Hey guys! I've noticed that fanfiction seems to be acting up again. When I search for Chapter 33 or even this one (#34), the URL is hit or miss. Sometimes it works, and other times it doesn't. It's almost like it can't decide if it wants to exist, haha. Has anyone else encountered this issue?

Anyways, this chapter is a doozy. Everyone who hates Mirkwood; raise your hand and say "I"! Let the mind torture begin.

...

"The most important thing is that we are on the right path, and we will not deviate from it, even in the face of strong temptation to choose temporary gains over long-term benefits." -Yemi Osinbajo

~*Chapter 34*~

Mirkwood Forest

Mirkwood is just what I expected it to be: a nightmare come to life. This place, these dark woods, feels like I'm living in a horror movie. Which is a place no human ever wishes to be.

Throughout Middle Earth, there are many woods and small forests. The woods of the Shire are bright and cheerful (and wet) whereas the woods by the troll hoard were green and mossy and the Misty Mountain forest of pine trees were dry and dusty. Heck even the woods in my world are wonderful! I always loved hiking through forests before and camping in the Sierra Nevada mountains and at Lake Tahoe with friends.

But nothing can compare to this.

Nothing was ever this…suffocating.

The trees are gigantic. Dark roots dig deep into the earth, with enormous branches growing aimlessly in all directions as if confused on where to go. Giant logs are fallen in many places, making the terrain difficult to navigate. I feel like an ant among these trees.

The air smells of rot and decay, like the trees are crying out in some forgotten language. If I was an elf, I'd understand what they are saying.

Why did I let Thorin talk me into such a stupid idea? Why??!

Ok, fine, he didn't talk me into the idea, he kissed me into the idea. He took away my ability to reason and function and then presented the idea and I just went along with it! No, that's not true either. It's Gandalf's fault! Curse him! I'm actually happy that the company let his horse go away while he was talking to me and he had to go to Lothlorian on foot. Serves him right!

Ugh, I guess I can't truly blame Gandalf either.

I sigh looking down at the strong warm hand I'm gripping tightly. I follow the sight up the arms of the thick coat this dwarf wears up to strong shoulders covered with dark wavy hair that reminds me of a waterfall. My gaze finally rests on the stern face covered in a dark beard and blue eyes which are gazing around us warily.

I give his hand a squeeze.

Thorin doesn't say anything but his features soften slightly and his grip on my hand tightens, a small reassurance. He continues looking around, his eyes scanning the trees, alert and tense as the company walks the narrow path.

No, I can't blame anyone for me being here. The blame lies squarely on my shoulders.

After Gandalf left (on foot), we entered Mirkwood forest on our feet too. Almost immediately the feeling creeps over me like we are being watched by something more than nature itself. It would be just my luck to get ambushed by spiders my very first day stepping into these woods. Especially since the spiders aren't supposed to show up for AT LEAST another two weeks.

I clear my throat and try to offer a small joke, my voice trembling. "It's... it's not so bad." I nod at the dark forest surrounding us.

Thorin glances at me, a questioning brow raised.

"Not saying I'd build a summer home here, but the trees are quite lovely."

No they're not.

At his confused look I huff a chuckle trying to keep it light, "I'm kidding. It's a quote from a very sarcastic, very funny...uh, play...in my world. They went through a creepy forest just like this one. But this one's worse. I'd prefer a giant rat."

"You went to the theater often." He muses offhandedly, returning to his surveance of our surroundings.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that." I weakly smile to myself. I've quoted tons of movies from my world during this quest and rather than try to explain boxes with moving pictures with them, I've simply referred to them as plays.

"Tell us about the sarcastic play!" Kili says enthusiastically even as Ori hurriedly pulls out his quill and paper. I'm glad to see Ori's spirits back now that he write again.

I laugh softly, thankful for the distraction and feeling a bit more grounded. "Um, okay, well, it starts out with a princess and a farm boy…"

Movie after movie is told and I tell them all about how my brothers and I would act out these "plays", even this one, the Quest for Erebor.

"Which character did you play?" Thorin asks, catching me off guard.

"What?" I blink, unsure how to answer.

"You know," he says, eyes still scanning, "When you reenacted the quest with your brothers, which character were you?"

