As the company approached the edge of the Trollshaws, Sirius could feel a familiar tension rising in his chest. He had traveled these paths before, long ago, during his journey to the Shire, and knew the dangers that lay hidden in the dark woods. Now, leading a group of twelve dwarves and himself, disguised as a hobbit, his concern was amplified. Trollshaws was not a place to take lightly.

The road ahead twisted through the southern part of the Trollshaws, a region notorious for its dense forests and perilous creatures. Trolls, orcs, and other dangerous predators made their homes here, lurking within the thick canopy of trees that swallowed the sunlight and cast eerie shadows across the land. Though it was difficult to see what lay inside the forest from the road, Sirius's instincts warned him that something would be watching.

As they made their way further south, the landscape shifted. To their right, a lush valley stretched out, its rolling hills and scenic beauty a stark contrast to the dark, foreboding forest on their left. The road itself was narrow and winding, and the company would have no choice but to camp for two nights along the edge of the Trollshaws. Sirius knew that these would be some of the most dangerous days of their journey so far.

That night, as they set up camp, Sirius called Thorin aside. Thorin, ever stoic, was busy inspecting his sword when Sirius approached him.

"Thorin," Sirius began, keeping his voice low, "we're entering dangerous territory. Trollshaws isn't just any forest. It's full of creatures that would rather eat us than watch us pass by. I've been through here before, and I can tell you—it's not a place to take lightly."

Thorin narrowed his eyes, listening intently. "What do you suggest we do?"

"We need to be prepared for an attack at any moment," Sirius said firmly. "Especially at night. We'll set up a rotating watch, and everyone must stay alert. No wandering off. I'll keep an eye on the forest, but the dwarves need to be ready. Trolls aren't the only thing we have to worry about. Orcs have been known to roam these woods too."

Thorin nodded, his expression grim. "I'll tell the others. We'll stay sharp."

Once Thorin relayed Sirius's message to the rest of the company, the mood in the camp shifted. The dwarves, usually chatty and prone to complaining, grew quieter, their faces set with determination. Even though they had fought before and knew the dangers of the road, Sirius could see that the weight of his warning had sunk in. Trollshaws was not a place they could take lightly.

As the fire crackled and the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest, Sirius stood at the edge of the camp, his senses heightened. The trees loomed over them like silent sentinels, and every rustle of leaves seemed louder in the stillness of the night. He kept his hand on the hilt of the sword Gandalf had given him, ready to act at a moment's notice.

From behind him, Dwalin approached, his axe resting on his shoulder. "You think we'll run into trouble tonight?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"I hope not," Sirius replied, not taking his eyes off the forest. "But we should expect it. Trolls don't always stick to their usual feeding grounds, and the road is quieter than it should be. That means something's already cleared it out. Best we be prepared."

Dwalin grunted, his expression serious. "I'll take the first watch, then. No use waiting around."

"Thank you, Dwalin," Sirius nodded.

That night, the company took turns keeping watch. Though no immediate danger presented itself, the weight of the forest's dark presence pressed in on them. The dwarves, normally boisterous, ate their rations in silence, their eyes flicking toward the trees every so often.

The next day, as they resumed their journey along the road, Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The forest remained dense and silent, the thick canopy overhead blocking out most of the sunlight. As they rode, Sirius kept one hand near his sword and his eyes trained on the dark woods, ready for anything that might emerge from the shadows.

"How much longer until we're clear of this cursed place?" Bofur grumbled, glancing nervously at the trees.

"Two days if we keep a steady pace," Sirius replied. "But don't let your guard down. It's always quiet before trouble shows up."

Thorin, who rode at the front of the company, raised his hand to halt the group. "We'll stop here for the night. Prepare for camp. And stay alert."

As they dismounted and set up camp once more, Sirius couldn't help but feel the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He had warned them, and now all he could do was hope that they were ready for whatever the Trollshaws might throw at them.

But deep down, Sirius knew better. Trollshaws was a place of danger, and danger was rarely content to stay hidden for long.

