Thorin had finally arrived. Ilona let out a slow breath, feeling an odd mixture of relief and apprehension settle in her chest. She was grateful that his travels had gone far more smoothly than her own, but his presence also meant a conversation she wasn't particularly looking forward to. No doubt he would have something to say about her reckless decisions, and she wasn't in the mood to be scolded. She tried to push the thoughts away, but they lingered, persistent and intrusive.
Her brooding was momentarily interrupted when she heard Thorin muttering something about getting lost. Not once, but twice. She bit her lip to stifle a chuckle. So much for his famed sense of direction. Her amusement was short-lived, however, as Bilbo's indignant voice drew her back to the present as he ranted about no mark on the door and it had just recently been painted. Ilona glanced at Gandalf, who, as always, remained perfectly unfazed.
"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company," the wizard said smoothly, pausing as Thorin passed his heavy traveling cloak off to Kili. "Thorin Oakenshield."
Thorin finally turned his sharp gaze on Bilbo, assessing him with the same scrutiny he would give a soldier before battle. Ilona recognized that look instantly. It was the same one he had given her countless times when evaluating whether or not she was prepared for whatever challenge lay ahead.
"So," Thorin said at last, his voice thick with skepticism. "This is the hobbit."
The unimpressed tone was impossible to miss. Ilona suppressed a grin as he continued, clearly unimpressed with their supposed burglar.
"Axe or sword?" he asked, his expression unreadable. "What's your weapon of choice?"
Bilbo's lips parted in surprise, and he looked rather taken aback by the question. "Well, Idohave some skill at conkers, if you must know," he answered matter-of-factly, straightening as he realized how intently Thorin was watching him.
Ilona rolled her eyes, shaking her head in , this is going to go well.
"But I fail to see why that's relevant," Bilbo added, clearly growing more flustered.
Thorin exhaled sharply, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thought as much," he said smugly, his voice carrying the weight of his disappointment. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."
The company erupted into light laughter, their amusement echoing through the room. Even Ilona couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped her, though she tried to stifle it behind her hand.
But then Thorin turned toward her, and the teasing air between them shifted. Without hesitation, Ilona stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into the thick fur lining of his coat and completely ignoring the throbbing in her side. The familiar scent of earth and steel filled her senses, grounding her in a way she hadn't realized she needed.
She never thought she would miss this. The warmth of his embrace and the tickle of fur against her skin. But after everything, after coming so close to losing it all, she clung to the moment. The memory of the warg's snarling jaws flashed through her mind, the searing pain of its teeth sinking into her flesh. She could still feel the heat of its breath against her face, thick with the scent of death. It had been too close.
Too close.
Thorin's grip tightened around her, as if he could sense the weight of her thoughts. When they finally pulled apart, he studied her carefully, his piercing blue eyes searching hers for unspoken truths.
"I trust your journey fared well, Thatr [1]," he said at last, his voice measured but laced with something she couldn't quite place. Concern? Suspicion?
Ilona forced a smile, tilting her head slightly as she tried to gauge just how much he knew. If he was aware of the details of her reckless escape, he wasn't letting on just yet.
"About as well as expected," she replied cheekily, hoping to steer the conversation away before he pressed further. Thorin raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. But Ilona knew it was only a matter of time before he got the answers he was looking for.
Thorin strode into the dining room with the quiet confidence of a king, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floor as he took his rightful place at the head of the table. As he settled into his seat, a bowl of stew was placed before him that by some miracle was untouched despite the insatiable appetites of the company. He cast a brief glance around the room, noting how his companions had begun to relax, their hushed conversations weaving through the space like a low, steady hum. There was an unusual sense of calm in the air, a fleeting moment of peace before the trials that awaited them on the road ahead. Thorin allowed himself a rare moment of quiet reflection before reaching for his spoon, listening as murmured voices filled the room, the warmth of food and fellowship offering a temporary reprieve from the uncertainty that loomed over them all.
Balin was the first to break the silence, his voice gentle yet laced with curiosity, "What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?"
Thorin took a slow sip of his stew before answering, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Aye," he replied, "envoys from all seven kingdoms."
A murmur of approval rippled through the company, but it was quickly followed by another question, this time from Gloin.
"What of the Boar Riders of the Southlands? Any word from them?"