I blush, unsure whether to confess. I don't want to sound obsessed, or worse: strange. But admitting it feels awkward. "Oh, I... I was my own character." I clear my throat. "Funny how that worked out, right? Now I'm part of the real quest!

I'll tell him I was Thorin Oakenshield later. Much later. Maybe after we're married.

A brief silence follows, and I find myself lost in thought. How odd that I'm practically engaged! I feel a sudden flash of sadness as the sudden thought of my family and how they'll never know.

Unlike a regular forest, there aren't any animals we can see. No song birds or even see any of those nasty squirrels that the book describes. But whenever I hear a distant rustle in the forest, far from the path, I stop telling stories and pause on the path like a spooked deer. Each sound makes my heart race, and I freeze, imagining the long, spindly legs of a spider creeping closer.

The path is narrow and the ground uneven, which makes everyone stop behind me whenever I stop. Eventually, Fili has to walk behind me, so he can gently nudge me to keep moving forward so I don't hold everyone up.

Gnarled roots curl over, under, and around the path, threatening to trip my human feet at every turn. And the air...the smell...It's everywhere. A pungent rot; the scent of fungus and mold. Poisonous mushrooms grow like nobody's business, sporing clouds of sickly yellow and green, their caps unnaturally large and grotesque. If we don't die from starving, we'll surely die from the fungus spores infecting our lungs.

Wasnt there a documentary about fungus infecting ants and turning them into zombies?!!!!!!!

I feel faint, my breathing erratic.

If only there was more sun! That would clear up all the damp rot and mildew! But the sunlight struggles to penetrate the thick canopy, leaving us in a constant twilight. It's almost as if the trees themselves are desperate to escape, towering towards the sky and selfishly choking out the light in their desperation to escape the poisoned ground.

Thorin walks with purpose, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. He takes his promise to protect me seriously. While I follow closely behind, my heart pounding with trepidation at the slightest sound.

As the company ventures deeper into the forest, the shadows grow darker, and the air grows colder without the sun to warm things up. Strange sounds echo through the trees, causing my heart to race painfully. My breathing becomes labored and I clutch the hilt of Varzsiel with the hand that doesn't cling to Thorin. All this cortizol can NOT be good for me.

Why oh why did I agree to this?

The only times since arriving in Middle Earth that I couldn't see the stars was during rainy nights. Here, the trees cover all stars and I can barely even sense the moon.

The forest around us is shrouded in black, its eerie quiet broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. The fear of the unknown (or rather what I KNOW) settles heavy in my chest. And as the night deepens, the panic creeps in. Gnawing, persistent. I think about a time in my life when I didn't have to worry. A time when I truly felt safe. As a kid my Mom and Dad bore the weight of the world while us children enjoyed the fruits of their labor. I miss those carefree times, when worry was an unfamiliar feeling.

I think of my brothers with their wives (my sister-in-laws) and my rowdy nieces and nephews. My aunts and uncles, my grandparents, and cousins. My dear friends, like Matt, who will never know what happened to their short quirky friend. I'm never getting out of here. I'm never going home.

I sit by the fire, my thoughts tangled in the depths of my mind. I'm far from safety, from my family. The worst part is that I'll never be able to calm their fears about what happened to me. I'll never get to say goodbye or let them know that I found true love. I can feel the ache of homesickness in my bones, turning my stomach, pulling at my heart.

The crackling of the fire is disrupted by the sound of Thorin's deep voice, startling me from my spiraling thoughts.

"Peyton?" He rumbles from beside me, his voice thick with concern. Thorin takes my hands gently, pulling them apart with a quiet, patient strength. His eyes soften as he examines the back of my hand. "You will harm yourself if you continue to do that."

"Huh?" I say, confused before looking down at my hand. I hadn't even realized I was scratching at myself, the skin on my left hand raw, red from my nails. When had I started? How had I allowed myself to get so worked up?

"Your mind is heavy."

I huff softly, trying to brush it off. "Yeah, well, this day has aged me about ten years. And we've still got two weeks of this."

The thing with Mirkwood is that it won't get any better than today. It'll only get worse and worse as we go on.

I stare into the dark expanse of the forest, the weight of that thought pressing down on me. I squint, trying to make sense of the shadows that dance in the distance.

