Hey everyone! I just wanted to give a big shoutout to all of you who took the time to leave a review, especially TalkWithYourHands who went above and beyond by reviewing every single chapter! I really appreciate the feedback. I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted, but it's a pivotal moment in the story and I wanted to make sure it was just right.

...

"True evil is, above all things, seductive. When the Devil knocks at your door, he doesn't have cloven hooves. He is beautiful, and offers you your heart's desire in whispered airs. Like a siren, beckoning you to ruinous shore." -Unknown

~Chapter 30~

Darkness in the Heart

The ring gleams in Bilbo's palm, unassuming and simple. I tilt my head and narrow my eyes as I examine it closely. It's a ring alright. Such a small little ring too.

I can almost hear Boromir's voice saying "Such a tiny thing to cause so much grief".

It's just a simple gold band. With no jewels or engravings, its surface is smooth and sleek, reflecting the light in a way that draws me closer.

Okay! That's enough! You've seen it! Party's over! A fearful voice inside me reprimands.

Yet, I don't turn away. A strange, hazy sensation begins to flow through my mind, like a veil of smoke obscuring my thoughts.

I shake my head, grinning at the odd sensation. The looks of awe and dread that overcame the Fellowship's faces in Lord of the Rings suddenly comes to mind and I bet it just happened to me. Such a weird feeling. It's so interesting!

Leaning closer, the possibilities of imbuing a ring with power raise scientific questions in my mind. What is POWER anyway? Is it an energy? But how can something so plain and bland hold such power over others and their emotions? The possibilities swirl in my mind - the intricacies of imbuing an object with influence over others, the chance to wield unimaginable power.

Suddenly, Thorin emerges in my thoughts.

A rush of excitement courses through my senses and a buzz of realization hits me. With this ring I could save him! All my worries about rescuing him, Kili, and Fili from Azog vanish in an instant. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner?!

With the ring, all my problems could be solved!! I could slip away during battle, and catch Azog off guard! I could even sneak up on Smaug and plunge Varzsiel into his vulnerable chest where the missing scale is! I could be someone extraordinary—more powerful than the awkward Peyton Silva who's always felt out of place.

I could rival Galadriel, even! Surpassing her in grace and beauty and power! No more self-doubt or insecurities. I'd be perfect.

Those high school bullies, my dismissive college roommate, even my family members—they'd all regret underestimating little short me. With the ring's magic, I'd make them all adore me! I could travel between Earth and Middle Earth with Thorin, and together, we'd become legends, never wanting for anything again!

"Peyton! What are you doing!? Let..let go!"

The haze in my mind lifts slightly, and I blink. Bilbo tugs at my arm, trying to pull away, and I'm confused when I glance down to see my fingers gripping his wrist too tightly.

What am I doing? My brow furrows and I immediately loosen my grip. He yanks free, confusion etched across his face as well.

As if realizing the loss of its thrall on me, a powerful and dark urge suddenly crashes into my psyche like a desperate ocean wave. All my desires are laid before my eyes in a tantalizing view once more. Tears sting my eyes as my vision is overwhelmed by the fiery golden hue of the ring consuming my mind.

"No," A part of me weakly resists, but my voice barely registers. The ring... it's pulling me in!!

Take it. Take the ring from Bilbo. Grab it from his small, weak hands. FIGHT HIM!

"NO!" I cry out, but it comes out a feeble whimper, drowned out by the terrifying images and desires flooding through my mind. The desire to snatch the ring from Bilbo's hands, to fight him for it, to harm him.

My arms wrap around myself as I desperately try to contain the impulse to reach out, my fingernails digging into my skin. The slight pain grounds me in the moment.

"Get it away from me!" I hiss, desperation lacing my voice.

"Get what away from you?! The ring?!" Bilbo glances down, bewildered.

A strange panic surges within me at the thought of him taking the ring away from me and leaving. No! How can I reject something so precious?! Reject such a wonderful and beautiful gift?! My earlier resolve begins to slip, unraveling like thread.

But then…that word echoes in my mind like a warning bell.

Precious…

Try as I might to think rationally, it's as if my brain is full of honey. Someone….someone else called it that before! But who??

Suddenly...anger wells up inside of me like a terrible wave. I'M SO ANGRY! I want it! I want to have it! I don't want to deny myself this pleasure! I don't want self-control! No more rationalizing! Just give in! Why am I delaying so much??!

