Darn Loveable Characters

Caithwistë stood in front of a looking glass tapping her foot nervously. Today was the day she would marry Thorin. They had wanted to wait longer, to give the Kingdom time to rebuild. Not until things had settled down would they hold a simple ceremony that Mithrandir would officiate, and only invite the Company and Dís as their witnesses.

Dís, of course, would have none of that. After hours of lecturing and screaming at the pair, Thorin and Caithwistë were left stunned as she forced them into agreeing to her plans for a grand wedding for the Kingdom.

“Stop fidgeting.” Dís complained as she helped Caithwistë with her robes.

“I can’t, I’m nervous.” Caithwistë said but stopped tapping her foot anyway. Dís’ temper made Thorin seem perpetually calm, she was terrifying.

Dís rolled her eyes. “You have nothing to be nervous about. You read the zarb, repeat the blessings and the vows after Thorin, then poof, you’re married. Seven days of celebration.”

Caithwistë couldn’t help but tap her foot again. “That’s not what I’m worried about. What if they don’t accept me Dís? What if they refuse to follow a King who would marry a filthy half-breed. Thorin has enough on his plate as it is. What if his people turn against him?”

Dís sighed and turned Caithwistë to face her, gripping her shoulders tightly. “Thorin has made his decision. Dwarves will follow him, or they won’t. That’s how it has always been and is how it will always be. You must remember though, you fought next to Dáin, before Thorin had even joined the battle. Word of your bravery has already passed among our people, and they will not forget what you have done for all of us so easily.”

Caithwistë stared at Dís gratefully, with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Dís.”

Dís grimaced at her. “Don’t you dare cry right now. You will ruin all of the work I’ve done and we will have to start over.”

Caithwistë giggled and bowed her head. Dís nodded and moved behind her to finish tying everything into place. “I never thanked you by the way.”

Caithwistë raised her eyebrows, confused. “For what?”

“You saved my family. If it weren’t for you, my brother and my sons would all be dead. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost them. They are everything to me.” She said softly, walking around Caithwistë, glancing at her with appraisal.

Caithwistë smiled warmly. “They mean the world to me as well. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Dís nodded and smiled approvingly. “You’re ready.”

Caithwistë turned toward the looking glass at her reflection. With the simple robes pulled over the family robe that Dís had gifted her, she felt as if she were headed for a stroll in the woods, instead of a marriage. The thought gave her comfort. “Let’s go.” She said, taking a deep breath and pulling on her masked helm.

The wedding was immaculate.

As she entered with her escort, Caithwistë was amazed to see how quickly the dwarves had worked to restore the great hall to some of its former glory. But her attention was quickly diverted to the man who stood proudly at the center of the room. He was covered in a blue robe with a gold trim of symbols that represented the line of Durin. His hair was adorned with golden beads that had been woven into his braids, and he had donned his crown for the occasion. Her heart skipped a beat as she took him in, and she wished that the ceremony was over already.

Thorin smiled widely as her escort entered and began to remove their helms and simple robes. Since she had no living family, the entire Company readily volunteered to make up her bridal party. The only ones who didn’t, were Fili and Kili, as they were Thorin’s closest living relatives and were expected at his side. Thorin’s lips parted in awe when Caithwistë’s simple robe and helm fell to the ground. Her bridal robe was similar to his but bore no family name and was lined with silver. Dís had woven strands of silver through the braids in her hair that twinkled brightly as the light caught it. Her heart began beating erratically when she caught Thorin staring at her with wide eyes, as if this were the first time he had ever seen her.

They were broken out of their trance when Balin stepped forward, in the place of her father, and raised a hammer in the air signaling the beginning of the ceremony.

The ceremony proceeded without a hitch, thanks to Dís. They were now near the end, and Thorin was looking at Caithwistë affectionately. “Ni dûmê zasamkhihiya zahar, ni kurduzi zâmkhihi azhâr.” He said, never taking his eyes off her.

“Ni dûmzu zâmkhihi zahar, ni kurdumê zasamkhihi azhâr.” She responded, fighting the tears in her eyes.

They exchanged their rings, then turned to Mithrandir who placed a silver crown on her head. He winked at her and stepped away. “All hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King Under the Mountain, and Caithwistë, daughter of Rofur, son of Lofur. Queen Under the Mountain.” He called out to the crowd.

