She's alive. She has to be!

"Cira, wake up!" he begged as a tear slid down his cheek. "The spiders are coming! Cir—" A tired voice sounded above him.

"Kili!" He looked up to see Thorin, who didn't look much better than Fili. The unusually pale dwarf king yanked him up and shoved his sword into his hands.

"Get up!" he commanded, his tone very firm, though a little weak. "On your feet, now!"

"Thorin, she's—" Kili began, but the elder cut him off.

"There's dozens of spiders coming!" Thorin interjected, even as he glanced worriedly over his shoulder. "Leave her! We need you to fight if we are to survive this!" Kili didn't have time to protest further as a cacophony of very, very angry screeches rang through the forest glade.

The spiders were upon them within moments. This time, though sick with spider poison and half-starved, the dwarves were more prepared for the onslaught. Kili would fight, but he would not leave her to do so. He and a few others stood around the unconscious young woman, their swords at the ready. A spider lunged for him, and he swung hard at its pincers, slicing them clean off. The now very angry spider charged him again, and he stabbed it in the eye.

The spiders quickly managed to separate the dwarves, but Kili stood firm near his beloved. Fili stood nearby, his knives singing as he stabbed one foul creature after another. Several others tried to get by him, but he would not allow them to reach her. He did not know if she was alive, but he would defend the woman he loved until his dying breath, if indeed it came down to that. Another spider descended above him, and the young dwarf was forced to shift to the left. Stroke after stroke he landed, but the tenacious spider kept charging.

He was so focused on defeating the very determined spider in front of him, and still slow from spider poison, that he didn't even see the one coming behind him. Suddenly, the young prince was knocked off his feet by a much bigger spider than most. The spider in front of him shrank back as his newfound captor hissed, and decided to try for different prey instead. His sword skidded across the forest floor, and he felt strong, hairy legs wrap around his torso. Hot, foul breath blew on his neck, and his eyes widened in panic.

"Fee!" he screamed, terror coursing through him. Brother, help me!

The young dwarf had always known that he would die on a battlefield, or at least, that was the way he wanted to go. Old, long of years, having lived a full life full of love. Because he could not have Cira, he would not marry, but he knew his brother would, and he would share in the joy of his nieces and nephews, and their offspring. Reclaiming his ancestral home, and supporting his elder brother in his rule, until their long beards were white, and their eyes filled with the wisdom of their people. Defending their kingdom proudly and bravely, until that final moment, when their worst enemy was defeated, and he could finally enter the Great Sleep in peace, and go to the halls of his fathers with honor.

Not like this. Not at the hands of these foul creatures of Morgoth. Young, with no weapon in hand, taken from behind, and leaving the woman he loved unconscious and defenseless before him. Unable to save his uncle and his brother. His cousins. His people. Leaving his mother alone and childless long before her time was done. Gone, his body rotting in this Mahal-forsaken forest, until ages passed, and even his very bones were no more. Cut down in his vibrant youth, long before his time.

Shouts echoed through the glade, but his companions would not reach him in time. They had all been separated during the fight, and spiders now blocked their way. There was no help. There was no recourse, no vengeance, no aid. He would perish, and his beloved would also die. His uncle, his brother, his kin, his people. He'd failed them all. He'd failed her. Kili closed his tear-filled eyes and waited for the final blow.

Suddenly, black blood gushed across the back of his head. The spider convulsed uncontrollably as elven arrows continued to enter its body, and the young dwarf found himself flung several ranga away, straight into a large oak trunk. He crumpled down to the base of the tree, gasping for air from the hard impact. Groaning as he held his head, he looked up in confusion, only to see elves descending upon the glade, fire in their eyes as their bows and blades sang. The spiders screeched even louder, and began to flee in terror, falling as more arrows and knives struck them down.

Cira! He looked back where she was, only to panic even further. There was no sign of her, only drag marks through the muddy leaves.

"No!" he cried. Seeing his sword laying at the base of the very tree he had been thrown into, he reached down to grab it, only to feel a sharp blade at his throat. The young dwarf instinctively froze.

"Daro!" a fair elven voice commanded. He did not need to know what that meant…the blade at his neck told him plenty. The elf patrol grabbed his arm and pushed him toward the rest of his kin, who were being forcibly gathered in the middle of the small glade. The dark-haired elf woman shoved him, not too kindly, into the middle of the company, and it was only his brother's arm that kept him from falling flat on his face. Fili steadied him, and he looked around frantically for any sign of Cira, but he still could not see her.

Where did she go? His gaze was blocked by very unfriendly-looking elves, and he tried in vain to see around them. A fair but very stern voice spoke up above the din.