"There is nothing out there," Thorin says, his voice certain and calming.

I scoff, my anxiety making my voice sharper than I mean to. "Except we both know there is."

"Not at the moment," he says, his tone resolute. "Not right now."

I turn to look at him, searching his face for any hint that he might be lying to comfort me. "How do you know?"

Thorin chuckles softly, and reaches out, tracing his fingers along the back of my red hand, "Dwarves have keener eyes in the dark than humans. We know what is, and what is not."

I give a wan smile before looking solomnly out at the darkness again.

"Sleep. You need your strength."

I don't say anything, my whole frame beginning to tremble. Sauron, is just south of our location. He knows we are here. Thorin doesn't know the necromancer's true identity. Its been a good long week of rest from Dol Ghuldor, with peaceful dreams, but with Gandalf gone I'm afraid that Sauron's domain is where I'll go.

Thorin tries again, brushing the back of his hand lightly against my arm. "You should sleep, Amralime. I will watch over you."

The deep, gentle timber his voice makes it hard to deny his request. But still, I hesitate. And then what he said catches my attention.

"What does that mean?"

"What does what mean?" he murmurs, the trace of his fingers still ghosting along my arm, sending goosebumps prickling across my skin.

"Amralime?" I press, needing the answer. It sounds familiar.

His expression softens, and his voice drops to a whisper, as though the very sound of it were sacred. "It means... my love, in Khuz-dul."

I watch as he takes my red hand gently in his and presses a soft kiss to the back of it. The gesture is so natural, so tender, that I feel a beautiful PANG! In my heart and a calm warmth spread through me.

How did I get so lucky?

Since braiding my hair, it's like an unknown permission was given that allows him to touch me. And he's seized every opportunity. Riding horses together, touching my back to guide me along the trail, holding my hand to help me not trip on the uneven flagstone, whispering in my ear to distract me.

And kissing. Lots and LOTS of kissing!

Not that I'm complaining. Thorin's soft lips, thick beard, and the dwindling honey from our honey pots are the only comfort I have in this god-forsaken forest.

"I had a dream about that." I breath out in awe, confused and amazed. "A dream where you sat by me on a riverbank and called me 'Amralime'." I reach up to touch the courtship bead holding the braid in my hair. "And I had this braid in my hair!"

Thorin's gaze holds a spark of emotion I can't quite identify. He leans in closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I feel myself relax as I lean back against his chest, resting my head on his shoulder, with his head just beside mine. It reminds me of when he held me close while Oin popped my arm back in.

For a moment, we both stare into the flickering flames of the fire, the warmth surrounding us. Then, his voice drops to a teasing whisper, "Just one dream, then?"

His teasing manner lifts my mood and I try to glance up at his face with a raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean 'just one'?"

I feel him shrug, and I hear the corners of his mouth lifting, "It is common for dwarves to dream of their One. I have dreamt of you many, many times."

I want to remind him that I'm NOT a dwarf, so it doesn't make sense why I would have these sorts of dreams. But instead, I focus on the odd tone in his voice. "What... kind of dreams?" I ask curiously, my heartbeat quickening as I anticipate the answer.

"The kind that isn't best to discuss in present company," He lightly growls, before leaning down and planting a kiss right on the side of my neck causing me to gasp and my insides to warm.

His lips makes my insides shiver, but not with fear. My breath catches in my throat at his meaning, and I blush despite myself. Playing with fire. I feel a flutter of excitement mixed with a deep longing for us to be alone.

His pulls away and his fingers trace my hand again, grounding me in the moment, in the comfort of his touch. It is as though he knows I need this, need him to be close. To make me feel safe again.

He turns my hand and rubs his thumb across my knuckles. "Tell me your thoughts so that I may ease your mind."

"I...It's nothing," I say with a slight shake of my head.

"It is something," he murmurs, his voice low and full of meaning. "If the mere thought of it makes you hurt yourself, Zundush..." He cups my hand gently in his, rubbing his thumb over my scratches, his touch deliberate and soothing. "So tell me. So that I may ease your mind."

"What does Zundush mean?" I ask instead.

"It means 'Beloved'."