Thorin gripped Caithwistë’s hand tightly and turned her toward the gathered dwarves as a roar of cheering and stomping erupted around the great hall. Thorin held up his hand and the room fell quickly into silence. “There is one last honor to give before the celebrations begin. Lord Elrond, will you please step forward?”

Caithwistë smiled as she saw Elrond standing with Arwen, his sons and even Thranduil. She had been shocked with the Dwarves agreed without question to allow the Elves to attend. No outsider had ever witnessed a Dwarven wedding before, but she had changed many things.

Elrond stepped forward and Thorin gestured to a table. Standing across from each other, Thorin drew Orcrist and laid it down gently. “This blade has come to my aid countless times,” He began reverently, “But it is now time to return it to where it belongs. I thank you for allowing me to wield it through this Journey.”

Elrond’s eyes widened in shock, but he did not move as Thorin took a step back. Caithwistë then stepped forward and drew Emel-o Orcrist and laid it opposite of Orcrist. The shapes lined up perfectly and for the first time in centuries, the blade was one. “The heart must remain with that which makes it whole. We ask solemnly that you protect both, until there comes a day when they are needed again.” She said softly. She bowed and stepped back to Thorin’s side.

Lord Elrond’s eyes glistened as he returned the bow. “I would be honored to protect them, King and Queen under the Mountain. May there never be a day that they are needed as long as you reign.”

“Hear! Hear!” Glóin called out, causing the room to erupt with cheers again.

“To the feast!” Dáin called out jovially. The room quickly turned into chaos as they party moved toward the dining hall.

Caithwistë let out a sigh of relief and Thorin smiled. He leaned toward her and placed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Now we celebrate, My Queen.” He whispered in her ear as the dwarves and Elves shuffled noisily out of the room.

“Do we have to go?” She complained.

Thorin chuckled softly. “Yes, Unalê. We are expected.” He replied, and she groaned.

“Can we be a little late at least?” She asked mischievously.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at her, and she winked at him. Catching on, he glanced around the room and pulled her through another door in the opposite direction of where the crowd was headed. They managed to find their way to an empty room before Thorin’s lips crashed against hers hungrily.

They were very late to the celebration.

~

Caithwistë rested in Thorin’s arms as they watched their children practicing with wooden swords. She had given birth to twin boys. Frerin, a raven-haired boy who was nearly an exact duplicate of Thorin, and Rofur, a blonde boy who more resembled Caithwistë. They were both built hardy like a Dwarf, but had taken the pointed ears from the Elven side of Caithwistë.

“Keep your guard up Rofur.” Thorin called out, as Frerin disarmed him.

“Yes Dâd.” Rofur said glumly, picking his sword back up.

They continued their practice, and Caithwistë chuckled rubbing a hand over her belly. She was with child again and was due to give birth within the next few weeks. Oín had predicted that with the way she was carrying, she would be having a baby girl. Dís hadn’t left her alone since, always fussing over her. She was overjoyed to be welcoming another woman into the family, and every time Caithwistë turned around Dís was waiting for her with a lecture.

Caithwistë loved her sister with all of her heart, but the closer they came to the due date, the more overbearing Dís was becoming. Thorin had noticed her frustration and decided to steal the family away for a peaceful day outside of the mountain.

Caithwistë, finally able to relax in the cool autumn breeze, began to fall asleep when she felt a hard kick to her stomach. She gasped at the intensity of it.

Thorin glanced down at her, concerned. “Are you well Unalê?”

“Yes, Amrâlimê. She’s just extra feisty this morning.” Caithwistë said with a sigh.

Thorin chuckled and placed his hand on her belly. Caithwistë groaned as she felt another hard kick right where Thorin’s hand was. “Aye, she takes after her mother. Already stronger than me.” He said pressing a kiss to Caithwistë’s temple. She leaned against him again and smiled, fully content when Thorin spoke again. “Something tells me that our daughter will be the one protecting our boys.” He said with amusement as Frerin sent his sword flying in an attempt at a fancy flourish.

Caithwistë smirked at her boys and closed her eyes. She was nearly asleep again when Thorin took her hand in his and began to trace the scar absentmindedly. The burn had healed long ago, but she could remember the shock they both felt when she had first unwrapped her hand and took in the mark.

Clear as day, an anvil and hammer surmounted by a crown with seven stars had been branded into her palm. The emblems of Durin.

Thorin had fallen to his knees to beg her forgiveness when he saw it, refusing her assurances that she harbored no resentment toward him. Eventually, she was able to convince him, but it would take years before he could acknowledge it without pain in his eyes.