"Drop your weapons, and no harm will come to you." He turned around to see a fair-haired elf pointing an arrow straight at Thorin's face. The young dwarf's heart went into his throat, and he instinctively reached for his sword…only to see the blade in question in the hands of another elf off to the side. Despite his terror over the young woman, he had enough presence of mind, and good training from Thorin and Dwalin, to avoid reaching for the hidden knife in his tunic. One look around told him that if any of them reached for a weapon, they would be instantly shot through with one of the dozen or more arrows currently aimed at the company's heads.

The air was thick with tension, and he could feel the anger of his kin emanating through the group. He suspected, based on the angry and suspicious looks on their faces, that the hostility was mutual. Unlike the elves in Rivendell, where Lord Elrond was friendly enough, and his people at least civil, these elves didn't even try to mask their true opinion of their prisoners. The still foggy minded dwarf suddenly remembered where they were, and his heart grew hot at the realization that these elves were none other than Thranduil's subjects.

Thranduil. That haughty elvenking who accused his great-grandfather of thievery, and abandoned his people in their hour of need. Who refused to fight the dragon, and abandoned pleas thereafter to aid the destitute and starving people. Who abandoned them to wander the wilderness, where their women and children died, their ranks decimated. Forced to work under the thumb of Men, who treated them as less worthy than the mud on their boots. Who valued them solely for their skill at smithing and no more. Who paid them measly wages and snubbed their noses.

King Thranduil…of the Woodland Realm. And these hostile, haughty elves were his border guards, his patrols…in his realm. And they were decidedly uncivil.

So Thorin told us the truth.

Thorin paused for a moment, but the blonde elf was equally unrelenting in his gaze. Suddenly, his uncle angrily dropped his sword, and the others, though obviously unwillingly dropped their visible weapons as well. The young prince knew that there were many more hidden within their garments, especially his brother's. Fili had dozens of knives stashed throughout his person so he wouldn't run out of knives when he threw them at enemies. Perhaps they could fight their way out after all, if the elves' attention slipped. Perhaps…he could escape, and find Cira.

I must find her. I must find her…before these horrible elves do.

"Search them!" A female elf commanded. "Seize their weapons!" Kili quickly glanced around their ring of captors once more. He had to escape before they found his hidden knife. The spiders were still out there- he could hear them screaming as the elves chased them, though they grew less and less frequent as the elves slew them. He had to be able to protect Cira. To his dismay, the elves remained vigilant, even the ones searching them for weapons. His anxiety grew tenfold as his eyes scanned what forest he could see through the elven wall that surrounded them.

I must get to her! He thought to himself, growing more and more frantic. He recalled her ashen gray face, her limp form, the way she didn't respond at all when he shook her. If he, a dwarf, was feeling this ill with spider poison, he could only imagine how seriously ill she was. She did not have the toughness of a dwarf. She was a daughter of Men, not made from the stuff of the earth. She could not endure the hardships and hurts as well as they could. That was why he had given her his ration. He knew he could endure starvation longer than she could.

She could not fight them. She could not defend herself. He had to defend her. He had to keep these elves away from her. He had to find her…before she died.

The very thought pierced straight through his heart. What if she died of the spider poison before he could get to her? He wasn't a healer, though Oin had taught him a little, but surely he could do something, anything to help…if only he could reach her! He strongly considered attempting to fight his way past the elven guards. He wasn't thinking about his odds. He wasn't thinking about their sharp eyes and swift hands. All he could think about was reaching the woman he loved, and nothing, not even these cold and heartless elves, would keep him from her! Damn the consequences, he would reach her, or die trying! He moved to step forward, when he felt a very firm grip upon his arm.

"No," Fili whispered to Kili in Khuzdul. It was forbidden to use that tongue in front of other peoples, but Kili knew his brother knew that the elves' sharp ears would hear anything they said, no matter how quietly he spoke. Fili would not have spoken it at all, unless in great need. His brown eyes met his brother's stern gaze, and he knew that Fili knew damn well what he was thinking, and would not let him pass, even if he had to pin him to the ground himself to prevent it. His gaze was clear.

Brother, do NOT do this. They will kill you.

Anger boiled within him. He didn't care. Fili knew how much he cared for Cirashala. How much he loved her. He knew Fili loved her also, as a friend, which made it worse. Kili was beyond reason now, so terrified he was for the young woman. He tried to shove his brother's hand off his arm, but Fili's grip was so tight that it would have taken a troll's strength to get him to let go. He would not let him pass.

"No!" he hissed again. Blue eyes met brown, and the elder brother was dead serious.

"I—" he began to argue, when an elven patrol yanked Fili away and began to search him. Kili's eyes tried to search the woods again, when a loud elven cry echoed through the glade from behind a large oak at the edge. His eyes widened as the blonde captain rushed over, and he knew what happened.

They found her. Damn!