A gasp escapes me as my eyes remain glued to the beautiful golden circle. This isn't me! These aren't my emotions! But they feel so real, so all-consuming.

My body starts to tremble, battling the overwhelming temptation that has settled over my heart. I shut my eyes in the hopes that closing them will sever the ring's hold. It helps a little, but the ring's golden hue is seared behind my eyelids, glinting seductively, promising everything I've ever wanted.

What are you waiting for? Take... it... NOW.

My teeth grind together in intense concentration and a choked sound escapes. I dig my fingers into the soft flesh of my underarms, but the pain barely registers. I need to leave, but I can't. My heart feels like a black cord has wrapped around it, keeping me anchored here. The thought of walking away, of denying this dark desire, fills me with anguish. I want it. I WANT IT SO MUCH! My heart races at the thought of taking it. But Bilbo won't just give it to me—I must fight him for it.

No! The ring is evil! Leave!

I'm not strong enough!

Rejecting the ring feels like turning down the opportunity of a lifetime, like telling a dear friend you don't want to see them anymore and things are over between you two. I shake my head, rocking back and forth as more whimpers leave me, tears streaming down my cheeks.

A dark presence surrounds me, pressing in, urging me to use it. What if the Ring can take me home? To my family? Wouldn't that be wonderful?

With a sob, my body starts to lean toward Bilbo once more, reaching for the ring, even as a small part of me screams and pleads against it. My hand feels like a puppet, moving against my will.

'She's possessed!' The seamstress's words from Michel Delving flash in my mind. At this moment, it feels true. Darkness surrounds me, pushing me to take the ring, whispering to stop fighting and give in to my desires.

"Peyton?! PEYTON?! What's wrong? Tell me!" Bilbo's voice cuts through the chaos. I'm fighting with all my might against an unfathomable force. To resist hurting my best friend.

Stop fighting. Just give in... just TAKE THE RING!

Suddenly, the weight lifts. The suffocating darkness inside me fades. I gasp in relief, confused, as I open my eyes to find Bilbo kneeling before me, gripping my shoulders. The ring is stowed away in his pocket.

"Peyton! What happened!? Why are you crying!?" His warm hands cradle my cold cheeks, grounding me as I shiver.

Tears well up, shame flooding through me.

I never knew! I never truly understood Boromir's struggle until now, standing before the same evil. If I hadn't been at least semi-prepared, knowing what the ring was and being exposed to the Necromancer's darkness through my dreams, I know, without a doubt—I would have taken the ring from him.

Brutally. Without mercy.

I may have even….

A hot knife of shame stabs deep and I let out a mournful sob. Sméagol had killed his best friend on his birthday. They'd gone fishing together, and it had actually been his friend that found the Ring.

He had killed his best friend!

Even now, distinct from my shame, there is a faint whisper at my conscious. A tap, tap, tap at the doors of my mind like a treacherous tiny spider tapping with his spindly legs. A teeny, simple, innocent presence that seems to emanate from Bilbo's pocket. Like a small child, crying to be held and that wants me to just...look at it...

to acknowledge it…

to let it inside...

so it can DEVOUR MY SOUL.

Fear grips me and I let out a cry. My hands lash out in reflex to shove Bilbo away from me, my heart racing as I stand. He lands on the grass with a painful thud, staring up at me with wide, hurt-filled eyes.

"I have to go! I can't be here!"

"Peyton, what is...I-I-I don't understand!-"

He begins to struggle to his feet, reaching out to me, wanting to help ME even though I had been the one to hurt him.

"NO! Stay away from me!" I wheeze, holding my hands up, panic clawing at my chest. "I... I'm so sorry, Bilbo. I just... can't."

I'm not strong enough.

The only thing I can do is run. And so I do.

"Please…Don't tell anyone this happened." The words rush out even as I turn and run, my legs heavy and unwilling. Yet fear propels my screaming leg muscles forward—fear of the adoration on Sméagol's face as he held up the ring, oblivious to his friend lying lifeless by the riverbank.

A friend...like Bilbo.

I sprint as if wargs are on my heels. The air burns in my lungs, thick with pollen, the tall grass whipping at my legs. Bees scatter in every direction, buzzing angrily at my rudeness. Beorn's barn looms ahead, the last building I had seen earlier today on my self-guided tour. I dash toward it, all but throwing myself at the entrance. I heave against the door until it slams shut behind me. Gasping for breath, trembling, sweat trickles down my face, a stark contrast to the sweet, musty scent of hay and oats. The gentle clucking of the hen I had seen earlier with her chirping chicks offers a momentary solace.