I smile with a blush, looking down at our hands intertwining. The sensation is electric, sending hotter rushes of heat through my veins. I pull his large hand towards my face, wanting to study it. Thorin says nothing, only watching as I hold his large hand in both of mine close to my face. His fingers are large with very thick knuckles, providing him with an unbreakable grip. They remind me of my grandather's. He used to be a lumberjack, providing for his family by creating ski resorts and clearing land. His fingers were like Thorin's as well, strong from chopping trees. I think he would have really liked Thorin.

The only adornment Thorin has is a thick emerald ring on his finger. I mess with it for a bit, admiring the craftsmanship.

"Emeralds are my favorite gemstone." I murmur out loud, admiring the deep green color, almost black. I trace the different scars on his hand, wondering what the stories are with each one.

"How'd you get this one?" I trace a thin scar on his thumb.

When he doesn't respond I glance up. Thorin is silent, staring at me as if he were pulling me apart piece by piece. I realize that my attempts to distract him are futile and I finally sigh and decide to tell him what he's patiently wanting to know.

"I miss home," I whisper, the words coming out in a broken breath. "That's all." I stare at his hand, waiting for his disappointment or judgement. I feel guilty for missing it and guilty for feeling guilty that I miss it. I don't want him to feel like I don't love him. "I miss my family. They're safe, but they're suffering without me there."

"I understand." He pulls his hand away before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer. It's comforting. The smell of him. Rich leather, tobacco smoke, a hint of mint leaves that Beorn courteously gave us, and a woodsy musk that I associate with him and only him. His arm is heavy around me. I lean closer. Resting my head on him. I feel Thorin tighten his hold around me.

Thorin's hand shifts, his thumb gently brushing across the back of my neck. "I understand the feeling," he says again, his voice deep with emotion. "The worry for your family, your friends. The weight of wondering if they are safe or not." His breath is steady, the deep vibration in his chest a deep comfort to me. "It pulls you down, doesn't it? But home is where you feel safe and loved, and you are safe and loved with me."

Safe. It is safe here, with Thorin. In the middle of Mirkwood, on the elven path, Thorin will keep me safe.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me into the warmth of his embrace and I focus on the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. It feels like a lifeline, something solid and real in this horrifying dark forest.

Thorin's head lowers and he brushes away the tears that fall. "You will love Erebor. Our home. I will help you adjust. You will receive different lessons of history and language...learn the traditions and culture of our people. You can still become a healer, and your knowledge from your world will change our world forever." Tears fall more freely from my cheeks as he speaks. "You are part of my family and people. Part of me." He pulls me in. Holds me tightly. "I do not say this nearly enough. But you are a gift sent to me. Stay. And I will give you a home."

The words stir deep inside me. I pull myself closer to him, burying my face in his chest, letting the warmth and safety of his presence wash over me.

I finally fall asleep, relaxed against him.

"I sense you are in Mirkwood. Excellent."

My hands clench tightly at my sides, trying to calm the tremors that threaten to betray my fear in Sauron's presence. My lips are sealed shut, but my mind races with frantic thoughts. I told Gandalf about Sauron, so why am I STILl coming here, in the heart of Dol Guldur? Just go away!

"Come now, why so silent? It isn't like you to hold back all those angry little thoughts swirling in your head."

I glare at the dark, shapeless form before me, a visceral hatred bubbling within me. "I have nothing to say to you, Sauron." The moment the words leave my mouth, I inwardly curse myself. I wasn't supposed to engage!

"Ah, but there is one thing you wish to know. Is there not?"

"Ugh. Yeah, fine." I roll my eyes, feigning bravado as I demand, "What happened to Azog? He was following us until you called him back."

If Sauron can get information from me, then why can't I wrestle some information from him?

His black shape undulates like a living liquid shadow, his voice a chilling hiss that sends shivers down my spine. "War is coming. All shall burn."

"Did you kill him then?" I can't help the smile that creeps onto my lips at the thought, a fleeting moment of hope amidst the dread.

"Worry more about the creatures I have sent in his stead," Sauron smiles, his voice dripping with malice. "They are more than capable of bringing you to me."

"And then what?! Why put so much effort into getting little old me?" I ask, throwing my arms in the air in a mock display of indifference, my heart racing as unease coils in my stomach. "Why not find someone more powerful? I'm a boring human!"