Sirius had noticed the swift change in the dwarves' demeanor. The same dwarves who had grumbled and complained about nearly every minor inconvenience on their journey were now on edge, almost eager for a fight. The casual air they had maintained was gone, replaced by a fierce determination. There was no more talk of sore feet or the lack of hearty meals—now, they only talked about sharpening blades and the thrill of battle.

Sirius couldn't help but be both amused and confused by this transformation. "Of all the things they could get serious about," he muttered to himself, watching as the dwarves prepared their weapons with surprising efficiency. "Complaints about food, I understand, but this sudden thirst for a fight... I suppose dwarves will be dwarves."

The night was thick with tension as they set up their second camp in the Trollshaws, the dense forest still looming ominously at their side. Sirius took the lead in organizing the watches, ensuring that each dwarf stayed alert and ready for any threat that might emerge from the trees.

Hours passed quietly, but then a shout came from Balin, who was on watch at the western edge of the camp. "Enemies approaching!" he called, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Immediately, the dwarves leaped to their feet. Despite having been half-asleep, they moved with astonishing speed, grabbing their weapons and heading toward Balin's post. Sirius had to admit that, for all their complaints, these dwarves knew how to act when it mattered.

They gathered at the edge of the camp and stared into the shadows where Balin pointed. Emerging from the forest, a small company of orcs moved swiftly toward them. Their crude weapons gleamed in the faint moonlight, and their guttural snarls echoed through the trees. While it wasn't a massive army, the sight of orcs marching toward them was enough to put everyone on edge.

Sirius, perched near his own post, quickly assessed the situation. The orcs were moving fast, but their numbers were small, likely a scouting party or raiding group. Even so, they were orcs, and that meant they were dangerous, especially in the woods. Sirius's mind raced as he formulated a plan.

"Hold your ground!" Sirius called to the dwarves, raising his voice over the growing noise of the orcs' approach. "Don't chase them into the forest! We'll never win if we fight them in there. That is their territory, and at night, they'll have the advantage. But out here, under the moon, we can see them—we can fight them on our terms!"

Thorin turned to him, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Jimmy is right," he said, his voice stern. "Stay in the open. Let them come to us!"

The dwarves grumbled their agreement, though it was clear that some were itching to charge into the woods. Even so, they trusted Thorin's judgment, and they knew the truth in Sirius's words. The forest was no place for a battle at night—too many places to hide, too many shadows where more enemies could be waiting.

They formed a line at the edge of the clearing, weapons raised, waiting for the orcs to come to them. The moonlight glinted off their axes, swords, and hammers as they braced themselves for the fight. The tension in the air was thick, and every second seemed to stretch out endlessly as the orcs drew closer.

Sirius gripped his sword tightly, keeping one eye on the forest and another on the open field before them. The orcs were almost within striking distance now, their eyes gleaming with malice as they charged forward, eager to taste blood.

"Steady!" Thorin barked, his voice commanding.

Then, with a roar, the orcs attacked. They rushed toward the company, weapons raised, their war cries echoing in the night. But the dwarves were ready. As the first orc reached their line, Dwalin swung his mighty axe, cutting the creature down in a single blow. The others followed suit, meeting the orcs head-on with the full strength of their dwarven resolve.

The battle was fierce, but the dwarves had the advantage in the open field. The moonlight gave them enough visibility to see their enemies clearly, and the orcs, though vicious, were outmatched by the dwarves' skill and discipline.

Sirius fought alongside them, his eleven made sword flashing in the moonlight as he parried and struck with precision. Years of honing his skills in magic and combat had not been in vain, and though he was the smallest among them in his hobbit form, he was more than capable of holding his own. He moved with a speed and agility that took the orcs by surprise, and one by one, they fell to his blade.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The orcs, realizing they were outmatched, tried to retreat back into the forest, but the dwarves were relentless. Thorin himself led the final charge, cutting down the last of the fleeing orcs before they could disappear into the trees.

As the dust settled and the final orc fell, the company took a moment to catch their breath. The clearing was littered with the bodies of their enemies, and the dwarves, though tired, were triumphant.

