Hope you're enjoying 2025 so far! Thank you for all the reviews and the well wishers from last chapter. It really touched my heart. Just a head's up, I took the final portion of the last chapter and put it in this one (like I had originally planned) because it flows better. Just in case it looks familiar for those of you that read the last chapter before I changed it.

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"Courage is not the absence of fear but the judgement that something is more important than fear." -James Neil Hollingworth

~*Chapter 33*~

The Contract

"If you do not cease your fidgeting, I shall never complete this task," Thorin says, his deep voice tinged with a hint of impatience, though his eyes betray a subtle amusement.

"You're doing it on purpose," I laugh, trying to stay still while watching his gaze. "Admit it, you're just trying to prolong the process."

Thorin lets out a low, rumbling chuckle that sends a warm ache through me. The air grows almost still as all my focus turns toward the sensation of his hands in my hair, knuckles gently brushing my cheek as he works. He smiles, feeling my eyes on him as he does an intricate braid, the likes of which I've never seen before.

"Hold this please. Tightly." He asks, finally done. I reach up to pinch the ends of a small, gorgeous braid he made on the side of my head. I watch as his hands gently move towards his own dark hair and gently removes one of the silver metal beads from one of his two signature braids that always frame his face. He carefully threads my hair through.

The experience feels intimate and special, almost sacred. It's more than a ring on a finger. He's carried this bead on him since becoming of age in his dwarven custom, waiting to give it to his special someone. In a way, I now have a piece of him; a courtship braid tied with his metal clasp. A symbol to all dwarves that I'm being courted.

He's finally done and leans back to admire his work.

I study the tightly wound four-strand braid in my hair, admiring at how flawlessly he'd made it. For someone so used to working with a hammer and anvil and sword, his fingers are surprisingly nimble and deft.

"So, do I get to braid your hair now?" I ask slyly, giving him a teasing look. There's no way I'll be able to do as good of a job as him. I reach out and gently touch his braid, wondering how he'll keep it from unraveling without a bead in it now.

He gazes at the braid in my hair as if it's a priceless treasure before glancing at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "My entire beard is yours to do with as you wish," he rumbles, the corners of his mouth turning up in a rare smile that seems less and less rare.

I laugh, for there is certainly not enough of his beard to do much with. I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow curiously, "Another dwarf custom?"

He hums in agreement, his attention still drawn to the braid in my hair. "The dwarrowdam chooses the style of her intended's beard."

I think hard, "So, Gloin and Bofur's wives chose their style? What about Ballin?"

Thorin's expression sobers slightly. "As you know, his wife has passed. A widower may choose his own braids once more, but most do not wear any." He trails off, the weight of that loss evident in his words.

I nod in understanding, my heart heavy for Balin's grief. "I thought so. He's the only one in the company without any braids."

Thorin rises from where we've been sitting in the warm green grass for the past thirty minutes, reaching down to take my hand and pulls me to my feet with ease. "Come, let us return to the others."

He leads me back in the direction of Beorn's house, warm hand gripping mine, but a frissure of fear grips me when we reach the front door. I hesitate, pulling a back on his hand to stop him. "Wait, Thorin...What will the company say?"

An amused smirk tilts the corner of his mouth and instead of answering, he opens the door behind him and gently pulls me inside. As we enter, the bustle of the company falls silent, their eyes drawn immediately to the intricate braid adorning my hair. I feel uneasy, wondering what they're thinking.

"Uhh, hi guys-"

The room suddenly breaks into chaos; a loud cheer raising from the dwarves as some of them laugh and clap and break out in conversations while others rush towards Thorin and I. Gloin, Oin, and Bombur give me a bone crushing hugs while Thorin finds himself the recipient of enthusiastic back-slaps and head-butts from Balin and Dwalin, the three of them chuckling heartily.

Ok, this is NOT what I was expecting.

I can't help the confused but happy smile on my face and I laugh as Fili lifts me up and spins me around in a hug.

"The deed is done at last!" Dori exclaims joyfully, with hands in the air, as if praising Mahal, while Ori is writing furiously at some paper and feather. He must have gotten them from Beorn, no doubt trying to document the event.

Gandalf, Beorn, and Bilbo observe from the sidelines. The wizard's and shapeshifter's expressions are positively smug while my good friend beams and claps in delight. I shake my head in amused disbelief, overwhelmed by the outpouring of acceptance and joy from the company. I've never felt so loved. Have they really been waiting for this moment for so long?

Thorin, standing tall and proud amidst the revelry, meets my gaze, his eyes bright with warmth and amusement at my surprise.

"Finally! Welcome to the family Auntie!" Kili comes up, making Fili release me before giving me a huge kiss on the cheek.

Ok? Super weird. I laugh, not able to help myself.

Balin comes up to me with watery eyes, full of emotion as he gives me a warm hug, "May the Stars of Durin bless this union!"

"What took you so long? Get lost in the forest, did ye?" Nori pops up next to Thorin, pulling a leaf out of his hair and turning to wink at me salaciously. Thorin bats him away with a laugh which Nori easily evades.

I notice bags of coins being passed around by an exuberant Bofur, clearly for bets that had been previously placed. "Really guys?" I laugh in shock. "Come on!"

This is all too much. When did this all happen? Has it always been like this? How long did the company notice that their King had feeings for me? Did Balin or Nori tell them?

Gandalf and Bilbo both catch small bags of coins thrown at them. As I stare at them, Bilbo gives me a wink. Cheeky hobbit. How long has he been in on it? I laugh and shake my head, completely and blissfully happy.

A gentle wind stirs the grass beneath our small secluded circle, far from the rest of the company where Thorin, Bilbo, and I stand close together. However, the faces staring back at me are now shadowed with seriousness, much different from the joyful laughing and banter we've been experiencing for the last few hours.