The pain had faded, but she noticed his tendency to rub her palm when something was bothering him. Caithwistë let out a bemused sigh and sat back up, giving up on her morning nap. “What is wrong, My King?” She asked softly.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, taken aback. Caithwistë simply raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down to their joined hands then back to him. Thorin glanced down at their hands as well and smirked. “Oh.” He said simply.

Caithwistë smirked, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Thorin sighed, before gripping her tightly to him. “I wish to visit Bilbo.” He finally admitted after a few moments of silence.

Caithwistë shot him a confused, but delighted, glance at his admission.

“After our daughter is born, of course.” He said quietly.

“Why now?” She asked curiously.

Thorin frowned and pulled something out of his pocket. “If it weren’t for Bilbo, I do not believe I could ever have been blessed to be so happy. He was able to pull me out of my sickness for a moment, with this.” He explained, pressing the object he had been carrying since before the battle into her hands.

Caithwistë opened her hand, revealing an aged acorn. She furrowed her eyebrows at it and glanced at him again. “I don’t understand.” She admitted.

Thorin smirked at her puzzled expression. “I never told you this, though the others may have to some extent. When I sent you away, as soon as you were out of my sight I felt as if I were hollow. Food held no flavor for me, and I feared to sleep and find that you would no longer meet me in my dreams.” Caithwistë grimaced, remembering that dark time for the both of them. “In Erebor, I would not even allow the others the comfort of rest in my madness. I found him sitting in one of the hallways, looking at something. I accused him of stealing the Arkenstone.”

Caithwistë chuckled. “He did steal the Arkenstone.” She reminded him.

“Aye, with good reason…” Thorin admitted with his own laugh, “but that was not what I found in his hands that day. It was this.” He said, pointing to the acorn. “He told me that you had given it to him, to plant in his garden.”

Caithwistë glanced at the acorn again, eyes wide with surprise. She hadn’t given it any thought since that night in Beorn’s garden, and her heart swelled with the knowledge Bilbo had held on to it for so long.

“He gave it to me then, urging me to remember who I was and what I was fighting for. He told me that you wouldn’t want me to fall, even if I had cast you away.” Thorin continued, eyes glistening. “It wasn’t enough to heal me, but it was the beginning. When you came to me, you had nearly broken through the hold the dragon-sickness had on me but I needed to pass one more test.” Caithwistë gripped Thorin’s hand again as he recounted the story to her, his eyes lost in the memory. “I felt as if I were drowning under the weight of the quest and the shadow of my Grandfather. I didn’t even remember pulling the acorn out of my pocket, but it slipped through my fingers and suddenly I could hear your voice calling out to me. I reached to pick it up and felt your hand in mine as my fingers wrapped around it. You pulled me out of the darkness.” He concluded, finally meeting Caithwistë’s eyes again. She watched him with glassy eyes, words failing her. “Had Bilbo not given me this, I am not certain I would have passed the test. I would have succumbed to the darkness and I would not be sitting here beside my wife, watching our children play this day.”

“Thorin…” Caithwistë breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips with tears beginning to fall from her eyes. “We cannot simply visit Bilbo.” She said, pulling away from him with a tearful smile. Thorin looked crestfallen and Caithwistë giggled at the expression, amused by the fondness he now held for the Hobbit he once only held disdain for. “We cannot visit, without bringing him a barrel of acorns to plant!”

Thorin laughed at that, gazing at his wife affectionately. “Perhaps, if the Shire is bordered by a forest of oak trees, I will be able to find it without getting lost.”

Caithwistë chuckled. “Oh Thorin, you and I both know that will not help.” She teased. “Besides, if you had a sense of direction then once again, neither of us would be here.” She declared, settling back against him contentedly as Thorin laughed at the memory of their second meeting.

Thorin began to hum softly after a few moments, his deep voice lulling Caithwistë to a peaceful slumber. As her body relaxed against him, he carefully picked the acorn back from her open hand and tucked it safely back in his pocket. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and smiled when the sounds of her soft snoring reached his ears. “Rest well Caithwistë, Queen of my Heart.”