The dwarves looked at each other, and worry was in all their eyes. The others knew it too, but they were helpless. They could not stop these wretched elves from taking her. From harming her. He had to move. He had to stop them! Kili saw the elves' momentary distraction, and lunged forward, only to feel more blades at his neck.

"Bind him!" an elven voice sounded. "Bind them all!" The elves holding him back shoved him to the ground.

"No!" he cried angrily as they forced his hands behind his back. The young dwarf fought them with every last bit of strength he had left. "Let go of me! I have to get to he—" Thorin cut him off.

"Kili!" he shouted in Khuzdul, his tone firm and unyielding. "Silence!"

The young dwarf looked on helplessly as he saw the elven captain disappear through the woods with Cirashala in his arms, and continued to fight against his bonds, not caring at all about the blades against his neck. Small trickles of blood ran down as they nicked him in their efforts to hold him still, but he refused to give up. He had to get free of their grasp. He had to catch up to that elf. He had to make sure she was all right. He had to…

A sharp pain emanated through his skull, and suddenly all went dark.

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Legolas headed up to the king's chambers, his mind unsettled. It was nearing nightfall when he arrived back at the King's Halls, and he had immediately taken the young maiden to Miriel, their head healer. Spider poison was all too familiar to their people, as even elves could succumb to its effects, if enough of it entered their bodies.

The mysterious girl was completely limp, even as he laid her down upon the healing table. Her face was even more devoid of color than it had been in the wood, and Miriel didn't look hopeful when he left the healing halls. If anyone could revive her, it was his father's cousin. She had studied under Melian the Maia herself in Doriath, long before its fall at the hands of the Noldor. Her skill was great, and long-enriched, but how it would fare against a mortal, he did not know.

Mortals were mortal. They lived, they faded remarkably fast, they died before an elf child even reached their majority. He had accepted this fact long ago. But he wasn't heartless. He pitied them, and their short lives. But a child…that burned his heart. It was one thing to watch a mortal die at the end of their life cycle, however short it was. It was quite another thing to see a child perish, especially since he knew it was due to the negligence of his border patrols. They should have never allowed so many spiders to cross their borders. The thought that a child may succumb from this poison saddened him greatly.

So many, he thought to himself. Elves, men, children…so many the spiders have taken needlessly.

He thought about the startling moment when she had briefly awakened. How did she know his name? He thought long and hard, and he could not remember ever seeing her before. Elves have excellent memory, and the only Men he had regular contact with were the Men from Esgaroth. It was a small town. He was absolutely certain he had not seen her there, unless she never left her home. But if she didn't leave her home, how did she end up in the forest?

So how did she know my name? He thought to himself. Even if she knew of me, she could not have possibly known who I am, or who my father is just by sight alone.

He was the king's son, and only child. Many more knew of him than actually knew him, due to his kinship with his father. There weren't many fair-haired ellons in their kingdom, but he and his father weren't the only ones. He glanced down at his muddy boots, the leaf-bits on his patrol tunic, the black spider blood on his hands, the twigs in his hair. He certainly did not look like an elven prince right now, dressed as a common patrol, and filthy from the fight. No one who didn't know him would recognize him as the king's son, or even of noble blood. And she'd barely even opened her eyes when she uttered his name! There had been no hesitation, even in her severely poisoned state, that she knew who he was.

"So…how did she know?" he muttered to himself. He glanced again at his very dirty clothing, and walked right past his father's meeting-chamber. He would bathe before delivering his report. The dwarves needed time to eat anyway. As much as he hated dwarves, there was no denying that they were starving, and a little food in their emaciated bellies might just make them slightly more amicable when his father questioned them.

Then again, he thought to himself as he sunk his weary body into the hot, steaming water of the natural spring water funneled into his chambers, When my father sees Thorin Oakenshield, no amount of food or fine wine in all of Middle-earth may make that conversation amicable!

He could not figure out if he was looking forward to this report, or utterly dreading it. One thing he did know. Once King Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm discovered that his most hated enemy's grandson was in his dungeons, things were bound to become quite…interesting.

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A response to guest reviewer Sparrowruth- Yes, it is quite tragic for sure. I have two daughters myself, and I thought about how I would feel if they died so suddenly and horrifically, and I poured all of that grief and anguish into Cira (in addition to the shock of ending up in Middle-earth, etc). My grandfather died when I was thirteen, and I cried nonstop for weeks. If it were my husband and babies, I know without a doubt it would be FAR worse. I am doing what I can to make it realistic, and when you're stuck fighting for your life after such a tragedy, it can really go one of two ways. You fight to live, or you give up.