I've told them everything, except the Necromancer being Sauron, that is. I finally take a deep breath and finish, "So, that's why keeping the Ring safe is of the utmost importance. Nothing else could be more important. We can't risk anyone finding out about it or else it could fall into the wrong hands. Any questions?"

The silence that follows is thick, almost suffocating. Both of them are stunned in their own way, their expressions betraying the wariness they feel at my words.

Bilbo is the first to break the stillness, his earlier confident demeanor gone, "Peyton, this...this is a lot to take in. I think-" Suddenly his eyes widen and he gasps, realizing something, "Wha- You LIED!" He points an accusing finger at me, his face flushed with indignation. "You told Gandalf it merely made its wearer invisible!!"

I look down at my thick worn boots, guiltily, "I know. But Gandalf, despite what you guys may think, is one of the most influential beings in Middle Earth. If he knew about it, he could change things far more drastically than I could."

Thorin's gaze is intense and steady as he watches Bilbo and I. He is calculating, as he always is, weighing the danger of my words. But there is something else there too...something harder, colder, in Thorin's eyes that makes my stomach clench. I've seen that look before. It's the same look he gave me when I told him the company would be kidnapped by Goblins.

He finally speaks up, his voice low but unwavering. "Peyton-"

"Be VERY careful with your next words, Thorin," I inturrupt, narrowing my eyes as I can guess what he's about to say. At his confused, questioning gaze, I elaborate, "Do NOT make the same mistake twice. Do you trust me? Or not?"

The last time I trusted him with difficult information he refused to listen to me.

He pauses, seeming to get what I'm refering to. He proceeds slowly, as if choosing his next words carefully, "I do not wish to question your judgment, but you make it…difficult. The Goblin Tunnels came at a huge risk and a cost of all our supplies." His eyes hold mine as he almost growls, "Allowing such an evil object to remain in our midst may do more harm than good."

My chest tightens at his words, but I hold his stare, "This quest was never going to be easy. It's one of THE most difficult and dangerous quests documented in my world. But the Ring is part of your quest, like it or not."

"But this is not the same story you knew in your world! If this is indeed the 'One Ring to rule them all'-" His voice is low, dark, and full of dread. "Then we are all in grave danger. We must tell Gandalf."

I shake my head, a fierce, desperate feeling rising in me like it did last time. "No, Thorin! That's out of the question." My voice a little too sharp. "Gandalf can't know. If he does, he'll call off the quest, start a new one to destroy it, and nothing will go according to planned. We NEED the Ring to get through Mirkwood and defeat Smaug. That's the truth."

The Valar want us to succeed. And we need the ring, for better or for worse.

Before Thorin can argue, Bilbo, with a small, worried frown, reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Ring. He holds it up between the three of us, its golden surface catching the light like a glowing lure.

My breath hitches as the golden ring fills my sight. The world around me blurs and Bilbo's voice is distant, muffled, as if underwater. "Maybe he's right, Peyton? I think we should just leave the Ring here. Beorn can protect it." But his words barely register. All I can feel is the Ring's insidious whisper, that maddening, insistent call, curling around the back of my mind like smoke.

Take it. Take it now. Bilbo is weak. You need it to save the line of Durin. Think of Kili...Fili...THORIN!

My hands tremble at my side as I fight the urge to snatch it from him, to claim it as my own. It's like resisting the last slice of decadent chocolate cake at a party. Or turning away from kissing Thorin in the hay when his lips are an inch from mine. A moment of weakness, and I might lose myself entirely. I can't let it consume me! Not now!

Bilbo's voice drifts in again, murky in the background, "I don't feel comfortable carrying such a dangerous thing. There simply must be another way!" But his words are drowned out by the Ring's pull, its golden light searing into my mind.

Light...light...I need light! I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus on anything but the Ring. The hen and her chicks, their soft chirping as they huddle together. The orange fluffy cat, his purr vibrating against my chest as he cuddled with me. Beorn's grateful smile as he handed me the Havenmal. Thorin's soul-searing kisses, his hands roaming my body.

I'm doing it! I'm resisting! Barely. The Ring's power is a tidal wave, crashing against the fragile dam of my will. I can feel it cracking, splintering under the pressure.

Without warning, a strong arm blocks me from the ring, startling me to open my eyes. I see Thorin. His gaze is locked on me, his blue eyes piercing, steady as stone.

"Bilbo," he commands in a firm voice, even as he doesn't break eye contact with me. "Put the Ring back in your pocket."

Bilbo hesitates, looking from Thorin to me, but widens his eyes in comprehension and quickly complies, slipping the Ring away with trembling hands. His eyes dart to me once more, concern etched in his features.

I exhale sharply, relieved for the strong arm around me, but my voice is barely a whisper. "Thank you," I manage, the words thick with gratitude.

My gaze shifts to Bilbo, who's staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. "We didn't go through the Goblin tunnels just to leave the Ring behind," I say, my voice strained. "We need it to complete the quest. You were never supposed to know it's the One Ring. The Ring that will be destroyed in fifty years." I admit, regretful for placing this burden on him.

Bilbo's brow furrows. "Then…why reveal it? Why change the story again?" he asks, clearly bewildered.

I look down, shame burning in my chest. "Because I'm the only human here," I admit, my voice cracking. "And humans… we're weaker when it comes to the Ring. Dwarves, hobbits, elves...you're stronger. You can resist it. But me? The threat to this quest right now… isn't Sauron. It's me."

Thorin's hand reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear, firm and steady before pulling my shivering form fully into his broad warm chest. Wrapping both strong arms around me, he murmurs into my ear, his voice barely audible, "You will not carry this burden alone." His words are a vow, quiet and resolute.

I practically sag into his embrace with relief, feeling a swell of emotion rise within me, something deep and raw, and my throat tightens with unshed tears. The irony of his family's mental illness and my situation is not lost on me. The Valar are really making me eat my past words I said to him aren't they.