At this, Thorin's gaze flickered toward Ilona. She had been the one to attend that meeting in his stead, serving as their ambassador while he was needed in Ered Luin. Ilona leaned back slightly in her chair while absently tracing light rings along the rim of the tea cup she had acquired. "They send their well wishes," she began, her tone measured, "and have assured us that should we find ourselves in dire need of aid or supplies, we need only send word."
A brief silence followed before she exhaled and continued, "But they will not ready themselves initially. They say the stakes are too high."
Thorin let out a quiet breath, casting his eyes downward. He had not expected a different answer, but it still did little to ease the weight pressing on his shoulders. Still, supplies would be invaluable should they find themselves in need. It was better than outright refusal.
Dwalin, ever the blunt one, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And what of the dwarves from the Iron Hills?" he asked, "Is Dain with us?"
At the mention of his cousin, Thorin's expression darkened. His grip on the spoon tightened for a brief moment before he set it down with a quiet clink against the bowl.
"They will not come," he said at last, his voice quieter than before. His eyes remained on the table, as if the words themselves were heavy. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."
A heavy silence settled over the company. Though many of them had feared such an answer, hearing it spoken aloud made the reality of their situation all the more tangible. They were alone in this. Ilona studied Thorin carefully noting the way his jaw tensed, the weight of responsibility settling ever more firmly upon his shoulders. Though his resolve would not waver, she knew the burden was a heavy one.
"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo asked, his voice laced with disbelief as he stood behind Gandalf and Thorin, eyes darting between them and the gathered company of Dwarves. Gandalf, seeming unfazed by the Hobbit's growing unease, casually requested more light. Bilbo hurried to comply, fetching a candle and holding it out as the wizard pulled a worn parchment from his robes. With a practiced hand he unfurled it across the table.
"Far to the East," Gandalf began, his voice carrying the weight of something long awaited, "beyond ranges and rivers, past woodlands and wastelands, stands a single solitary peak." He placed a hand upon the map, tracing the route with his finger.
Bilbo leaned in, squinting at the markings before his eyes widened in recognition. "The Lonely Mountain," he murmured, holding his candle higher to illuminate the fine details of the parchment.
"Aye," Gloin confirmed, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time." He gestured toward his brother across the table who nodded gravely.
"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: he explained, "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."
At the mention of "beast," Bilbo whipped around from his place in the threshold of the pantry across the hall, his expression twisting with alarm. "What beast?" he asked, his voice going slightly higher than intended.
"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible," Bofur answered, ever the storyteller. "Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat-hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals-"
"Yes, I know what adragonis," Bilbo interrupted hastily, as if stopping Bofur from piling on further horrors might somehow make them less real.
From his seat, Ori, the youngest among them, suddenly sprang up with unexpected bravado. "I'm not afraid! I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!" He puffed out his chest, his enthusiasm almost infectious until his older brother, Dori, promptly yanked him back into his seat with a muttered reprimand.
Ilona, watching from her place at the table, couldn't help but smile at the young scribe's courage. She gave him a small, reassuring nod, admiring his determination despite the peril that lay ahead. Balin, ever the voice of reason, let out a heavy sigh, his aged eyes scanning the group. "The task would be difficult enoughwithan army behind us. But we number just fourteen." His tone held a hint of doubt, one that Ilona recognized all too well, "And we are not fourteen of the best… nor brightest."
A chorus of grumbles and protests rippled through the room at this remark and though Ilona did not appreciate the skepticism, she could not deny the truth in Balin's words. It was a daunting mission and many would call it folly.
Then, Fili slammed his fist against the table, cutting through the murmur of doubt like a blade through silence. "We may be few in number, but we'refighters!" His voice rang with conviction, his fierce gaze sweeping over his companions. "All of us! To the last Dwarf!"
Kili, emboldened by his brother's passionate words, immediately chimed in, his excitement evident. "And do you forget? We have a wizard in our company! Gandalf will have killedhundredsof dragons in his time!"
Gandalf, caught off guard by the assumption, opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, Dori interjected with a skeptical raise of his brow. "Well, how many then?"
The wizard blinked, seemingly not hearing the question the first time. Dori, not one for patience, repeated more firmly, "How many dragons have youkilled?"
At once, all eyes in the room fell on the Grey Wizard, expectant and intrigued, waiting for an answer that did not come. Gandalf, rather than responding, took a deliberate pull from his pipe, only to start choking on the smoke instead. His sudden fit of coughing did little to satisfy the company, and Dori's impatience only grew.