Spotting a ladder leading to the hay loft, I climb upwards, desperate to put that extra little distance between myself and the world below. Once in the loft, I sink into the soft green alfalfa, wrapping my arms around my knees, willing my racing heart to calm.

I'm safe. Bilbo's safe.

Shudders ripple through me. I've faced temptation to do bad and selfish things before like everybody. Most times, I've overcome it, but also like everyone I've stumbled into moments of selfishness, pride, envy, anger, and greed. But this?

The ring twisted my good desires against me.

My longing for love, acceptance, protection, strength, and home. My yearning to save Thorin!

It ensnared Boromir the same way too, convincing him that with the ring he could safeguard those he cherished. 'I only desire to protect my people,' he'd said to Frodo.

I used to see him as a villain, weak and pathetic. He'd stood up to grab the ring at the meeting of the fellowship before Gandalf started cussing him out in Black Speech. I didn't even feel sad when he died in the film, just a fleeting thought of 'Karma.'

But now, reflecting back, he wasn't bad or weak—he was human. If my own struggle is any indication, he resisted the ring far longer than I realized. And in the end, he died defending Merry and Pippin.

"You judge others too quickly… and you do not know what is in their hearts."

Galadriel was right. This journey through Middle Earth has shown me that things and people are far more complex than they appear. Every soul is like an iceberg; you only see a small piece. Those who fell under the ring's power were good people. Hell, wasn't the Witch King of Angmar a good guy once?

Now I understand something profound: the worst sort of evil is...

Simple. Unassuming.

I can't believe I fell for it! It had looked so innocent, just a simple plain ring. And therein lies the trap. Insidious, like spider silk, the ring wraps around its victim softly until escape is impossible.

There have been hidden strengths I've discovered on this journey, but now I find myself uncovering deep, troubling weaknesses I had never fully recognized before. I've always thought of myself as a capable and strong person, but now...

I burst into tears, overwhelmed by shame and regret. How can I ever be near Bilbo again?! Being close to me puts him in danger, which endangers the entire quest. The consequences are far-reaching; the journey to Erebor is just one cog in a larger machine.

I should have listened! I should have listened to that small voice inside that told me not to do it! How can I possibly continue on with the quest now??

My fork drags across my plate in swirling motions, playing with the beans as I half-heartedly listen to Gloin's boisterous tale of his wild ox ride that lasted all of seven seconds. Across the table, I steadily ignore Bilbo and Thorin's anxious gazes, confusion and hurt flickering across their faces like shadows in a dim light. Thorin had saved a chair for me beside him, a silent invitation that had made my heart warm with joy...until I saw that Bilbo was sitting in the seat on the other side. I then deliberately bypassed the offered chair and pulled up a chair to sit next to Gandalf instead.

I can almost feel Thorin's worry as he must be wondering if my choice speaks volumes about my choice to stay in Middle Earth. Does he think I've turned away from him because of our intense tête-à-tête by the river? Both he and Bilbo wear solemn, pensive expressions, as if they're caught in a riddle they can't solve, pondering what they've done wrong and how they might mend this invisible rift. The weight of our distance at the table seems to hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere around us. I wish I could ease their minds.

But the pull of the ring is relentless. It isn't nearly as powerful as when it lay exposed in Bilbo's palm. But what it lacks in power, it makes up in stamina, and in its quest it is tireless. It tugs ever so gently at my thoughts, a delicate caress that lingers and won't let go.

It's not a big deal! Let's be logical about this. Sauron is nothing more than a pathetic mist in Dol Ghulor, he can't hurt me. Just think of the magic! The science involved with making someone's atoms actually disappear! The ring will make me invisible! Wouldn't it be amazing to try it, just once? I bet it'll feel really cool! What harm could come from one more look?

JUST... ONE... LOOK!!!!

Tears prick at my eyes, betraying the web of lies the ring spins around me. The worst part of it's deception is that it doesn't feel like a separate voice from me. It's as if my own thoughts have been hijacked, twisting me against myself. The battle is inside of me and I realize I'm not equipped to fight it. The ring's influence is too strong.

The weight of this truth crashes down on me: I, Peyton Silva, have become a threat to this world—all because of a seemingly insignificant ring.