Bilbo's eyes soften with pity, and I see the light turn on as he pieces it together. He is silent for a long moment, but when he speaks again, there is a gentle resolve in his voice. "I'll stay away from you. In Mirkwood, at least." His eyes are full of worry, but his resolve is unwavering.

"And I'll stay close by, in case anything happens." Thorin murmurs into my hair, his words are comforting, his presence a shield.

I should have told them both sooner honestly. It feels like I can finally breath with it out in the open. It isn't just me against the Ring anymore. They understand now. I'm not alone in this. I have Thorin and Bilbo in my corner now, offering strength and support.

The air is busy as we pack our supplies. The scent of freshly baked bread and newly harvested honey fills the air as we shove blankets, foodstuffs, and water skins into our packs, each one growing heavier by the minute. The honey, in particular, is a burden. Dozens and dozens of jars, golden and sticky, clink together as we move them, carefully seperating them with soft objects so they don't break inside the packs. Beorn's generosity is overwhelming, but it's a welcome weight. The problem is securing the load on the horses.

Beorn's horses are towering and majestic, a far cry from the previous ponies we're accustomed to. It's hard to reach their tops and the dwarves dwarves grunt and heave as they hoist the sacks onto the enormous horses, climbing ontop of each others shoulders to secure the load.

They are beautiful though. Their warm snorts fill the air as they nicker and paw at the ground. I run a hand along the velvety coat of one, its muscles twitching beneath my touch. It's a strange comfort, this connection to something so wild and free.

I find myself next to Balin, the two of us working side by side as we pack our own sacks, deep in conversation. His movements are deliberate, each item placed with care. We are currently in a heated discussion. Well, at least heated on my end. He just seems amused.

He glances at me, his patient smile softening the lines of his weathered face. "But I did explain, lass," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "Actions speak louder than words when it comes to dwarves."

"But you didn't tell me that dwarves wait for a kiss to start the courting process!" I protest, my voice rising slightly as I gesture around myself. The last of the packs are secured now, and the Company is beginning to mount up. "I mean, come on, Balin. That's a pretty big detail to leave out."

Balin shrugs, his hands never pausing as he tightens the straps on his bag. "It isn't always a kiss, but I didn't want to deter you if you had the inclination. I merely warned you not to give hope where there is none. For us dwarves, actions carry weight...far more than words ever could."

I cross my arms, my cheeks flushing. "But in my world, people kiss all the time without it meaning anything! What if I had kissed Thorin, but it hadn't meant to me what it means to him?"

Balin stops packing and turns to face me fully, his expression grave. The light catches the white in his beard, and his eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes me shift uncomfortably. "Do the people of your world lack common decency for the feelings of others? Are they truly so fickle in their affections?"

I blush, my mind racing through memories of fleeting romances and casual kisses. Liberties I allowed others that meant little to me but might have meant more to the other person.

"It's... complicated," I stammer, avoiding his gaze. "But yeah, I guess. In some cultures, people don't think about each other as much as they probably should."

Balin studies me for a long moment, his piercing gaze making me feel like an open book. Finally, he shrugs and turns back to his pack. "Well, lass, it's a good thing you'll be staying in this world, then."

Before I can muster a defense of my selfish world, Thorin approaches, his presence commanding as always. "Is all prepared?"

I open my mouth to answer 'yes', but Balin is quicker. "Ah, nearly, Thorin. There is but one more matter to settle, and I've spent the last three hours crafting it."

He pulls a large parchment from somewhere, the paper thick and slightly yellowed. At my raised eyebrow, he explains, "The parchment is a courtesy of Beorn. I'm keeping a tally of all that we owe him." He gestures to the bustling Company, their hands full of supplies as they finish loading the horses. Most of them glance our way, their approval evident as they seem to know what is about to transpire.

Balin clears his throat and holds out the parchment with a flourish. "I present to you both your Courting Contract."

My eyes widen as I stare at the document. A contract... for dating? Balin had mentioned it before when telling me about dwarf courting customs, but I hadn't fully grasped the weight of it until now. This has to be the strangest dwarf custom I've encountered (almost as bizarre as their tradition of receiving blood pudding instead of cake on their birthdays).

Balin misreads my stunned silence and begins to explain, his tone almost apologetic. "I didn't have the time or resources to include all I wished, but if all parties are amiable, I can draft a more detailed and official contract once we reclaim Erebor." He glances at the parchment, his fingers brushing over the edges. It's not as elaborate with fold-outs, like Bilbo's contract had.

My mind flashes once more to the casual dates and fleeting relationships of my past. None of it had been this formal, this deliberate. This feels less like dating and more like an engagement.

I keep that thought to myself and take the contract from Balin. His hands tremble slightly, and there's a gleam in his eyes that speaks of pride and something deeper - something like hope. This, I realize, is one step toward his lifelong dream of drafting Thorin's marriage contract.

The parchment feels heavy in my hands with the ink dark and precise. My eyes skim the words, but the weight of tradition and expectation presses down on me. Is this what Thorin feels all the time? The burden of his people, his crown, his duty?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Royal Courting Contract

By the Names of Durinsons and All the Longbeard Ancestors

This Courting Contract ("the Contract") is made on this 17th Day of the September Moon, in the Year of the Quest for Erebor, 2941, between:

The Parties:

1. Thorin Durinson Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, pertaining to and of the Royal line of Durin.

2. Peyton Marie Silva, Daughter of Jeremy, son of Ryan, of the Esteemed Silva Clan

Henceforth collectively referred to as "The Courting Parties."

Preamble:

Whereas, the undersigned Parties do hereby express their mutual desire to enter into a formal courtship, acknowledging the potential for a lifetime partnership founded upon mutual respect, earnest intentions, and life debts to one another, in accordance with the hallowed traditions of the Dwarven kin when seeking to find their One.

Article I: Intent to Court

1. The Parties do hereby affirm their mutual longing to engage in a period of courtship, aimed at fostering a deeper understanding of one another's character, aspirations, and familial obligations, with the weighty purpose of potentially progressing towards the sacred bond of marriage.