"Go on, give us a number!" he demanded, his voice rising above the growing murmurs of the other Dwarves. A majority of them now stood, shouting over one another, some arguing about Gandalf's experience while others were simply swept up in the excitement of the moment.
Ilona sighed and leaned forward, pinching the bridge of her nose. This meeting was descending into chaos and at this rate, they'd be lucky to make it past the East side of Bree with all the infighting.
Then suddenly.
"Shazara! [2]"
Thorin rose to his feet, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade through steel. His fierce yell echoed in the room, forcing an immediate silence as all eyes snapped to him. He surveyed them with an intense gaze, the weight of leadership pressing upon his broad shoulders. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the authority of a king.
"If we have read these signs," he began, measured and powerful, "do you not think others will have read them too?" His words hung heavy in the air, striking a sobering chord.
"Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the Mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected," He paused, his expression grim yet determined. Ilona straightened, watching her father carefully. There was fire in his voice, passion in his stance. This was not just a mission to reclaim a home. This was a call to arms.
"Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours?" Thorin's voice rose in defiance, his blue eyes burning with conviction. "Or do weseize this chance to take back Erebor?!"
The room erupted in cheers.
Dwarves pounded the table, raising their fists, their voices joining in a raucous agreement. Excitement surged like wildfire, and Ilona found herself smiling. Her father truly was a born leader.
"Du békar! Du békar! [3]" Thorin roared, the ancient battle cry resounding through the hall. The Dwarves echoed it back with fervor, their voices ringing with unwavering loyalty.
But then, like a cold wind snuffing out a flame, Balin's voice cut through the revelry.
"You forget," he said, his words heavy with reality, "the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."
A hush fell over the company. Balin's grim statement hung in the air for only a moment before Gandalf, ever the bringer of surprises, spoke with a knowing glint in his eye.
"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true," the wizard said, his voice calm but full of mystery. Then, with a flourish of his hand, he reached into his robes and produced a large, old-fashioned key. The metal glinted faintly in the dim candlelight, its age evident in the worn edges and intricate engravings. Thorin, who had returned to his seat, eyed the key with deep surprise.
"How came you by this?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and surprise.
Gandalf met his gaze and answered with measured gravity. "It was given to me by your father, by Thráin. For safekeeping." He paused, allowing the words to settle before extending the key toward Thorin. "It is yours now."
Thorin took it with reverence, his fingers closing tightly around the metal as if, in this moment, a part of his father had returned to him. He slipped it into his pocket, his expression unreadable, though the weight of its significance was clear.
"If there is a key," Fili interjected, ever quick to analyze the situation, "there must be a door."
An obvious deduction, but an important one. Gandalf nodded, turning his attention to the map sprawled across the table. "These runes speak of a hidden passage leading to the lower halls." He traced the markings with his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought.
Kili's face brightened with sudden realization. "There's another way in," he said eagerly, the excitement in his voice making Ilona's heart flutter. His optimism, so unwavering, was infectious.
"Well, if we can find it," Gandalf cautioned. He gestured to the map again. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden here, but I do not have the skill to uncover it." His voice grew more thoughtful, more calculated. "However, there are others in Middle-earth who can."
At this, he lifted his gaze to Thorin, his piercing eyes filled with unspoken intent. "The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."
Ori suddenly caught on, his eyes widening in realization. "That's why we need a burglar!"
"Hm, a good one, too," Bilbo muttered, finally speaking after remaining quiet for some time. He was entirely oblivious to the weight of his own words as he continued, "An expert, I would imagine."
Gloin, always one for skepticism, turned to him with a sharp glance. "And are you?"
Bilbo blinked, confused, glancing around as if expecting the question to be directed at someone else. Only when all eyes remained fixed on him did it dawn on him that he was the subject of inquiry. "Am I what?"
"He said he's an expert!" Oin exclaimed cheerfully, despite clearly mishearing the conversation, his ear horn doing little to aid him.
"M-Me? No, no, no, I'm not a burglar!" Bilbo protested, hands raised as if to ward off the very idea. "I've never stolen a thing in my life!"
Ilona smirked to herself. At least the Hobbit was honest. The room, however, did not share her quiet musings. The Dwarves erupted into loud debate, arguing over Bilbo's usefulness, some outright dismissing the notion, others questioning Gandalf's judgment. The noise swelled into an overwhelming cacophony of voices, the very same frustrating chaos as before. Ilona exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. This is getting them nowhere.