"There is only one thing I need to know from you, Peyton of Earth. You know how I am defeated. Therefore...you know what can defeat me. So, tell me." Sauron growls, his voice low and menacing. "Where is my ring?"

"Ring? What ring?" I ask, tilting my head mockingly, though the fear gnaws at my insides. It's dumb for me to play dumb. I know that he knows that I know where his ring is. If only I had kept my stupid mouth shut during all the other times I've been here.

"Tell me what I wish to know, and I can ensure that no harm shall befall you." He mocks me back in a generous tone, opening his arms in a gesture of goodwill.

"Huh. Sorry man. Not sure where your ring is." I shrug nonchalantly, before I put a hand to my mouth as if in shock. "Is it...is it a wedding ring? Aw, Mancy! I didn't know you were married!"

A low, sinister laugh echoes around me, wrapping around my throat like a noose. "Run faster, Peyton of Earth. My subjects are gaining on you. I'll have my answers soon enough."

With those words, his darkness rushes at me, purposefully pushing me out of his realm, out of his dreamwalk realm and into the real world as he forces me to wake up with a shriek.

The shadows shift, and I can almost feel the weight of the creatures he has sent to hunt me out there in the darkness. The reality of my situation sinks in.

I am not safe.

I am a target in a game I never consented to play.

The days in Mirkwood stretch endlessly, as do the nights with Sauron. I can barely remember the start of this journey when we set out with purpose, so sure of ourselves, so full of hope. There is no hope in this placd. We're stuck in some kind of limbo. The same heavy, oppressive trees press in on us from all sides. The air is thick with dampness, the ground spongy with dead leaves and twigs. Every step feels heavier, like the forest itself is trying to swallow us whole.

The deeper we venture into Mirkwood, the thicker the air grows, and the more oppressive the forest feels. The trees branches groan in the wind... except there is no wind...

Which means the trees are making those noises on their own.

They seem to move when I'm not looking. I could have sworn I saw one of them shift, its bark scraping against the trunk of another, but when I glance back fearfully, nothing has changed.

The air is still, thick with moisture and fungus spores, and I can taste it on my tongue, bitter and sour. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to get rid of the feeling that something is choking me from the inside. Claustrophobia. I am not a claustrophic person by any means, but when I can't breath, I start freaking out.

I've experienced fever dreams before. Lying sick in bed, my body burning with fever, with my mind spinning in halucigenic loops. The same dream would repeat and repeat, a broken record, until I couldn't tell where the dream ended and my reality began. That's what this feels like: a waking nightmare. There's no escape from it, no relief.

I would have given up already, succumbing to the dispair if it weren't for Thorin.

He is my constant. My anchor in this madness.

Fourteen hours of walking, every day. Fourteen hours of dark, damp trees. Fourteen hours of dread and disorientation. The minutes stretch into hours, and the hours blur into days. It's all a haze. The path ahead is never clear, the forest never-ending. I feel like I'm going insane, trapped in some twisted version of reality where there's no escape.

When the night feels too dark, when the silence of the forest presses too heavily on my chest, I reach for him. His presence is the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world. His warmth. His strength. The steady thrum of his heartbeat against my ear as he holds me somehow steadies mine. I don't know how he does it, but he makes the unbearable seem bearable. When my mind starts to crack under the pressure, he's there, always there, pulling me back from the edge.

I glance over at Thorin now, his face grim and hagard as he leads us forward, his steps deliberate, his tired eyes flickering constantly between the shadows, scanning for any sign of movement. The air has been affecting him too, causing paranoia and frustration. The others follow, the dwarves murmuring among themselves in weary voices, the thud of their boots against the damp ground the only sound besides the distant drips of water from the leaves above. It must have rained recently.

I try to focus on Thorin's hand gripping mine, but it's hard to ignore the sensation that the forest is closing in around us.

The path ahead is shadowed, and I can barely make out the faint outline of what should be a clearing.

But it's all in my head. The air...it's making my brain...slow.

"Thorin," I whisper into his chest one night, my voice barely a breath. "I love you."