~The End~

Translations: Ni dûmê zasamkhihiya zahar, ni kurduzi zâmkhihi azhâr - In my Halls you will find a house, in your heart I will find a home (khuzdul – Thorin); Ni dûmzu zâmkhihi zahar, ni kurdumê zasamkhihi azhâr - In your Halls I will find a house, in my heart you will find a home (khuzdul – Caithwistë)

Author’s Note: And, roll credits. I’m equal parts ecstatic and depressed that this is the end of this story… I can’t express enough how much I appreciate y’alls constant support through this!!! I took a dang 2 year break in it and yet, I came back to not just as much but even more support than what I started with. I hope this ending is worthy of all that you wonderful folks have given to it, and all of the emotions Caithwistë and Thorin have put you through!

At the end there, as would only be fitting for the ending of a The Hobbit fic, Thorin is humming the Last Goodbye originally sung by our very own Pippin (Billy Boyd). It’s not actually fitting for that moment but good lord, could you imagine that song in his voice??? *dreamy sigh*

“Caithwistë.”

Caithwistë stood in a vast corridor. The walls were silver, with veins of pure gold running through them. She turned, in awe, looking at the beauty that surrounded her.

“Nathith.” A solemn voice called out.

Caithwistë froze. It had been over three-hundred years, but she recognized the voice as if she had heard it only yesterday.

She turned toward the voice, and he was there, smiling at her like he had when she was a child. “Dâd!” She cried out, running to him.

He opened his arms and laughed heartily when she collided with him. “Uzfakuh.” He cooed, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She began to cry then, fully releasing all of the emotions she had tried to hold back. Rofur just held her silently as her body shook with sobs.

“Unalê.”

When the tears finally ebbed, she pulled away from her father’s embrace and met his eyes. He looked younger than she had remembered but seemed to bear the weight of the ages in his eyes. His beard, as well as the braids in his hair had been returned. There was nothing left of the shame he had carried in life, and all that stood before her was a proud Dwarf-Lord.

Rofur smiled and tilted his head. With the motion, one of his braids fell forward revealing a simple silver bead.

“Naneth.” Caithwistë gasped. “Is she here too?”

“Please, Amrâlimê.”

He smiled sadly. “I’m afraid not, Lukhudel. Elves are not permitted in the halls of our fathers.”

Caithwistë glared at him. “Then why am I here?” She demanded. “I am an Elf!”

He smiled at her, the fire burning in her eyes reminding him of her mother. “You are also, a Dwarf. But you are not here to stay.” Caithwistë’s fire faded into confusion at that statement and Rofur chuckled. “Not yet at least.”

Caithwistë quirked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You have been granted a second chance, as have I.” Rofur said, dreamily. “Your dedication to Thorin’s quest, and your determination to mend the bond between the children of Mahal and the children of Varda have already begun to change the world. It was no small deed.” He winked at her. “Because of your accomplishments, I have been granted my place in the halls, and you will be allowed to return to Middle Earth.”

“If you can hear me.”

Caithwistë’s eyes widened in shock, and tears of joy began to stream down her face. “Will I see you again?” She asked, suddenly afraid.

“Of course, you will. I’ll be here, waiting for your return.” Rofur said, wiping the tears from her cheek. He placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. “Just promise that it will be a long wait for me.”

She laughed and hugged her father one last time as the vision began to fade. “Men lananubukhs me Dâd.”

“Men lananubukhs me Lukhudel.”

“Please come back to me.”

~

Caithwistë groaned as the darkness began to fade. The pain was not as great as it had been, but she was still aching, and her throat was sore. She kept her eyes closed, willing it to go away.

“I think she’s waking up!” A voice exclaimed to the side of her.

“Don’t shout Bofur. Allow her to wake when she is ready.” Mithrandir scolded quietly.

“Nori, go tell him.” Said a soft female voice that Caithwistë didn’t recognize. “He’ll want to know.”

“He’s meeting with the Bowman.” Nori complained. “He was clear that they were not to be disturbed.”

“Go, now.” The female ordered. “I know my brother. The interruption will be forgiven, but if he finds out that she woke up and none of us told him, we will all feel his wrath.”

Caithwistë listened as Nori’s footsteps scrambled away hastily. She turned her head slightly toward the sound and whimpered as pain shot through her whole body.

“Can you give her something for the pain?” The female asked.

“I’ve given her some already this morning.” Oín said glumly. “I’m afraid to overdo it, I don’t wish to hurt the child.”

Caithwistë’s lips quirked up, amused by the statement. She was older than all of them, save for Mithrandir, and they still referred to her as a child.

“Look! She smiled!” Bofur cried excitedly. “I really think she’s waking up now!”