No! I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. No, it's not just a small, stupid ring. That's exactly what it wants! That's literally the mistake everyone makes with it. The One Ring thrives on simplicity, masking its malevolence beneath an unassuming facade, lulling you into a false sense of security until it's too late.

It's a sinister principle: evil clothed in meekness, darkness hidden in light. Like a Venus flytrap luring unsuspecting prey or a camouflaged alligator waiting patiently for its moment. The ring preys on ignorance and vulnerability—a truth that cuts deep.

I grit my teeth, suddenly angry at mysef. How did Boromir resist for so long?! How did Aragorn withstand when Frodo actually offered the freaking ring to him?! I mean, Frodo and Bilbo endured for years before succumbing!!! Then there's Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel—they all stood firm. (Well, Galadriel was a little rocky for a moment, but she had the most to gain!) What about Sam Gamgee? He actually held the ring in his hands, unlike all the others.

And then there's me.

Me, who knows the future! I know the story from beginning to end, yet here I am, struggling to remain in the same room as the ring without the overwhelming urge to rip it out of Bilbo's pocket.

I'm just as bad as Smeagol. It's a humbling and absolutely humiliating thing to discover about oneself. In my world, no one looks at Gollum and feels anything but disgust. Yet I understand him—at least to some extent. Sure, I resisted the ring, but just barely.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance over at Thorin, who's speaking in low tones with Oin and Gloin. I briefly wonder how often Oin should change the bandages before my chest aches as I discreetly watch the dwarf who owns my heart. If he asked me to stay now, I would have to refuse. I can't even continue with the company! Galadriel was wrong.

A sharp pain stabs at my heart, as painful and desperate as my earlier attempts to reject the ring. I don't deserve someone like him. I'm not as strong, selfless, or noble. But saying 'I'm really sorry, Thorin. It's not you, it's me' sounds like a horrible break-up line—one that I'm sure he wouldn't understand or appreciate.

Come on, Peyton! Think! Stop moping and find a solution! You can't just give up! How do you overcome this? There has to be a way. Those characters—the ones who resisted the ring's evil—was their strength something they were born with? Were they just lucky? Or can the ability to resist evil's influence be developed by anyone over time?

I sift through my memories, trying to recall details from the live-action Lord of the Rings movies, the Hobbit cartoon, the books—searching for answers, anything that might help me. Gandalf's wise words suddenly come to mind: "We fall, we fail, but then we rise, we overcome." His encouragement was what had given me the courage to embark on this darn quest in the first place.

I look up at the grey wizard beside me. Another reason I had chosen to sit near him, was the hope that I could somehow absorb his strength. I listen to his soothing accent, the timber of his voice as he discusses art and his favorite galleries in Middle Earth with Dori. Places like the ancient kingdom of Kazad-dhum before it was overtaken by orcs or a place called Eregion of the Elves. I marvel at this unassuming man; his gentle demeanor belies the immense power he wields.

He's like the ring, but the opposite! Pretending to be a simple, gentle, old man who's actually a powerful force for good. A beacon of wisdom and courage.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns his head from Dori to look at me. He smiles, his wrinkles friendly, but the bemusement fades into concern as he takes in my expression. I'm not even sure what I look like right now.

I summon my courage, desperate for answers. "Gandalf?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He turns to me, his entire focus shifting. Leaning in, his furrowed brows reveal genuine concern. "Yes, Peyton?"

"How do you resist temptation?" My desperation spills into my words.

His eyes twinkle, a hint of mischief softening the moment as he relaxes. He glances toward an unaware Thorin before replying, "Any particular temptation you're referring to, my dear?"

I shake my head, brushing aside his playful tone. I'm still angry about him talking to Thorin about me behind my back, and I haven't had the chance to let him know it. But now still isn't the time. "No, I mean… how do you resist evil?"

"Evil?" His brow furrows, puzzlement crossing his face. "What sort of evil could you be combating?"

"The worst kind." I lean closer, urgency filling me for him to understand, "The kind that can destroy me."

Gandalf's gaze sharpens. He sits up straight, assessing me thoughtfully, "The only way I know how to resist evil is to keep it at bay."

"But...HOW do you do it, Gandalf? How do you keep the darkness at bay?" How will you resist the One ring when Frodo offers it to you in fifty years?

Gandalf's blue eyes weigh my question seriously. He finally replies, "By simple acts of kindness and love, my dear."

I scoff and glance back at my beans and salad, feeling dejected that I didn't get something more substantial. "Yeah. Right." What a cliché Disney fairytale thing to say! It as cheezy as something like 'the power of friendship' from My Little Pony or some other ridiculous notion. I need real-world application!