And then, darkness. A shadow fell over the room as Gandalf rose to his full height, his presence suddenly immense and terrible. His voice, when it came, was like rolling thunder.
"Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is."
The command echoed through the stone walls, making the very air tremble. The Dwarves immediately fell silent, their arguments dying in their throats, their eyes wide with something close to fear. Ilona, caught in the moment's weight, let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Around the table the others seemed equally affected. They were all somewhere between awestruck, shaken, and unwilling to provoke the wizard's wrath any further. Gandalf, now composed once more, continued, his tone shifting to one of reason.
"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet and can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the scent of Dwarf, the smell of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."
He leaned forward, lowering himself to their level, speaking directly to Thorin now. "You asked me to find the fifteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins." His words were firm, resolute, leaving no room for protest. "There is more to him than appearances suggest, and he has a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself."
Bilbo, for his part, looked utterly bewildered. Ilona watched him carefully. Perhaps Gandalf was right. Perhaps therewassomething in this Hobbit yet to be seen. Thorin remained silent for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. At last, he spoke, his voice low but firm. "Very well. We'll do it your way." He cast a glance at Balin, "Give him the contract."
Balin nodded and retrieved the parchment before handing it to Thorin, who all but shoved it into Bilbo's arms as Balin explained it included the standard terms. Out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements…you know, the usual. The Hobbit took it hesitantly, his fingers twitching slightly as he unraveled the long scroll. Ilona watched as Bilbo shuffled into the hallway, muttering aloud as he read through the contract. At first, he seemed relatively content with the terms. That is, until his voice caught on a particular line.
"…limited to… laceration… evisceration?" His brows furrowed, before he turned his attention back to the company "Incineration?"
Bofur, ever eager to provide commentary, leaned in with an all-too-cheerful tone. "Oh, aye! He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."
Ilona shot him a sharp look. "Bofur, Ireallydon't think that's helping," she muttered before pushing herself up from her seat. She walked to the head of the table, positioning herself beside her father, arms crossed as she kept her gaze on the increasingly distressed Hobbit. Bilbo's breathing grew shallow, his body swaying slightly as he bent forward. His knuckles whitened around the contract.
Balin's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "You all right, laddie?"
Bilbo gave a quick, jerky nod. "Yeah… feel a bit faint." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
Bofur, still oblivious, continued in an almost encouraging tone. "Think furnace with wings!"
Ilona clenched her jaw. "Bofur…" she muttered, the warning clear in her voice, but the dwarf either didn't hear or didn't care. Bilbo, pale and stiff as a board, barely managed to whisper, "I just… I just need some air."
But Bofur, enthusiastic as ever, wasn't finished. "Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"
Ilona let out a slow, pained sigh. Oh, for the love of Aulë…
Bilbo wavered slightly. Then, without another word, he went utterly stiff and toppled to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
Ilona slowly turned her head back to Bofur, one brow raised in an unimpressed glare.
Bofur, ever shameless, simply shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying."
Ilona and Bofur helped move the unconscious Hobbit into the next room, carefully settling him into his large, comfortable armchair. Gandalf lingered nearby while watching over him with quiet patience. Stepping back, Ilona assessed the situation before deciding to fetch some tea from the nearby kitchen. The poor fellow would surely need it once he came to.
By the time she returned with the small cup in hand, Bilbo had begun to stir, shifting slightly in his seat. Not wanting to crowd him, she placed the cup on the small table beside him, sending a brief glance toward Gandalf before silently slipping from the room. She figured the Hobbit would need a moment alone with the wizard, no doubt to be reassured or further convinced of this madness they were all about to embark on.
Back in the dining hall, the once rowdy company of dwarves had dispersed, now lounging about in various corners of the home. Some smoked their pipes, contentedly puffing rings of smoke into the air, while others nursed what little remained of Bilbo's ale, their boisterous revelry now replaced with a more relaxed and peaceful atmosphere.
Ilona made her way toward the kitchen, where she found Fili and Kili seated at a small wooden table, engaged in quiet conversation. Smiling to herself, she approached and took a seat beside Kili. Without thinking, she reached for the small braid by his left ear, absently twirling it between her fingers. A boyish grin spread across Kili's face at the familiar touch, and even Fili, ever the watchful older brother, couldn't help but smirk at the sight.