2. This courtship period shall allow for the exploration of compatibility, shared goals, and the establishment of unwavering trust, and shall be for the duration of: _ moons.

...

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It continues on and on, a lot to read all at once. I look through it, wide eyed. He whipped all this up in only three hours?! I smile at some parts such as the section that reads 'The Parties also agree to participate in joint activities that cultivate understanding and mutual interests, such as going on a quest, and assisting with dividing treasure amongst the company.'

"Uh, Wow, Balin. I'm speechless," I finally say, stopping at only half way through.

He seems to relax a bit at my words and smiles. "I am glad it meets your approval," he says, cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling. He seems rather pleased with the whole situation. "Now, we need only determine the length of the courtship and arrange the exchange of tokens between you."

"Uh," I falter, scrambling for understanding. "The what and the what?"

"The dwarrowdam chooses the length of the courtship," Thorin explains gently. "It may be as long or as short as you deem fit."

"Oh! Uh, I don't think...I mean, I really don't know how long it should be." I say anxiously thinking about how I'm NOT a dwarrowdam and don't know what's customary.

Thorin strokes his short beard thoughtfully and ponders aloud, "Customarily, a courtship lasts around three months. But given our current quest..."

"WHAT?! Only three months?!" I ask, shocked. "But...that's not nearly enough time to get to know someone!"

Balin raises an eyebrow, his tone tinged with amusement. "Lass, in my day, a courtship of one month was more than sufficient. Why wait when you know who your One is?"

Bofur, who's currently filling his horse's pack next to us speaks up, "Yeah Pey! How long does it take a human to get to know someone?"

"Well, I mean," I think out loud, mind reeling. "At LEAST a year, I think. But-"

Thorin's eyes widen slightly, but he remains silent, his expression unreadable. Balin, however, frowns, his voice firm. "Three months is more than adequate."

"But..." I scramble for an excuse, oddly terrified for reasons unknown to me, "I'm not dwarrow! I'm a human!" I notice Thorin's and Balin's furtive glance at one another, but ignore it, for once using my cultural and racial differences to my gain, "And, look, in my world, getting married so soon is something only crazy people do! Getting married after dating, er, I mean, courting for only three months just isn't a sensible thing to do!"

"Do you fear you will change your mind?" Thorin asks, his gaze piercing, blue eyes analyzing my reaction.

I blush, feeling embarrassed by all the scaldalized looks the dwarves all shoot at me and I struggle to explain what I'm feeling, "Well, I mean...If...if things should change...Look, I'm just not comfortable with such a quick courting process! I know the most important things about you, Thorin, like your sense honor and loyalty, but...well, I don't even know your favorite color or your sister, you know? I just...think we should take it slow."

Balin opens his mouth to argue, clearly confused about what his favorite color or sister has to do with the bond we share, but Thorin raises a hand, silencing him. His eyes never leave mine as he speaks, his voice steady and resolute. "The dwarrowdam chooses the length of the courtship. I shall honor your race's traditions."

A breath I didn't realize I was holding escapes me, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I had no idea I would be so anxious about this until now. A flicker of guilt stirs within me. Don't I love Thorin? Shouldn't I be eager to marry him as quickly as possible? If I'm willing to never see my family again for him, then why wait?

"Thank you," I say softly, offering him a grateful smile. Just that simply concession makes me feel slightly more willing to speed up our courtship.

Balin mutters under his breath as he writes 'one year' on the contract. I catch something about this being the longest royal courtship in history. Odd, considering how long a dwarf's life is compared to a human's. But perhaps royal courtships are held to a different standard than common ones?

I glance at Thorin, searching for any hint of disappointment. But he remains composed, his expression calm. He meets my gaze with a gentle smile, his fingers brushing against mine in a silent gesture of reassurance.

"Now then," Balin says, his jovial demeanor returning as he brushes aside any lingering tension. "The exchanging of tokens. As set forth in Article II of the contract, under Terms and Conditions of Courtship, the Gentleman shall present to the Lady a token of his commitment: a crafted item of significance, symbolizing sincerity and consideration. Traditionally, this is his hair bead. The marriage gift, of course, is a far grander affair." He turns to me, his eyes twinkling. "The Lady, in turn, shall offer a token of her own, crafted by her hands and imbued with meaning. What have you chosen, Peyton?"

Once again, I feel wrong footed. I haven't prepared my whole life for this as Thorin has. "Uh, like all of you, I lost most of my stuff in the Goblin tunnels. So..." I look around my person, checking my pockets "I...the only thing I have left is this?"

I hold out my gold coin, only to feel a pang inside of me. It feels as if the door home will truly swing shut if I give this. Am I really going to give away my gold coin? Even though I once thought it was my only ticket back home? My hand slightly trembles.

"Nay, lass," Balin says gently. "It must be a token crafted by your own hands, something of significance to you."

I'm actually a little relieved as I pull the coin back towards myself. Isn't that odd? I try to analyze my feelings, attributing it to not liking to feel like I don't have a way out.

"I don't have anything..." I admit, looking around at the expectant faces of the company. None of them look disapointed however, merely waiting for something.

Oddly enough, it's Bofur who catches my eye, his gaze flicking meaningfully toward something and then back at me. I follow his gaze to see Bifur, sitting nearby, whittling a piece of wood. A lightbulb goes off in my head.

"Wait! I think I might have something," I say, my voice quickening with excitement as I turn and rummage through my pack. My fingers fumble over the contents - a blanket, a waterskin, a few jares of honey, some loaves of bread - before they close around something solid and familiar. I pull it out, holding it up to the light.

It's the small wooden elephant I've been carving under Bifur's guidance. The figure is rough and unrefined, its edges uneven and its surface still bearing the marks of my inexperienced hands. It's far from perfect (nothing like the intricate carvings Bifur creates with such ease), but it's mine.