Frustration bubbles up inside me and I try again. This Maiar must have something better to give me! "I need something stronger to combat evil, Gandalf! I need some form of power!" Kindness and love can't compete with the power of the One Ring.

"Love is the strongest power in the world, Peyton," Gandalf replies sincerely. He looks over my shoulder, as if recalling something important. "It is the small things. The everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Simple acts of bravery and care for others." He turns his gaze back to me. "Kindness and love, are more powerful than you think."

I frown, thinking hard. I had just been considering how 'simple' the ring portrays itself, and how Gandalf does too. Is the key to resisting its hold something that also can seem simple at first glance? After all, Saruman, for all his power as a white wizard, succumbed to darkness, while small halflings from the Shire could resist it.

Still not convinced, I have to challenge him. "That can't be it. Evil's power surpasses all that."

Is love going to stop Fili, Kili, and Thorin from getting stabbed in the chest? No! And I love Bilbo, but that didn't stop me from wanting the ring.

Gandalf glances at Bilbo, who is still watching me with concern. As our eyes meet, Bilbo sits up, realizing he's the subject of our discussion. Gandalf nods subtly toward him. "What do you think of our burglar?" he asks, redirecting the conversation.

Caught off guard, I reply cautiously, "Bilbo's wonderful. He's a true hero. " He's an amazing friend that I don't deserve. "But back to the topic at hand—"

"Even though he's small and simple?" Gandalf interrupts, giving me a pointed look.

I pause, sensing the lesson he's imparting. But I feel slightly offended on Bilbo's behalf and deny, "He's not simple."

"Yes, he is, Miss Peyton. Did he chase after us that morning for riches, fame, or glory?" Gandalf smiles fondly, recalling the start of our quest. "No. He joined us for an adventure. To grow. To live." He looks at me meaningfully. "But he has stayed on this journey because of kindness and love. Because a group of dwarves, who have treated him very poorly might I add, need help reclaiming their homeland. Because a good friend of his is trying to find her way home as well! If that isn't a sacrifice, then I don't know what is. Especially with all the peace and comfort he has left behind."

Looking at Bilbo, something clicks. The ring holds no sway over him or Frodo or Aragorn because none of them are driven by selfishness or pride. They are humble and good, willing to make sacrifices for what is right. I can vividly recall Bilbo waving his sword defiantly at the encroaching orcs, flames flickering all around him, while Thorin lay motionless on the ground.

And here I am, someone who didn't even want to be on this quest in the first place. Sure, I've had moments of kindness—helping Ori with his writing, assisting Bombur with cooking, even saving Nori's life—but my pride and fear have often guided my judgment.

Understanding dawns on me, and a sense of calm washes over me. If I want to resist the darkness, then the key is to follow the examples of Bilbo and Gandalf. I need to focus on acts of kindness and service. I have to sacrifice more than what I have been.

Does this somehow connect to Galadriel's vision of a sacrifice of my all?

I look up at the ancient wizard next me. "You're right. Thank you. Maybe the simple and small things are the answer! People look at you and see a weak old man in an ugly grey robe. Grey is the most simple and plain color there is! And yet you're one of the best people that Arda has to offer!"

Before he can respond, I throw my arms around his waist, squeezing tightly and burying my face into his old Snuggie. He smells of pipe smoke and mint leaves. Gandalf never stinks like the rest of us, even after a long day's journey.

He places a heavy hand on my back and asks gently, "What troubles you, dear one? Tell me, so that I can help."

I shake my head and pull away. I can't tell him. But maybe I can hint at it?

"I just…I'm really grateful for you. Bilbo left his home, but you've made it your life's mission to help others as well. It's like your 'thing'. In my world, that's what you're known for. And…it makes the darkness smaller."

And it's true. Sitting next to Gandalf makes me feel safe. In order to completely ignore the ring's pull gnawing at my conscience, maybe if I shift my focus to kindness and acts of service, I can keep its influence at bay!

"I am very fond of you as well," He pats my back again. "You are a wonderful person, and we could use more people like you."

"Even though I'm haughty, loud, rude, and abrasive sometimes?" I raise an eyebrow, skeptical.

Gandalf beams at me, his face crinkling in mirth. "Yes, even so." He shakes his head "You don't have to be perfect to resist evil. No one is. You just have to keep nurturing the light that is already within you."