"I see you're in high spirits," Fili remarked smugly, one golden brow arched as he leaned back in his seat, pipe in hand.
Ilona chuckled and playfully shoved his shoulder. "How could I not be, Master Dwarf?" she teased. "With you and our dear brother here as company, what more could I ask for?"
Fili laughed heartily, nudging her back, and Kili joined in with a chuckle of his own. The three of them had been inseparable since childhood. Dwarflings who had once run through the streets of Belegost , side by side, never imagining the trials that awaited them in the years to come. Their bond had only deepened with age, growing stronger despite the hardships.
Kili suddenly threw an arm around Ilona's shoulders and pulled her close, pressing a warm kiss to the top of her head. She huffed at the sudden embrace but didn't pull away and Fili watched them both with quiet fondness while taking a slow drag from his pipe. He had missed this. Their companionship, their easy laughter. For a moment, it felt as though they were children again. Their peace, however, was soon interrupted when Oin shuffled into the kitchen, his sharp gaze settling on Ilona.
"Ready for me to have a look at that wound, lassie?" the healer asked, his voice carrying an air of concern.
Kili's head snapped toward Ilona, his brow furrowing. "What wound?"
Ilona hesitated for only a moment before offering Oin a small nod. As expected, Fili's expression mirrored Kili's. Shock laced with a growing sense of unease though he masked it much better than Kili.
Ilona shifted in her seat, lifting her tunic slightly to reveal a blood-soaked bandage wrapped tightly around her side. Kili's breath hitched at the sight. He had been seated beside her all this time, unaware that she had been carrying such an injury. Fili, though silent, was equally unsettled. He had known Ilona to be strong, but for her to have endured this without complaint… how bad had it truly been?
Oin wasted no time, carefully unwrapping the bandage to assess the damage. Beneath it, deep gashes marred Ilona's tanned skin, still raw and inflamed despite her earlier attempts to dress them. Kili remained frozen, unable to look away. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Oin, noticing his reaction, cleared his throat. "Lad, go heat some water in the kettle, would you?"
Kili hesitated but ultimately obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. Still, he remained close, unwilling to stray too far. His hands trembled slightly as he worked, his mind racing. Who did this to her? And why didn't she say anything?
"Now, lass," Oin continued as he began cleaning the wounds, his tone calm but firm. "Tell me what happened."
Ilona took a slow, measured breath, steeling herself against the sting of the healer's touch. "We were ambushed outside of Bywater," she admitted, keeping her voice even. "An orc pack had followed us from the lowlands and attacked while we were on the road at night. I was-" she paused, her gaze flickering toward Fili and Kili before she continued, "-rudely dismounted by a warg. This is the worst of it, thankfully."
She left out the grimmer details. She did not mention the comrades she had been forced to leave behind, nor did she speak of the orc's chilling words.
'She is the child taken in by Durin. She is the master's prize.'
A shiver crawled up her spine, but she forced it down.
Oin nodded, his practiced hands working steadily. "Bleedin' is still bad, but nothing that can't be mended. You'll need a few stitches," he muttered, squinting slightly as he assessed the depth of the wound. "I'll keep an eye on it over the next few days. Gotta make sure it doesn't fester."
Ilona gave a short nod of agreement just as Kili returned, a steaming kettle in one hand and a clean rag in the other. As he caught another glimpse of the wound, his jaw clenched. The sight of her torn skin, the dried blood, the pain she must have been in, it made something burn inside of him. Kili set the kettle down, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out, to touch her, to make sure she was still whole. He had never allowed himself to imagine harm coming to her. Yet here she sat, bleeding and battered. His anger was sudden and overwhelming, threatening to boil over. She had been attacked. And he wasn't there.
Without thinking, he returned to his seat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders once more, pulling her firmly against him. Ilona didn't resist. Instead, she reached for his free hand and squeezed it, her grip tight as Oin stitched the wound closed. She welcomed the warmth of his touch, using it as an anchor against the searing pain.
Oin worked efficiently, tying off the final stitch before securing a fresh bandage over the wound. He gave Ilona a reassuring nod before stepping back. "You'll live, lass. Just keep it dry and try not to let the stitching pull," He offered a small smile before cleaning up his supplies and exiting the room, leaving the three of them alone once more.
Kili's grip on Ilona tightened briefly before he finally pulled back, his dark eyes locking onto Fili's. His voice, when he spoke, was low and filled with quiet, simmering resolve.