I remember the hours spent whittling by the fire, Bifur's patient grunts and gestures guiding me as I worked. He'd never taken the knife from my hands, never touched the wood himself. Instead, he'd demonstrated on his own piece, showing me how to smooth the edges and shape the curves, all while muttering in Khuzdul. At the time, it had just been a way to get closer to him and pass the time.

But now, as I hold the little elephant in my palm, it feels like so much more. It's not just a carving; it's a piece of me. My hands shaped it, my effort brought it to life. And in that moment, I realize it's the perfect token of courtship. Imperfect, yes, but honest.

I glance up at the Company, their expectant faces watching me with varying degrees of mock innocence. Bofur's grin is particularly wide, and I narrow my eyes in amusement, wondering if he and Bifur had planned this all along in order to hedge their bets in the wager.

I hold it out to Thorin, my voice soft but earnest. "This is my favorite animal. I know you have different creatures here called 'Oliphants', but in my world the elephant is smaller and more friendly. I love elephants because they are symbols of wisdom, strength, and perseverance. They are the strongest animal on earth, but also gentle, completly devoted to their family. In many ways, they remind me of you." I feel a slight burn in my eyes as I realize outloud, "You remind me a lot of an elephant, Thorin. You are all those things and more."

Thorin takes the wooden elephant from my hands, his calloused fingers brushing against mine as he does. His touch is deliberate, almost reverent, as though he's holding something far more precious than a rough-carved trinket. His lips curl into a faint smile, the kind that doesn't often grace his stern features, and his eyes soften as they trace the curves and lines of the little figure.

Thorin's gaze lifts to meet mine, and there's something in his expression I can't quite name. He nods, a single, deliberate motion, seeming unable to speak. His acceptance of my gift settles over me like a warm blanket.

Balin's voice breaks the moment, his tone warm with approval. "Wonderful," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The courtship is now officially sanctioned. Please sign the contract."

Thorin's smile lingers as he steps forward to sign, his movements graceful and deliberate. I watch him, my chest tight with emotions I can't quite describe. It's not just the way he looks at me, though that's enough to make my heart burn. It's the way he holds the elephant, as though it's a treasure, as though I'm a treasure. The anxiety of signing the contract suddenly feels less like a burden and more like a promise. Maybe three months isn't too soon after all.

Thorin signs with a flourish, his script elegant and precise. My own signature is much less impressive, a hasty chicken scratch beside his.

Suddenly the sound of a large flock of birds sounds in the distance, causing everyone in the company to tense and look up. I furrow my brow, confused by their reaction to a bunch of birds.

"I think it best that we continue on now," Balin says, his tone grave. He rolls the parchment and tucks it away, exchanging a meaningful look with Thorin and Dwalin.

Thorin turns to me, his hand reaching out. "Come," he says, voice soft but firm. "You shall ride with me."

A soft blush creeps onto my face, and I don't hide the smile that tugs at my lips and as I place my hand in his. It's so strange how open he's being with our relationship, but a good strange. Since accepting the braid in my hair, he hasn't held back or been subtle at all with his affection. There seems to be much more facets to Thorin's character than I realize. Perhaps more than even HE realizes.

We approach the horses, tall and majestic creatures compared to our previous ponies. I hold out my hand to let one of the horses sniff me, feeling its warm breath against my palm. It's an odd comfort, this connection to something so wild and free. I pet it's soft velvety fur.

Once again, Thorin helps me mount, getting on first before guiding me to settle behind him in the massive saddle with a strong arm. It's a much different experience than the last time, rather than fearing he's my kidnapper or a delusional cosplayer, I feel a deep sense of belonging. He's the safest, most important thing in this entire world to me. Rather than awkwardly placing my hands on his shoulders like I did last time, I make myself at home with his body and wrap my arms around his large waist, pressing close to his solid frame. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and I revel in it, feeling his abdomen muscles shift beneath my light touch.

"Comfortable?" Thorin's voice rumbles through me, amused, as he turns to glance at me from the corner of his eye.

"Yep!" I grin, holding his eyes as I rub my cheek against his back jokingly, like a cat, bold with him in a way I hadn't been before. "Very comfortable."

Thorin's chuckle vibrates through his back, and I feel his warmth spread to my very soul. "Careful," he warns, his voice teasing, "or I shall have you ride in front."

"Just so you can do the same to me?" I retort, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

I'm rewarded with his laughter, my assumption of his would-be actions correct and I feel a warmth spread through me. I press my lips to his back, cutting his laughter off and breath in his scent.

Looking to my side I see the company are all smiles and smirks. I catch a smug Nori's eye and he shocks me by making a naughty gesture with his hands. My mouth drops open and I let out a shocked laugh before I turn my head to face the other way, my face growing red. I can faintly hear his sniggers as Dori berates him in a low angry voice for his indecency.

By turning my head, I suddenly notice Gandalf and Beorn, standing far away from the group, deep in conversation. Beorn's back is to us, but the tense body language the two are showing makes the conversation look serious. The wizard's gaze flickers toward me once, and I can't help but wonder what they're discussing.

"Gandalf." Thorin calls, noticing where my attention is drawn. "Time is wasting. We must make for Mirkwood while the light lasts."

Gandalf moves past Beorn as if he's coming towards us before Beorn speaks to him again, causing him to still and once more turn back to the conversation.

The cawing sound of birds suddenly fills the air again, closer this time. Everyone stills just like the last time. Now I know it wasn't just a coincidence. What do birds mean?

"What?" I ask Thorin, noticing his breath's stillness beneath my hands. "What is it?"

"It is always best to be wary of Crebian." Thorin simply says, still looking up.

"Crebian? You mean the birds?"

"Mmm. You never know where their loyalties lie."

I pause, suddenly remembering the black birds that Sauroman used for spies. Those are Crebian? But Sauroman isn't even a bad guy yet? Who would they be spying for at this time?