I nod, determined to try. Looking around the group, I notice most have finished their dinner. I quickly jump up to gather the dishes into a pile. Might as well start now!

The company stop what they're all doing to watch me in confusion. Bofur protests, "Oh, you don't have to do that, Pey! Let us get it for you."

Bofur is one of the good ones. The ring would have no sway over him. He goes to stand, but I put a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated. "No, no, Bofur. Let me do this. I need to do this."

He furrows his brow at my insistence, but I move on to the next dwarf's plate. More protests greet me, but I find their concern sweet. I give Thorin a sweet smile as I take his plate, his surprised gaze trying to read me. But when I reach Bilbo's plate, a chill runs through me. The weight of the One Ring tugs at my thoughts a bit more urgently.

Thorin, Thorin, what about Thorin? How will you save him? You're so close! Ask Bilbo to take a look. Just a look! Just...RIP IT FROM HIS NASTY LITTLE POCKET!

I flinch, recoiling from Bilbo and I rush from the room, clinging to the dishes with trembling hands. I need something to anchor me. Deep breath. Focus on something else.

So I do.

I wash the mountain of dishes the company has used. I wipe the wooden countertops and sweep the wooden floor. The dogs and ponies watch me with dark, intelligent eyes, even helping by nudging the dustpan my way. There is a lot to do on a farm, not surprisingly. The animals do well enough on their own, but I have something they don't have: Opposable thumbs.

I gather eggs from the chicken coop and try to milk the cows in an attempt to replace the gallons of milk the company has consumed. Holding the cow's udders proves quite challenging, but after some effort, I'm able to fill up one pail. Aaaaaand that's the best I can manage! My hand muscles get way too cramped to continue.

By the end of the day, after weeding Beorn's garden and baking more bread for the company's dinner, I can barely stand. And, to be honest, this is NOT the outcome I was hoping for. I had envisioned feeling like how Galadriel looks or something. Radient and glowing—'brimming with the goodness flowing in my veins' or something cheezy like that from all the acts of service and kindness I'd done.

Instead, I feel hollow, drained of whatever light I feel had in the first place. Cranky and tired. The irony is that my exhaustion leaves me powerless, unable to even contemplate taking the ring from Bilbo.

How in Middle Earth is this supposed to give me more light? I feel drained of whatever light I had in the first place! How can these acts of service possibly bring more light into my life when I feel so depleted?

My feet almost trip over a black lab that materializes in my path. "Sorry," I murmur tiredly. The dog wags it's tail and makes a chuffing sound, indicating with a backward glance that it wants me to follow it. I shake my head, about to drop dead to the floor, "Sorry boy, not tonight. I can't do anymore."

But the dog persists, coming back to gently take my hand in his warm wet mouth and tug me towards a door. I have no choice really but to follow.

To my surprise, he leads me to a tub filled with cold water. On this sweltering night, the thought of washing away the day's sweat ignites a flicker of excitement. The cool sensation is a wonderful relief for my muscles as I sink into the tub, sighing as the water envelops me.

My legs ache from yesterday's sprint from the wargs, and I was meant to let them rest today. Instead, they protest even more now, but the cold water slightly eases the inflammation. A soft fragrance lingers in the air, lulling me—lavender, perhaps? I close my eyes, drifting off.

Suddenly, a wet nose nudges my face, and I sputter awake. The dog stands beside me, towel in its mouth, chuffing insistently. I must have dozed off for quite some time, as my fingertips are now noticeably pruney.

"Aww, can't I sleep here?" My question comes out as a whine, not wanting to move by aching body. I know it's not a good idea though. With fifteen males around, it's only a matter of time before someone finds me. Besides, the last thing I want is to accidentally drown in my sleep.

The dog gives a gentle growl, and I sigh. "I guess that's a 'No', then."

Wincing, I force myself to move. Relaxing my muscles was a mistake; they now feel like detached, painful apendages of pulverized meat. It hurts worse than yesterday. Putting my clothes back on is a struggle, each movement a reminder of my torn muscles.

Most of the company are already asleep themselves, except for Thorin, murmuring softly with Gloin, Balin, and Bombur. They all look up when I come in and I give a tired smile but say nothing. I try to ignore the fact that all the married members of the company are talking with him.

"Long day?" I hear Thorin murmur to me in what seems a friendly tone. I know he's trying to mend things with me, and I feel really bad. His eyes have been trailing me all evening, a blend of worry and confusion barely concealed. He's been patiently waiting for me to come to him to talk (now that he has a shirt on), but I haven't.