“Bofur! Quiet.” Mithrandir scolded again.

Caithwistë mumbled something unintelligible, and the room fell silent.

“What was that, My Dear?” Mithrandir asked, his voice suddenly sounding closer.

She tried again, louder this time. “Be nice to Bofur. He doesn’t know how to be quiet.” She said in a strangled voice.

The palpable tension in the room vanished as the group surrounding her bed burst into laughter. Slowly, Caithwistë opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry at first, and all she could make out were four shapes leaning over her.

“Mithrandir?” She asked as her eyes began to focus.

He smiled warmly and patted her gently on the shoulder. “Yes, My Dear. It is so good to see you awake.”

She smiled back and glanced at the others. Oín was standing next to Mithrandir, watching her with concern. Bofur sat on the other side of the bed and gripped her hand. “You gave us quite a scare, Lass. We didn’t think you would wake up.” He said, glancing back to the fourth figure.

Caithwistë followed his gaze, and her heart skipped a beat. A female Dwarf stood at the foot of her bed, smiling. She stood proudly, with long raven-colored braids cascading over her shoulder. Her beard was trimmed short, as was customary with the female dwarves. Her eyes were the deepest blue, and as they met hers, Caithwistë immediately knew who she was. “You’re Thorin’s sister.” She croaked.

Dís’ smile broadened, and she bowed her head. “Caithwistë, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You’ve been unconscious for a long time.” Mithrandir chimed in. “Dís arrived a week ago and has been assisting Oín in your recovery.”

“A week?” Caithwistë squeaked.

She saw Oín shoot a nervous glance toward Dís before answering. “Yes Child. It has been three weeks since the Battle of Five Armies, as they have taken to calling it.”

“Three weeks.” She repeated in shock. Suddenly, she remembered the fight against Azog and felt fear grip her heart. She sat up ignoring the pain in her body. “Thorin? Where is Thorin?” She demanded as Mithrandir and Bofur tried to restrain her.

“You need to stay calm Lass.” Oín said as she struggled. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Suddenly, the doors flew open and Thorin limped through. Nori, Balin and Dwalin trailed behind him.

“Thorin.” Caithwistë sighed in relief. It appeared that most of his injuries had healed, apart from his foot where Azog had stabbed him. He was dressed in a simple blue tunic and wore no crown. He was still her Thorin, the one she had fallen in love with, no longer plagued by the dragon-sickness.

He stopped at the foot of the bed next to his sister and gazed down at Caithwistë, breathing his own sigh of relief. Neither of them knew what to say, there was simply too much, so they just studied each other in silence. The intensity of his expression made her heart beat faster, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be in his arms.

“Will you give us a moment please?” Thorin asked in a strangled voice, as if he had known her wish.

The others bowed their heads respectfully, including Mithrandir, and they all left the room closing the doors behind them.

Thorin made his way to the side of the bed and sat down, careful not to move her. He gently took her hand and lifted it, pressing a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. He looked up at her then, and she could see all the emotions she was feeling reflected in his eyes. He reached to her, cupping her check gently, and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. Leaning his forehead against hers, he spoke softly. “Please forgive me, Unalê.”

Caithwistë leaned back and regarded him with confusion. “What could I possibly need to forgive you for, My King?”

Thorin’s breath hitched at the title. He visibly shook himself before explaining in a pained voice. “I sent you away. You did everything to protect my Company… to protect my family and the one time you needed my understanding the most, I couldn’t give it to you.” He dropped his gaze then, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “I failed you.”

Caithwistë’s heart constricted as she watched him. She placed her hand gently under his chin and tilted his face up so he would meet her eyes again. “No Thorin. I was the one who failed.” Thorin opened his mouth to protest but she held a finger to his lips to silence him. When she was sure he would let her finish, she dropped her hand to his and interlaced their fingers. “I lied to you, from the beginning. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t trust you enough to give you the truth.” Thorin nodded sadly and she continued. “When you sent me away though, it wasn’t because of what I was… but for what I had done. I was too blind to see it then, but that was the day you proved me wrong about the world and that’s what brought me back. It was you that I was fighting for, it was always you.”

Thorin let out a choked sob at her words and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Unalê.” He murmured against her skin.

“I love you too, Thorin.” She whispered back.

He leaned away, sighing, and looked as if her were suddenly afraid. Caithwistë watched him with concern as he seemed to be fighting an internal battle. She squeezed his hand after a few moments of silence. “Thorin?”