The howl of a warg soon follows, causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise and the horses to snort and grow restless. I squeeze Thorin's waist tighter.

I have a guess.

Gandalf seems to finally get the hint, ending his tete-a-tete with Beorn abruptly and mounting on his horse, leading the charge as we head off.

We ride quickly, the horses understanding the urgency. Every once in a while I look back to see if any orcs have followed us. Beorn was right; on foot we never would make it.

The first time I rode with Thorin to Michel Delving, it was torture. Awkward, scary, and utterly confusing. My hands had lightly rested on his shoulders, afraid to touch him, both of us stiff and uncertain. (Yet, even then, if I'm honest with myself, there was something beneath the surface. A tiny spark, faint but undeniable, flickering through the mistrust and tension.)

Now, pressed against Thorin's back as the company gallops across the open fields, it's an entirely different kind of torture. Thorin sits in front of me as before, his broad shoulders filling my vision, his posture straight and regal even in the saddle. My arms are wrapped around his waist, my hands resting against the firm planes of his abdomen. Different from last time however is the wind whipping through my hair and the ground blurring beneath us. But it's not just the speed that makes my heart race. The horse's gait creates a rhythm that feels almost hypnotic, the sway of its powerful body beneath us both comforting and maddening. It's a slow, steady rocking motion that sends heat pooling low in my stomach.

The heat of Thorin's body seeps through the layers of fabric separating us, and I'm drawn to the warmth and strength of him. His scent surrounds me; leather, smoke, and something uniquely Thorin - making it hard to think clearly.

Every shift of his weight, every flex of his abdominal muscles beneath my hands, sends a spark of awareness through me. I know what lies beneath this shirt. I hold on tightly to his waist, so I don't fall off. I lean closer, almost without thinking, my chest brushing against his back. The contact is electric, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool evening air.

I try to focus on the landscape around us...the rolling hills, the distant trees of Mirkwood looming on the horizon...but it's impossible to ignore the way Thorin's body feels against mine. His back presses against my chest with every stride of the horse, and I can feel the rise and fall of his breathing, steady but deeper than before.

His hand shifts on the reins, and for a moment, his fingers graze my thigh where it rests snugly against his. The touch is fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it sends a spark of heat through me. I bite my lip, holding back a moan and willing myself to stay composed, but my heart is racing, and I'm certain he can feel it where my chest meets his back.

Thorin shifts again, adjusting his position in the saddle, and the movement brings him even closer. My breath catches as I feel the hard line of his body against mine, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact between us. My thighs tighten involuntarily behind him, and I hear the faintest intake of breath from him, a sound that makes my stomach flutter.

At one point, the horse stumbles over a rock, jolting us both. Thorin's hand shoots back to steady me, his fingers gripping my thigh with a firmness that makes my breath catch. The touch is brief, but it lingers, a phantom heat spreading through me like wildfire. When he pulls away, I feel the absence of his hand like a brand, my skin tingling where his fingers had been.

Thorin turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting mine over his shoulder. His blue eyes are dark, intense, searching for something in my expression that makes my pulse quicken.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice low and rough, barely audible over the sound of hoofbeats.

"Yes," I manage to reply, my voice trembling slightly. I'm not sure if I'm answering the question or acknowledging the unspoken tension between us.

He doesn't respond, but I feel the subtle shift in his body, the way he relaxes ever so slightly, as though relieved. His hand returns to the reins, but his thumb brushes against my knee in a gesture that feels deliberate, intimate. It's a small thing, but it sends a shiver of anticipation through me, my skin prickling with awareness.

I can't help myself. I lean in closer, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear as I whisper airily, "But you are driving me crazy."

My fingers brush against the edge of his belt, an accident (or maybe not) and the way he reacts tells me he felt it too. His breath hitches, just the faintest catch in his chest, and I feel the way his body tenses beneath my hands.

"It is a good thing, then, that you are not riding in front," he practically growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me.

A shiver cascades down my spine as the spark inside me explodes into a fierce ache, pulsing with an unspoken desire. It's more than attraction, more than longing. It's something deeper, something primal. I want to devour him, to take his essence into myself and let it merge with my own. I want Thorin inside my cells, a part of me in every way possible.

It sounds strange, even to me, but it's love. A love I've never felt before, all-consuming and overwhelming. It's no wonder the dwarves call it finding their 'One'. It's not just about devotion or loyalty to one person but Its also about becoming whole, two souls merging into one.

"It will be a great feat of strength for me to withstand for one year." He rumbles, lowly, almost to himself.

"What? What do you mean?" I ask, shocked.

He looks back at me once more, his eyes dark and a smirk on his lips, "Do you truly not know or are you acting coy?"

"You mean to say that we...can't... sleep together until the courtship is over?" I ask in disbelief, faintly blushing at my forwardness.

"You clearly did not read the entire contract."

"Well neither did you! You didn't even glance at it!" I say, my mind spinning as I now understand the dismayed looks from everyone, as well as why dwarven courtships are so short.

"I understand dwarrow customs and what courtship entails." His hand finds my thigh again, "Do not worry, as Balin agreed to write up a new contract once Erebor is reclaimed and we can revisit the matter."

The Company rides around us, but it feels like Thorin and I are in our own world. I press a kiss to his back, "Sounds good to me."

His breathing is deeper now, more deliberate, and I notice the way his grip on the reins tightens, his knuckles whitening as though he's holding himself back. I can't help but feel self satisfaction that once again, like I did in the hay, I've got the mighty Thorin Oakenshield barely grasping for his self-control.

I see Mirkwood forest waaay before we reach it. A huge wall of large grey trees tower darkly in the distance, gnarled and enormous. Our horses speed towards it, towards my doom. My breath catches in my throat and my previous wayward thoughts disappear into the ether. I close my eyes, burying my face into Thorin's back and squeezing his waist tighter in fear.

No. No, no, no, I can't do this! What was I thinking?!