While actions may speak louder than words to a dwarf, I know that words hold power. I may never get the chance to tell him again. Everyday we are closer to death, closer to the spiders. I'm barely surviving now, barely holding onto my sanity. I don't know I will possibly make it through the rest of this.

Thorin's breath catches in his throat, and he leans slightly back, wanting me to look up at him. I do, and his hands move to cradle my jaw with a tenderness I don't expect from him. His rough, calloused fingers contrast so sharply with the gentleness in his touch. His eyes meet mine, soft and open. There's a quiet understanding in them, a depth that tells me everything I need to know.

Without a word, he leans down and kisses me. It's not like the usual kisses we share. This one is gentle, as if I'm fragile. Something precious. He kisses me as if I were made of porcelain, delicate and easily shattered. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the kiss, feeling the weight of it. His lips are warm, firm, and they hold me like I'm the only thing that matters in this world.

When we finally pull away, my heart is pounding, my breath shaky. But it's not just the kiss that's left me breathless. It's the unspoken promise behind it. It's the feeling that, no matter how dark this place gets, Thorin will be there. He always will.

But the next day, everything changes.

We get lost.

I feared this day would come. It's in the book after all. I don't know how it happened but that's what happens when you're in Mirkwood I guess. The magic in the air plays tricks. The path shifts, the trees move, the earth itself seems to conspire against us. Dwalin had the trail, but somehow, the familiar white flagstones of the trail are gone, a deep ravine in front of us. When we turn around to go back the way we came, there's nothing but endless trees and shadows, each one looking just like the last.

"Dwalin," Fili calls, his voice tight with panic. "Dwalin, where- where's the trail?"

Our fearless warrior-trainer looks around, his dark brow furrowing in frustration. He's usually so certain, so steady, but now I see the uncertainty creeping into his eyes. He's not used to this. None of us are.

"We've wandered off the path," he mutters, his voice low and rough. "We need to find our bearings."

The panic I've been keeping at bay surges up, choking me. Like a tidal wave, overwhelming everything. I try to swallow it, but it's too much. The forest seems to close in on me, the trees towering and dark. The more I look around, the more I feel the world spinning out of control. How did we get lost? How?

"How could we get off the path?!" I shriek, my voice high and frantic, bouncing off the twisted trunks and parasitic moss on the branches. My mind can barely process it. One minute we were following the trail, and now...now, there's no trail. It's gone.

Dwalin growls in fury, his voice thick with frustration. "I dunno!" he snaps, his broad chest rising and falling with each angry breath. "But we've got a problem. A big one." He clenches his fists, his usual steady demeanor cracking under the pressure. I know he's affected by the situation more than he lets on, at the endless shadows surrounding us, at the suffocating air that seems to drag the life out of everyone. He's scared. I can see it in his eyes.

"Span out!" Thorin orders, "Find the trail!"

"We won't be able to get back," I whisper, my voice cracking. I start walking as if in a trance, looking for a trail and knowing we wont find it. "Gandalf said if we leave the path we'll never find it again."

Our only hope is the elves finding us now. But the spiders are first. I start hyperventilating.

They're coming.

Thorin doesn't hesitate. He turns me back to face him. His face set in a grim expression, but his eyes are calm. He places his hands on my shoulders, grounding me.

"We'll find a way," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "Remain calm. This is in the original story, correct? The Valar wish for us to succeed, so we shall."

I nod, trying to keep myself together. If anyone can get us out of this, it's Thorin. He's always been the one who knows what to do.

We spend hours looking.

Eventually I want to scream. I want to tear this whole forest down with my bare hands. But instead, there's something else. A whisper.

A voice.

The sound of it slithers through my mind, curling around my thoughts like smoke, dark and suffocating. My eyes glance at where it's coming from. Bilbo's pocket.

I'm looking at this all wrong. The ring is the answer to ALL my problems! It will help me find the path! Use the ring…

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I'm more desperate than ever before.

I have to get out of here. Before the spiders come!

"NO! Stop! I WON'T! LEAVE ME ALONE!" I yell out at Bilbo's pocket my voice raw and desperate, echoing into the forest, the words bouncing back at me as if mocking me.

"What did Bilbo do, Peyton?" Nori asks me, his voice laced with confusion and wariness. He steps closer, his brow furrowed in concern, his eyes scanning Bilbo who is now staring at me, wide eyed. Bilbo backs away slowly.