At the sound of his name, he took a deep breath appearing to come to a decision. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this Unalê.” He began slowly. “But there are so many things that have tried to drive us apart, including myself.” He admitted, glaring down at their entwined hands. “You were dead. You died in my arms on the ice. There was so much I wanted to say, and I thought…” He choked as tears began to stream down his face.

Caithwistë’s breath hitched as he wiped his eyes, struggling to find the words he was searching for. She wanted to say something to comfort him. She wanted to assure him that they would never be apart if she could help it, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she squeezed his hand reassuringly and waited for him to finish.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I thought I would never get the chance to say this. I know that I don’t deserve your affection, but somehow I seem to have gained it despite myself.” He smiled sadly, then finally looked at her again. Caithwistë’s eyes were full of tears as he continued. “If you will have me, I would spend the rest of my life working to ensure that no one ever makes you feel unworthy again.” Thorin jumped off the bed suddenly and dropped to his knees beside it. He gazed up at her with determination, then asked. “Caithwistë, daughter of Rofur, son of Lofur, I love you more than I ever thought I could love. You are my One. Will you please grant me the honor of being my wife? My Queen.” He finished, voice cracking.

Caithwistë’s mouth dropped open in shock. She had allowed herself once to dream of spending the rest of her life at Thorin’s side but had never thought it would be possible. He was a King of Dwarves, and she was the half-breed daughter of an Elf and a Dwarf.

Thorin grew nervous as she silently gaped at him. He shook his head again, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Of course, you don’t ha…”

“Yes.” She said, cutting him off.

“I… what?” He asked, startled.

“Yes.” She repeated, unable to contain her smile.

“Yes.” Thorin repeated slowly, dumbfounded.

Caithwistë giggled at his expression, then nodded.

Thorin broke into a wide grin, then stood and kissed her passionately. Caithwistë flinched as pain coursed through her from the movement, and he quickly released her. “I’m sorry Amrâlimê.” He apologized as Caithwistë groaned. “You have just made me so happy; I forgot your injuries like a fool. Please forgive me.” He said, bowing his head.

She placed her hand under his chin and tilted his head up to meet her eyes again. “There is nothing to forgive, My King.”

He smiled again and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a beautiful silver bead that bore the symbol of Durin. “May I?” He asked, his eyes flicking to her hair.

She felt her heart flutter, and she nodded. He sat back on the bed next to her, and gently began to work on the braid. She closed her eyes, savoring the delightful feeling of Thorin running his fingers through her hair. When he was finished, he clasped the bead around the braid and sat back admiring her. “You’re so beautiful.” He mused.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the Dwarf who she had just pledged her life to, again.

Thorin glanced toward the door suddenly and sighed. He pressed a chaste kiss to Caithwistë’s lips and stood. “Excuse me for a moment.” He said and walked toward the door.

She watched him curiously as he crossed the room silently and stopped with his hand on the handle. Thorin glanced back at her and winked, before abruptly swinging the door open. Just as it opened, twelve dwarves, a dwarrow-dam, a hobbit and even a wizard all fell through the opening.

Caithwistë giggled as they glanced up at Thorin sheepishly.

“Found it!” Bilbo called out suddenly, holding something up. “I found the handkerchief I dropped!”

“There you have it.” Mithrandir said as they all found their way to their feet. “Excellent Bilbo, I was worried that you may have lost it forever!”

Thorin rolled his eyes and walked back to Caithwistë. He sat on the bed next to her, wrapping his arm around her and gently pulled her to rest against his side.

Kili was the first to break the silence. “Did she say yes Uncle?”

Caithwistë giggled as Thorin let out a bemused sigh and pulled her new braid forward for them to see. “Yes sister-son, she said yes.”

The group cheered loudly, and they all piled in the room offering their congratulations.

Caithwistë smiled and relaxed in Thorin’s arms, content with the loud noise of the Company conversing jovially in the room. It felt just like old times, and she could no longer imagine her life being any different.

Thorin squeezed her hand and placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Welcome home.” He whispered in her ear.

In that moment, she realized she had found what she had truly wanted for her entire life. A family.