His warm hand covers mine, where I hold onto him and a sense of calm reaches me. Thorin is a horrible drug. Only my love for him could convince me to do this crazy thing that I swore never to do.

Gandalf is the first to reach the forest and the first to get off his horse.

"No sign of the orcs. We have luck on our side." Dwalin says gleefully, looking around us.

"This forest feels...sick." Bilbo says, already off his horse and walking towards it. "As if there is some sort of enchantment upon it. Is there no other way?"

"Not unless you wish to miss Durin's Day by traveling nearly 200 miles north. Or more than twice that distance south," Gandalf says distractedly, looking around at the trees, clearly noticing the same energy Bilbo had. He starts to walk deeper into the forest until the company loses sight of him.

I swallow down my whimper as I look away from the sick trees and stare towards the setting sun. These are the last rays of sunshine I'll see for who knows how long. Possibly even forever. I reach into my pocket and grip the glass vial of Havenmal.

Breathe, Peyton. Breathe.

Suddenly Thorin dismounts first, his movements fluid and controlled. He turns to help me down, and because of how tall the horse is its basically a trust fall as his hands catch me, settling on my waist as he lowers me from the saddle. For a moment, his grip lingers, his fingers pressing into my sides as his eyes meet mine. The only warning I get is the heat and frustration smoldering in his gaze before his lips are pressed hungrily to mine.

I breathe him in, swooning, as my thoughts turn into honey once more. I press close to his front, more than excited by his actions. His hand frames my face, sliding around to the nape of my neck to hold me closer. I groan softly into his mouth at the sensation, only to then hear a low cough and we both pull apart, blinking in shock to find Gandalf standing beside us, watching us with a scowl on his face but a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but Peyton, my dear, might I have a word?" Gandalf says plainly, indicating to the side that he wishes to speak in private.

"Uh, sure?" I say, giving Thorin an apologetic glance.

Thorin nods, his expression unreadable, but the way his jaw tightens tells me he's annoyed by Gandalf's intrusion just as I am. He turns away, barking orders to the Company, but I catch the way his hand flexes at his side, as though he's still feeling the weight of me in his arms.

I turn towards Gandalf, "Lead the way."

As Gandalf and I walk, I suddenly realize that Thorin's kisses are a good distraction. All my anxiety about the wargs and Mirkwood had disapeared while I had been focused on him. I smile and touch my still tingling lips. He'll have to kiss me all the way throughout Mirkwood if I'm going to make it through. But, with that thought in mind, Mirkwood suddenly doesn't seem so daunting.

We walk a comfortable distance, a fallen tree log nearby before Gandalf stops, turning to face me. "I trust that you saw Beorn's and my little discussion today?"

The tone of his voice is odd and I furrow my brow. "Yeah?" I tilt my head curiously, "What was it about?"

"The Necromancer."

I freeze, my whole body stilling. Gandalf watches me intently, ready for my slightest reaction. He clearly found it because his whole demeanor changes, "Peyton," he says gruffly, "Who is the necromancer. Tell me."

Crap, Crap, CRAP!

I shake my head, unable to speak as I feel the blood run out of my face.

Gandalf falls silent and his gaze drifts away, lost in thought. "There is a reason...that you were sent to dreamwalk in Dol Ghuldor, I think." Gandalf muses slowly, almost to himself. "Something... you were sent there to discover." Suddenly his blue eyes flick back towards me, sharp and intent and ready to catch the smallest detail. "Tell me, has the enemy returned?"

I shake my head, chills racing over my skin, "It will ruin the future Gandalf!"

"You've already ruined the future, child!" Gandalf spits angrily, causing me to flinch back as if struck. I've never seen him like this. Not even when I had refused to come on the quest.

He's...afraid.

"Now tell me!"

I blink back tears and try to remember that he's not angry at me. Not really. I don't know how bad the wars and battles between the Valar and Morgoth were, and I don't know how bad the battles between Sauron and Middle Earth was. But I know Gandalf doesn't want a repeat of that. It's one of the reasons he wishes to destroy Smaug.

Something inside him tells him that Middle Earth is not at peace. Not yet.

But his words catch my attention; about the Valar sending me to Dol Ghuldor. I've always wondered 'Why Dol Ghuldor?' every single night. At first I'd thought it'd been Sauron somehow, pulling me there. But every time he touched me, I would wake up, unharmed. He himself didn't seem to understand what I was doing there the first few times either and was angry at the intrusion until he learned I have useful information.

"You said if I change something, then it's the will of the Valar, since they placed me here TO change things," I murmur, pondering aloud, thinking it through. "Perhaps… you're right? Maybe...what I discovered there... is something that they want discovered sooner?"

"Then tell me. Do not keep it to yourself!" he growls.

I say nothing for a moment, deciding. I don't have to tell him about the ring. He can't know about it. But, maybe there's a way to inform him about Sauron without revealing everything? Maybe…that's the reason I keep getting pulled to Dol Ghuldor? So that Gandalf will know about it sooner? Nothing is mentioned about the Necromancer in the Lord of the Rings, and barely anything in the Hobbit. But if the Valar wanted him to know, then why doesnt HE get pulled there then when he dreamwalks?

What will happen if I tell him? He's not stupid, just like Thorin isn't. What if he puts two and two together?

"Is it Sauron?" Gandalf asks point blank, his voice hard.

I hesitate, weighing my options. Finally, I swallow, nodding slowly. My words come out soft, "Yes, Gandalf. The Necromancer is Sauron in disguise."

I guess he was expecting it but also at the same time he wasn't. Gandalf's face pales and he lowers his staff, stepping backwards to where the fallen log is. He reaches a shaky hand out behind him, searching for the fallen tree trunk without looking and sitting heavily down upon it. He actually seems like an old man as he lifts up a trembling old hand up to his head and pulls off his pointy hat, smoothing his grey wavy hat-hair with his other hand.

I stand there, watching him with pity, unsure what to say.