"It's not Bilbo, it's the forest! It's messing with all of us." Dori says, his eyes wide and frightened as he looks around.

He's not wrong. The smell of the air is weird, not enough oxygen getting to my brain. It makes thinking more difficult, and the ring's voice more intense.

The ring is not the enemy. It's just a simple ring! It can be used for good or for bad. Doesn't Bilbo use it for good? The quest will fail without it. If he can dk it, so can I! Use the ring...

"These damned trees," Balin says, his voice trembling with panic. "It's... it's got us all turned around."

Nori's eyes widen with fear as he glances around, the shadows seeming to press in on him. "I hear it too," he says softly, almost as if he doesn't believe it himself but can't deny the overwhelming sense of dread in the air.

And it's true. The air is thick. It feels like we're suffocating, like there's no oxygen left in this cursed place. My head spins, and my thoughts are becoming harder to hold on to. The forest is closing in on us, and the weight of it all is pushing me to the brink.

The Ring's voice comes again, always in the guise of my own thoughts, my own inner voice. It's stronger now. More insistent.

We will all STARVE to death if I do not use the ring. Don't I care about my companions or not? Look at how they suffer. Use the ring...

The words pierce my thoughts like a needle, sharp and cold. I want to scream, I want to claw it out of my mind, but the desperation I feel is so strong. I sense the dark wisps of the ring against my skin, its presence in Bilbo's pocket like a weight in the pit of my stomach. It promises safety, promises solutions, but at what cost? At what cost?

"No!" I shout again, my voice breaking. "The company gets lost in the original story too! We'll be fine! It's all part of the story! We have to stay together. The elves will find us."

"We don't need elves!" Thorin denies loudly, his own mind become muddied from the strange air.

I cover my ears, as if that could block everything out. As if that could make it stop. As if I could make the forest stop moving, stop whispering, stop reaching for me.

The rest of the company begins to bicker, their faces haggard and drawn with fear. Even Kili, who has always had a cheeky smile for every situation, is quiet, his dark eyes searching the woods, hoping for some sign of direction. He seems younger than ever before.

We don't speak much after that. There's nothing to say. We all know the reality: we've lost the path, and in Mirkwood, that means doom. We all know what's lurking in the shadows, waiting for us to slip up. And the longer we stay lost, the more I feel the grip of dread tightening around my chest.

Then, just as I feel the panic rise in my chest, the trees shift again. A low groan echoes from somewhere deep within the woods, the sound of creaking wood bending under pressure. It's not the wind. There is no wind.

But then it happens and the poop REALLY hits the fan.

The ground moves beneath my feet with a small rumble. The company cry out from behind me, distant but clear. I turn to see what happened, but there's no one's there. The space where they stood just moments ago is empty. The air grows colder, and I feel a chill run down my spine. My heart races.

"Thorin?!" I call out, panic surging in my chest as I stumble forward. "Bilbo!!? Dwalin?!"

I can hear them for a moment, their cry echoing. And then their gone.

I get down on my knees, my breath shallow, my heart pounding in my ears as I brush my hands along the forest floor to try and find the opening to where they went underground. "Kili?! Fili?? Bilbo?!"

The shadows stretch longer, the trees grow taller, closing in. "Bofur! Bombur! Bifur!!!"

The company is gone. I'm alone.

A sharp cry echoes from somewhere in the dark- a wolf's howl or something worse. I whirl around, my breath in a panic. Please...please no...

And then...

I see it.

A glint of gold lying on the ground.

My eyes widen, and I take a step back, my mouth gaping in disbelief. I'm hallucinating. This isnt real.

It's the Ring.

But...Bilbo is supposed to have it! How did it slip away from him?!

The voice. The temptation to put it on, to use it and find the way out, slithers louder now.

It's so close! So easy! This can all end! Everything solved! I can it to get the answers, the power. Pick it up...

But at what cost?

"No," I mutter under my breath, shaking my head, trying to force the thoughts away. "I can't give in."

I stand alone in the dimly lit forest, the One Ring laying on the ground before me. Is it an illusion? A trick of the mind? Or did the ring fall out of Bilbo's pocket like it had fallen out of Gollum's pocket...intent on finding it's way... to me.