Translations: Nathith – Daughter (khuzdul); Uzfakuh – My Greatest Joy (khuzdul); Lukhudel – (Light of all Lights); Men lananubukhs me – I love you (khuzdul); Unalê – My Tracker; Amrâlimê – My  Love (khuzdul); Naneth – Mother (sindarin)

Authors Note: Gotcha 😊 I bet y’all didn’t expect we were actually going with the SUPER, MEGA, ULTRA HAPPY ending!! I’ll admit, this isn’t where I thought this would go when I initially wrote the last chapter lol. Y’all handled the last 2 chapters exceedingly well and I’m super happy no one showed up at my door to assassinate me. YAY! Your reward shall be: an epilogue full of nothing but sickeningly fluffy goodness a week from today!

Time seemed to slow to a stop, and Caithwistë watched in horror as Azog’s arm moved in for the kill. Just as his blade reached Fili, Caithwistë’s arrow pierced his arm and he withdrew with a scream giving Fili the opportunity to free himself from Azog’s grip. Fili fell rapidly toward the lake as soon as Azog released him, screaming. His rapid descent was abruptly halted with a grunt of pain as Kili caught him at the opening just below them. Caithwistë let out an exasperated sigh and glanced up at the enraged Azog before she slipped away from the opening, desperate to find the brothers. She reached them quickly and let out a bemused huff at the sight before her. Fili was leaning against a wall in daze as Kili ferociously beheaded any Orc that dared to cross them.

“Are you okay?” Caithwistë asked frantically as she ran to Fili’s side.

“I’m okay.” He muttered breathlessly.

“Good.” She said with relief, then hit him. “Do. Not. Ever. Do. That. Again!” She cried, punching his arm repeatedly between words.

“Ouch.” He said, rubbing his arm where she punched him. “It’s good to see you too.” He added with a grimace.

Caithwistë chuckled and removed the dagger from her belt. “Here.” She said holding it out. Fili took it and raised an eyebrow. “Hey, it’s better than nothing and I’m not giving you my sword.” She said pointedly, drawing Emel-o Orcrist as she moved to help Kili. “Besides, I want that back and you can borrow a bigger blade from one of these.” She said gesturing to one of the dead Orcs.

She heard Fili laugh behind her and together, they fought their way through the tower. The Orcs were no match for them and soon they were able to find their way outside.

“Kili!” Came the unexpected sound of Tauriel’s voice from somewhere in the fortress.

The three glanced in the direction her voice came, and  Caithwistë winced at the sound of her crying out in pain. “Tauriel!” Kili cried and lept off the ledge to go to her aid.

“Kili!” Fili and Caithwistë yelled together.

Caithwistë moved to follow him but Fili pulled her back. “No, wait. Go find Thorin.” He urged.

Caithwistë froze, regarding him with fear. He now sported one of the Orcish blades and seemed to have regained his strength, but she couldn’t shake the sight of him so near death only moments ago. “No, I cannot...”

 “Go.” Fili interrupted, giving her a gentle push in the opposite direction. “This time we’ve really got this.” He added with a confident smile.

Caithwistë smiled at him affectionately and nodded. “Keep that dagger safe, I was serious when I said I want it back.” She said with a glance at the blade he held in his other hand.

Fili winked at her and tore after Kili, leaving her to find Thorin.

Caithwistë hesitated as he disappeared from her sight, but shook off her dread and dashed through the maze again, moving to the last place she had seen Thorin. As she approached the frozen lake she finally spotted him, just as Azog burst through the ice and attacked him fiercely. She froze in her tracks, terrified as she watched Azog slashing at him, but Thorin managed to parry every blow. She shook her fear away, then ran toward them when Azog swept Thorin’s feet from under him and drove his sword down for the killing blow. “No!” She cried out in fear, but Thorin managed to block the attack, catching Azog’s blade right at the fork.

Caithwistë ran faster, feet slipping slightly on the ice. She couldn’t let him die now, not without truly setting everything right. As she charged toward them, she saw Thorin’s decision flash across his eyes and felt the now all too familiar ice in her heart. She knew he would do whatever it took to ensure that Azog didn’t survive this battle.

“Thorin!” Caithwistë called out with a strangled cry as Thorin began to slide his blade out from under Azog’s. He hesitated at the sound of her voice, and it gave her just enough time to reach them. She collided with Azog, somehow catching him off guard and managed to wrestle him to the ground, rolling away from Thorin.