In Cira's case, she would have given up, but for one thing- she didn't want anyone ELSE to suffer that horrific anguish. She didn't want to keep living, but she didn't want anyone else to suffer. She still cares for others, and is highly empathetic (unless she's ticked off, but she is empathetic by nature). That makes her feel strongly (bad for grief), but it ALSO is the very thing that made her think of Fili and Kili's mother and the grief she would feel if she lost her sons- HER CHILDREN- just like Cira did, despite her grief in that moment. That gave her a reason to move forward, rather than give up on life. The determination to spare others the anguish she experienced is the very thing that gave her the will to fight to live. If the company hadn't encountered her when they did, she would have died in Trollshaw Forest. She would have given up, had it not been for them.

Grief is a very powerful thing, to be sure. Go hug those little girls 3 I know I will hug mine tonight!

A response to guest reviewer theLord'ssparrow-

Yes! Total God thing for sure! Went on to build a house, and am now in the process of building up our farm, helping my sister get out of a DV relationship, running a small farmer's market business, and being on the market board (as well as homeschooling, as I was before). And taking care of my grandmother as she needs it (mostly independent, but occasionally or when sick needs my assistance). I never would've been able to accomplish all of this if I were still sick! What a blessing for sure! Total God thing!

Wow. I'm so glad you are still enjoying it! As you can see from above, updates have been slow. But not abandoning the story- just been swamped IRL. Thank you so much for your compliments! The highlights are great, but it's the campfire scenes, the quiet scenes, the character building scenes that I am drawn to. I want to see the WHOLE picture, not just the highlight reel. I am glad that you are enjoying that aspect of my story, even if I'm sure some find it boring and move on : )

I do try to remain faithful to the skeleton of Tolkien's world as much as I can. A world has its rules, the very fabric of its nature that Eru/God created it to be. In this world, elves aren't "loose" (ie sex=marriage, none outside of it), dwarves and elves merely go through phases of tolerating then not tolerating each other (with a few notable friendships- Celebrimbor and Narvi, Legolas and Gimli, Galadriel and Gimli), hobbits don't need shoes and like to eat, orcs are evil, etc. There's elements of a world that you cannot change, lest you change the very fabric (skeleton) that makes that world THIS world, and not a Disneyfied facsimile.

A successful fic, I think, will keep the skeleton intact, and just fill in the areas that aren't so rigid, while still maintaining a sort of fidelity to the overarching events that the character couldn't plausibly change (Cira can't make Sauron good, for starters, or raise Beleriand from the sea), AND keeping the characters believable (especially OCs, who are often way overpowered or too perfect or everyone loves them instantly, which really grates on my nerves). Thranduil and Thorin are never going to like each other (grudging respect after the BO5A aside), Beorn isn't going to start eating meat, and Elrond isn't going to turn into a twinkle toes ballerina dancing atop Orthanc singing Kumbaya with dredlocks and a disco light (though that would be a sight to behold LOL!).

But Tolkien gave us this playground, this sandbox, to play in and create in. All the best fics I've read have kept the skeleton intact, and are all the richer for it. I strive to do what I can to maintain that skeleton true to the story as well.

Yes! My husband is a mental health counselor, and I've always had a keen interest in psychology and the human mind. I myself have a traumatic childhood, and we are surrounded by mental health issues of varying kinds in our circles (husband has four adopted, formerly abused siblings with special needs and severe trauma). I strive for accuracy in this as well, because it has always frustrated me how poorly and inaccurately mental health is treated in media and film. Hopefully my more accurate portrayal of such helps my readers who are also suffering from trauma to feel that they aren't alone in it, and to seek help.

Kili intrigues me a bit, and I think he's a sweetheart : ) I also think he's just impulsive enough to be plausible in his love for Cira, despite his being a dwarf and her not being one. She does NOT like prejudice, and tries to measure a person by their character, not things beyond their control (such as their race/species, etc). I think they've both had things happen to them to cause emotional hurt, and I think he's open-hearted enough to be someone that can help her heal from her trauma. Her blindness to race and willingness to treat people as PEOPLE, not as elves and dwarves, men and hobbits, etc, allows her to see him for who he is- a genuinely good and kind person who also cares for others. He also sees these traits in her as well, and it draws him to her.

I am looking forward to continuing this story to whatever conclusion it leads me. Sometimes I write the story, sometimes it writes itself LOL. But I am so glad to see that people are still enjoying it, even though it has been 11 years since I started this series, and The Hobbit films are passe for the casual audience. Your review was absolutely lovely, and your nod to my faith also being visible in the story warms my heart : ) Tolkien's faith is so prevalent in his works, because the world itself weaves many truths throughout (though not being a direct allegory 95% of the time). I am honored to see that you see the same in my iteration of it.

Many thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow! You guys are so patient with me, and I love reading all your reviews! It gives me a lot of encouragement! : D : D : D