"And...the ring?" He at last croaks, looking up at me. "Is it…." He sighs, as if he's unable to breath properly, "Is it safe? Somewhere that he won't be able to find it?"

"It's safe, Gandalf. Don't worry." I quickly rush to assure him. "Don't worry about the ring AT ALL. It won't be discovered for at least another fifty years." By him. It won't be discovered by him for another fifty years, at least. Thorin and Bilbo already know. "It will be destroyed in that time, so you don't need to worry about it, I promise."

I swallow my lie, feeling horrible. I have been honest with Gandalf about practically everything, and the guilt is huge. The threat to the ring isn't Sauron at the moment. But as long as I stay away from it, it'll be safe and he won't have to worry.

Gandalf is quiet for a moment before nodding his head in acceptance. One thing at a time. If the ring is secret and safe, then he must focus on what isn't secret or safe, which is currently the company.

"So, what are you going to do about...You-Know-Who?" I ask, nervously shifting from my one footed stance to the other foot.

He looks up at me, before closing his eyes and breathing a bit heavily through his nose. He clears his throat and shakes his grey head, unsure, "I have had...communication with the Lady Galadriel. We must contact The White Order at once. We must...decide together. Beorn also spoke of...burial sites in the mountains. The nine..." his eyes flick to me, watching to make sure I understand him, "The NINE may have returned from the dead. The counsel may send me to investigate if they do not accept your word alone."

"Do you accept my word, Gandalf?" I ask hesitantly, curious if he trusts me.

He levels me with a look before hurumphing and leaning on his staff, "Aye, Peyton. I do. It is natural to keep secrets, of course. I would think you a fool if you did not. And while I sense that you are, in fact, keeping something from me...I feel that I must allow you to keep it. But, in light of this new information, I will not be able to travel with you through Mirkwood."

I nod, not too surprised. Then I study him, speaking my mind aloud in an almost daze, "The Valar really don't give you the information all at once, do they?"

I can't help but marvel. He had said as much before, but this just confirms it. Gandalf receives inspiration piece by piece, inch by inch, just like all of us mere mortals do.

"Indeed," he replies with a weary smile that appears more as a grimace. "One thing at a time, my dear. Here a little and there a little, until I am able to see the picture in full."

"Don't you ever get, like, frustrated with them?" I ask incredulous, "I mean, I don't know how you do it! I'd be furious with them! In fact, I kind of am! Sending me on a mission only to hold back the information I need to complete said mission?!"

"Perhaps if I knew everything at once, it would destroy the purpose." Gandalf leans tiredly on his staff, giving me an earnest gaze.

"What purpose?" I scoff, almost rolling my eyes but barely managing. Why does there have to be a gosh darn purpose to everything?

"Growth." He answers firmly.

"Growth?" I parrot back at him, raising an eyebrow, "What does someone like you need 'growth' for?! You're freaking Gandalf the Gre-"

My words stop in my mouth abruptly as I suddenly am able to look at Gandalf, REALLY look at him. It's as if I'm seeing him for the first time. Yes, he is Gandalf the Grey now, but... he won't always be.

Someday... he will become Gandalf the White.

Growth.

Gandalf grows on these adventures and quests too. He isn't perfect, even though he sometimes acts like he is. He has bumps and bruises and bad hair days just like the rest of us. He's learning and growing like everyone,

He says nothing, just watches me, but I don't want to leave him in the complete dark of the epiphany I'm having.

"I understand." I finally say, nodding my head, feeling humbled.

"Do you?" he responds with a twinkle in his eye at my suddenly contrite nature, an amused smile finding it's way across his face. His returned good humor relaxes me and I know the worst is over betwwen us. He's such an ocean.

"Yes," I reply, shifting closer and keeping my eyes locked on his. "Growth. It's… why all of us are here." I pause, pondering my revelation, before glance at him shyly, "Right?"

"Indeed." Gandalf nods with a soft gruff smile. "We are all here to grow."

"Into WHAT though?" I ask him, furrowing my brow, "What is the purpose of growth?"

"That, you will have to discover for yourself, my dear." His kind, mischievous smile returns. "After all, if you knew all the answers then there wouldn't be any growth."

I laugh. It's an annoyed, frustrated laugh. But this is Gandalf we're talking about. It's who he is. Who will Gandalf become after being Gandalf the White, I wonder? Gandalf the Ultra-Violet?

"I hope I can grow into you, someday." I admit, feeling a twinge of both envy and respect for his great wisdom and light.

"Nay, Peyton," he replies, shaking his head and putting a hand on my shoulder. "I hope you grow into you, someday."

End of Chapter

Hey there! If you've made it this far, do me a favor and drop a review! Life's full of choices, and I'd love it if you chose to let me know what you think. ;)

Now, confession time...I have to admit something: I just discovered ChatGPT. Gasp! I know, I know. Where have I been? But here's the thing: I was struggling hard with writing the contract for this chapter. I mean, I'm no lawyer and (let's be real) dating contracts aren't exactly a thing in our world. So, yeah, I was stuck. Then a friend mentioned ChatGPT, and I thought, Why not give it a shot? And, well… it turned out better than the mess I originally came up with. Like, way better. So, full disclosure: I can't take full credit for the contract portion of this story. It's all thanks to AI.

Now, here's my question for you: Is that cheating? I mean, I'm not using it to write the whole story. The story is already written, as I've said before, but maybe it's be helpful to polish up the tricky parts? But still, I want to know what you think! Should I go back and use it to enhance other parts of the story, or is that crossing a line? Let me know in a review because, honestly, I'm just here to tell a fun story and share it with you all. I don't get paid for any of it. If a little AI help makes it better, is that so bad? Or am I just justifying my laziness? XD

So, yeah, hit me with your thoughts! Reviews, critiques, confessions of your own AI-assisted writing adventures, I want to hear them all. And hey, thanks for sticking with me through this story! You guys are the best!