Sirius wiped the sweat from his brow and sheathed his sword. "Well," he said, glancing at Thorin, "that was certainly more eventful than I'd hoped."

Thorin smirked, clearly pleased with the outcome. "They underestimated us," he said simply. "And they paid the price."

The dwarves, now that the fight was over, quickly reverted back to their usual selves. There were grins and hearty slaps on the back, and even a few lighthearted complaints about missed swings or nearly getting skewered by an orc's blade.

Sirius chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "At least now I know what gets them motivated."

But even as the dwarves celebrated their victory, Sirius remained on edge. This had only been a small skirmish, a scouting party. The real dangers of the Trollshaws were still ahead, lurking in the shadows of the forest, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The very next day, Sirius could feel a palpable shift in the way the dwarves treated him. The camaraderie that had previously been reserved for each other now extended to him. They began to ask him about his life, his past, and his skills—questions that had gone unspoken before. Sirius suspected it was largely due to the battle the previous night. The dwarves, who had always seen him as the weakest link in their group, now realized that "Jimmy Potter" was not someone to be underestimated. They had seen what he could do with a sword, and that had changed everything.

As they continued their journey, Sirius noticed the subtle but significant changes in the dwarves' behavior. They no longer talked down to him, and there was a newfound respect in their voices when they addressed him. It wasn't official—no grand declarations were made—but in their own way, the dwarves were accepting him as one of their own.

Thorin, who had praised Sirius's skill during the battle, took it a step further. One evening, as the company set up camp, Thorin approached him with a thoughtful expression.

"Jimmy," he said, using Sirius's alias, "you fought well last night. Far better than we expected. It seems there is more to you than meets the eye."

Sirius, who had been sharpening his sword by the fire, gave Thorin a half-smile. "I've had some practice," he replied, his voice light but modest.

Thorin grunted in approval and then surprised Sirius with his next words. "I would be honored to spar with you. We could train together, improve our skills. It will benefit us both as we continue on this journey."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the offer. Thorin was not one to hand out praise lightly, and the offer to spar with him was no small gesture. It was a sign of respect, an acknowledgment that Sirius was not only a part of their company but also an equal in battle.

"I'd like that," Sirius replied, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's been a while since I've had a proper sparring partner."

The next morning, the camp buzzed with excitement as Sirius and Thorin prepared for their sparring match. The dwarves gathered around, eager to see the two warriors test their skills against each other. For Sirius, it was a strange experience—here he was, in the guise of a hobbit, sparring with the future King Under the Mountain. But he welcomed the challenge. After all, he had once been Sirius Black, a skilled duelist in his own right.

They faced each other in the center of the camp, their swords drawn. Thorin's eyes gleamed with determination, and though his expression was serious, Sirius could sense a touch of pride in the dwarf's stance. The sparring began slowly, each of them testing the other's reflexes and technique.

It didn't take long for the match to intensify. Thorin was a formidable fighter, his strength and skill evident with each swing of his sword. But Sirius was quick and agile, dodging and countering with the grace of someone who had spent years mastering the art of combat. The clang of steel on steel echoed through the clearing as they exchanged blows, each testing the limits of the other.

As the sparring continued, Sirius noticed the way the dwarves watched him. There was no longer any doubt in their eyes—he was one of them now. And though they had teased and underestimated him before, they now saw him as a valuable member of their company.

Eventually, the match came to an end, with both Sirius and Thorin breathing heavily but smiling. Thorin nodded in approval, his respect for Sirius solidified.

"You've earned your place here, Jimmy," Thorin said, sheathing his sword. "I'm glad to have you with us."

The dwarves cheered, clapping Sirius on the back and praising both him and Thorin for the display of skill. From that moment on, Sirius knew that he was no longer an outsider. He had earned his place among the dwarves, and they would face whatever challenges lay ahead together, as a united company.

As they prepared to continue their journey, Sirius couldn't help but feel a deep sense of belonging—something he hadn't felt in a long time. The road ahead would be long and dangerous, but for the first time since joining the company, he knew he had found allies who truly had his back.

Author's Note:

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