"Never again."
Fili nodded, his expression equally solemn.
Ilona, now utterly drained, exhaled softly and allowed herself to lean into Kili's side. He held her close, his fingers absently brushing over her arm, as though ensuring she was still there. The warmth of their shared presence lingered, comforting and unspoken, as the storm of emotions settled between them. When she saw Bilbo Baggins walk past the kitchen however, Ilona stood carefully to investigate.
Ilona watched as the hobbit disappeared down the hallway, his small form retreating into the darkness of his home. She could only assume that they had lost their burglar, and though she hadn't known Bilbo Baggins for long, the thought filled her with a strange sense of disappointment. She had hoped he would find the courage to come along. With a quiet sigh, she stepped into the front room where the warmth of the fire beckoned. Flames crackled in the hearth, dancing in shades of orange and gold, painting fleeting images that vanished as quickly as they formed. She sank onto the floor before it, gazing into the flickering light, letting the warmth seep into her bones. Time slipped away as she sat there, lost in thought, until a low hum stirred the silence behind her.
The sound grew, deep and steady, like an echo of something ancient. She recognized the tune instantly, a song of longing and remembrance. Rising to her feet, she turned just as Kili entered the room, Fili close behind him. She moved to stand beside them, watching as the rest of the company gathered. Then, Thorin began to sing. His voice was low and rich with memory and sorrow, carrying the weight of a home long lost.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old
Ilona hummed softly before allowing her voice to join in. She had heard this song countless times as a dwarfling, sung in quiet moments, in times of grief, in times of hope. Standing among her kin now, she sang with them, her voice weaving into the chorus like it had always belonged.
We must away ere break of day
To find our long-forgotten gold.
Chills ran down her spine as the company's voices swelled, filling the room with echoes of their ancestors and of their lost kingdom beneath the mountain. To them, it was a song of home, of what once was and what they would reclaim.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.
As the final note faded, a deep silence settled over the company. Each dwarf stood still as if caught in prayer, lost in thoughts of what lay ahead. Ilona closed her eyes, offering her own silent prayer for their journey, for the dangers they would soon face, for the home they would fight to reclaim.
The silence was finally broken by Thorin's voice.
"Rest now. We leave at first light."
The dwarves moved without complaint, retrieving blankets and bedrolls from packs and cupboards, finding space wherever they could in Bilbo's cozy home. The flickering fire cast long shadows across the room as they settled in, exhaustion from the long night creeping upon them.
Ilona stretched out beneath the window, staring up at the moon as it hung high in the night sky. The world outside was peaceful, untouched by the weight of their quest. She traced constellations with her eyes, letting her thoughts drift with them, until a familiar presence stirred beside her.
She turned her head slightly and found Kili settling his bedroll next to hers. His dark eyes caught hers in the dim light, and when she smiled at him, he returned it. It was one of those rare, unguarded smiles that lit up his whole face. Without thinking, Ilona shifted onto her side to face him as he settled onto his blanket. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. The fire had burned low, and the rest of the company had settled into sleep, leaving only the sound of steady breathing and the occasional crackle of embers in the hearth.
Then, in a movement so natural it felt inevitable, Kili reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw before threading gently into her hair. The touch sent a quiet thrill through her, a spark of warmth against the cool night air. She barely had time to react before he pulled her toward him, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers, soft and sure, and for a moment, the world outside their little bubble of firelight and shadows ceased to exist. The kiss was not hurried or desperate, but lingering, carrying all the words they hadn't yet said. Ilona melted into it, into him, savoring the quiet, undeniable certainty in the way he held her.
When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the hush of the room. Kili's thumb brushed absentmindedly against her temple, his touch grounding her in the moment.
"I worried I wouldn't get the chance to do that," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ilona smiled, her own fingers tracing idle patterns over the back of his hand. "You should have known better than to doubt me."
A quiet chuckle escaped him, and she felt it more than heard it, a gentle vibration between them. "I suppose I should have."
He shook his head fondly before pulling her closer, wrapping his arm around her to keep her near. Ilona let herself sink into the warmth of him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Tomorrow, their journey would begin in earnest. But for now, in the quiet of the hobbit's home, they had this moment. And that was enough.
Footnotes:
Khudzul used in the chapter can be defined as the following:
[1] Star
[2]Silence!
[3] To arms!