I don't know what to say anymore, honestly. I know in my heart, despite my family, that I would have said yes to staying with him. I can't help it. The joyful butterflies I feel in Thorin's presence are impossible to ignore. His leadership and masculinity are magnetic, making every moment with him feel wonderful, exciting, and lovely. It's the kind of feeling that's hard to resist, a feeling I never want to lose.

Love.

But since encountering the Ring, my peace and self-confidence have been shattered. I don't feel worthy to stay, to further explore the emotions this relationship stirs, or take it even further. If I can somehow get enough light to resist the Ring's temptation, then maybe I could say that I 'passed the test' and perhaps feel more on equal ground with him. And even then...can I stay? Should I stay? I need to wait and see if I can gather enough light to combat the darkness before giving him hope.

It's like Balin had said: don't give hope where there is none.

"The longest," I moan, settling on my soft padding to sleep, wincing and gasping as my muscles refuse to bend anymore. "Ahhh, that's better." I sigh once in a comfortable position.

"You should have been resting. Why did you exhaust yourself?" he asks, his tone a little too reprimanding.

My gaze focuses on the rafters above us, pondering what to say. "I was…doing an experiment."

"Experiment? On what?"

"On kindness and acts of service."

Silence. And then, "And…what did you discover?"

I swallow hard, the ache in my throat intensifying as despair washes over me. Nothing. I found nothing. "I'll let you know once it's over," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Good night, Thorin."

A pause. "Good night, Peyton."

Things quiet down as the dwarves go to sleep rather quickly once I've laid down.

My nerves are completely shot, and my emotions wrung out. Is this how the rest of the quest will be? Am I going to just exhaust myself every night for the rest of the journey so I'm too tired to take the ring? I turn on my side facing away from everyone, tears slipping down my cheeks as the doubts from earlier return to bury me. It's not fair! Why did this have to happen to me?! I can't do this. I'm not strong enough.

A low rumble startles me from my inner spiral of loathing and despair. I turn my head to find a pair of big green eyes staring back at me. An orange tabby cat with a pink nose inches closer, blinking slowly as if inviting me into his calm. My bleak thoughts of defeat begin to scatter, replaced by the interesting sight of his furry face.

I hesitate, then stick out my hand, and he eagerly bumps his head against it. His fur is soft and inviting. A smile spreads across my face—he's a fluffy little Garfield! As I stroke him, his purring grows louder, vibrating through my palm, down my arm, and soothing the tension in my chest.

"Good boy," I murmur, the words feeling foreign yet comforting. "Good kitty." He glances around for a place to curl up beside me and settles beside my chest next to my heart. I continue to run my fingers through his plush coat.

"Thank you," I whisper, feeling the weight lift, if only slightly. There's a very special and pure feeling when an animal 'chooses you.'

He head-buts my chin in response. A gentle reassurance.

In that moment, I realize something profound: I had always viewed the concept of an emotional support animal as a mere loophole for avoiding pet fees in apartments or sneaking furry companions onto airplanes and into restaurants. But here I am, feeling a peaceful calm fill my heart with his simple companionship.

I think back on Gandalf's words—that simple acts of kindness can combat the darkness. This cat's quiet comfort has pushed back some of my own shadows. It must be true then! If I keep trying, eventually, the darkness might recede enough so I don't feel the ring's tempation.

Comforted, I cling to this newfound mindset, allowing it to cradle me into a deep, restful sleep for the first time in weeks.

End of Chapter

I hope I was able to capture the intense emotions that Pey is experiencing in this chapter. I feel like I could have done it more justice, but I don't want to dwell on it too much and bore you. You'll notice that the conversation with Gandalf is the same quote I used for the brief description of my story's heading. I'm so glad I finally got to share this chapter with you! It's been waiting patiently to reveal itself, lol. Thank you all for your continued support!

This chapter originally clocked in at 11,000 words, and I had to split it in half—a common occurrence for me. I think you all will be very pleased with the next chapter though, because Thorin and Peyton's relationship progresses just as you've been hoping for! Haha!

On another note, I just finished watching the second season of Rings of Power, and I'm heartbroken about the drastic shift in Halbrand and Galadriel's relationship compared to season one. I knew they were never going to be together. But still! They could hVe made it a little more questionable ;) Instead the closed the door for good.