No wonder Frodo had to use a chain on the damn thing! The ring somehow finds ways to slip away!

I clench my teeth, beads of sweat forming on my brow, my eyes tearing themselves away from the golden smooth surface to dart around the dim forest desperatly looking for anyone that can help me...or... stop me.

Trees, trees, nothing but trees. Dying, crying trees.

Voices whisper in my head, a sense of urgency thrums in my nerves to put the ring on and use its power to get out of here. At this moment...there's nothing I want more. While others, faint and distant, plead with me to resist. The struggle is visceral, a battle of wills within my very soul.

Pick it up....

The voice in my head is like a smooth, insidious hum, soothing in its urgency. Almost like there's a Peyton doppleganger in my head, smiling at me with a confident hand on her canted hip. I've come so far and I've done so well! I should be commended for my self control! Truly, not many humans can do what I've done. But I must be special. I'm from another world so I can handle it. I should put the ring on. I'll be able to free myself and the company from the forest. I'll escape and the path will be clear. And then I can give Bilbo back the ring.

It whispers over and over again, louder now, urging me to act. I feel the weight of its call pressing down on me, my very body tingling with the promise of what it offers. A chance to control my fate, to end the suffering of this endless forest.

The power... it's so close! I'll give it back to Bilbo. Pick it up

But there are others. Faint, distant. Voices of reason, perhaps? They rise, soft but insistent, like the echoes of the past, urging me to resist.

Don't do it.

You know better.

It will consume you.

The battle for my soul rages in my mind and I feel like I'm being torn apart.

What is a soul though? Is it the essence of our being? The core of who we are as individuals? Or perhaps it is 'a spark of divine light' like the elves believe? Maybe 'a fragment of the eternal flame' like the dwarves say? Perhaps the soul is a mirror of the universe, reflecting the beauty and chaos within?

My breath quickens, and the grip of the Ring tightens around my mind. I feel as though my very identity hangs in the balance. Will I follow the light? Or will I lose myself in the darkness?

I choke on my breath. My soul. I have no answer. Maybe I never did. But in this moment, I feel the pull of it: of everything I've ever been. What I could be. What I've yet to become.

My hand trembles, moving almost against my will, an invisible force guiding it toward the ring. It's as though something inside me has already decided. As though this moment and this choice was always inevitable. I'm only human after all.

"What a wishy-washy way of existence," Gandalf's gruff voice comes to me through the haze of my mind. "I hope, for the line of Durin's sake, that the day they need you is a day you are listening to the light, Peyton."

Am I strong like Gandalf, Elrond, and Galadriel? Or am I selfish like Isildur, Boromir, and Sméagol? Am I humble like Aragorn? Or ambitious like Saruman? Am I right or wrong? Up or down? Who am I? Who do I want to be? If I fall, will I ever rise again? If I choose to rise, what is to keep my from falling in the future?

I can't just leave it on the ground like this! I have to find Bilbo and give it to him.

Pick it up...

I'll give it to Bilbo! Yeah, yeah, that's what I'll do! I'll hold onto it for him. If I leave it here, anyone can get it. What if Sauron gets it? I have to give it to Bilbo!

Pick it up...

My hand reaches forward, slowly at first. The weight of the ring with its promise of power, of safety, of escaping this horrible nightmare has gripped me too tightly.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I try to take a breath, to steady myself, to reach for light but the ring's power is too strong, clamping down on my chest like a vice. I can't breathe. I can't think.

I'm only human. It was inevitable.

I pick it up.

End of Chapter

Dun, dun DUUUN!!!

So...uh, that happened. O_O

We've seen it a million times; good characters we know and love turning to the dark side. Anakin Skywalker, Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender, Harvey Dent from The Dark Knight...to name a few.

How many of us have given into temptation? Into addictions? I wanted to capture the struggle we all have with evil.

(I'm addicted to chocolate hershey's kisses and let me tell you something! They call to me like the ring calls to Peyton XD I'm helpless to resist. I could eat a whole bag of those, lol)

I'm also addicted to reviews! Please give into temptation and leave a review! Pretty pretty pretty please? You know you can't resist! The power of the One Ring compells youuuuuuuu!