She scrambled to her feet and reached to draw Emel-o Orcrist but Azog was quicker. He grabbed her by the throat just as he wrenched it out of the scabbard and slammed her back against a wall, the force of the impact making her lose her grip on the blade. It clattered to the ground with a resounding ring, mocking her as her last hope of defense fell beyond her grasp. Azog sneered at her, as she clawed at his wrist in a desperate attempt to free herself. “I will kill you first then, in front of your beloved. He will die next, knowing that he failed you.”

Caithwistë began to see spots in her vision as she continued to fight weakly against Azog’s grip. “You… will never… win.” She gasped out.

Azog smiled at her menacingly, and Caithwistë’s eyes widened as she felt his blade plunge through her. She could taste blood in her mouth and her vision seemed to darken at the edges. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the pain until she heard the sound of a blade piercing through skin and bone. She forced her eyes open to see that Azog was staring at her in shock, with the bloody tip of a blade protruding from his mouth. The blade was removed from his skull, and he fell, finally releasing his grip on her.

Upon her release, she collapsed onto the ice gasping for air. She couldn’t find the energy to fight when she felt herself being picked up and dragged away from the corpse of the pale Orc. No matter what force was pulling at her, she understood that it was finally over.

Thorin turned her on her back and cradled her gently in his arms. “Caithwistë?” He said shakily looking over her. He delicately pulled her tunic away from the wound and let out a pained groan. “No.” He cried, voice cracking.

She looked up at him and swallowed thickly when she saw the tears forming in his eyes. “Thorin.” She choked, wincing from the pain.

Thorin caressed her face tenderly. “Do not speak, Unalê.” He said, softly. “Save your strength.”

Caithwistë reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, wanting nothing more than to comfort him. “Amrâlimê.” She could feel tears burning in her eyes as her vision began to blur. “I’m so sorry.” She coughed, and Thorin tightened his grip on her. Every word felt like fire in her damaged throat, but she didn’t want to leave anything unsaid. “I’m sorry… for lying to you.”

“No, no no no.” He said, wiping the tears off her cheek with his thumb. “You have no reason to apologize. I am at fault. My own hatred gave you no choice. Please forgive me Amrâlimê.” Thorin begged, his own tears beginning to fall.

She gave him a weak smile, but it faltered as her body shook with another painful cough. “I love you, My King.” She said weakly after the cough subsided.

“No! Do not leave me Caithwistë.” Thorin commanded as her eyes closed, the pull to rest too heavy to fight any longer. “I am lost without you. Please, I love you.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks when he heard the call of the eagles. He glanced up at the horizon and saw them swiftly flying toward them, Gandalf was with them. Thorin felt a glimmer of hope that they could make it in time. “Help is coming, just hold on a little longer Amrâlimê.” He told her, shaking her lightly. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, but she didn’t respond. “Caithwistë?” He shook her again, harder this time and her hand fell. “Please. Mahal, please.” Thorin begged weakly and pulled her into a tight embrace, rocking her as he cried.

Next to the body of their dead foe, the pulsing red glow in the center of Emel-o Orcrist faded as an agonized scream was ripped from a broken King.

Translations: Unalê – My Tracker (khuzdul); Amrâlimê – My Love (khuzdul)

The battle was more chaotic than anything Caithwistë had ever been part of. Dwarves, Elves and Men fought against the Orcs and Beasts and it was unclear who held the advantage. She charged forward to enter the fray and huffed in frustration when Thranduil’s Elk appeared, clearing the Orcs in front of her. She gave him a sidelong glance when he trotted back to her and Thranduil shrugged. “I could not allow an Orc to kill you, that honor is reserved for me.” He said with a sneer.

“Just make sure you stay alive Thranduil. I am going to have Dáin teach me better ways to insult you!” She quipped back, killing an Orc as it approached them.

Thranduil killed more on the other side of his Elk as he responded. “Good, you are in desperate need of practice half-breed if I am to be forced to tolerate your existence.” He said, dispatching one more before turning to her again. “Your lovers’ cousin is in the center and it appears that he may be in need of assistance.”

Caithwistë peered around the Elk and spotted him, surrounded by Orcs and swinging his hammer in vicious arc killing by the dozens. “Right, thank you.” She said to Thranduil and took off to help Dáin. She reached him just as he was trying to pull the sharp end of his hammer out of a Warg’s head and killed an Orc that had ran up behind him.

“Very good, Miss.” Dáin said, finally ripping his hammer free. “Now get down.” He said winding up to swing in her direction.

Caithwistë dove to the ground and heard the hammer connect with another Orc that had followed her. When the Orc fell, she scrambled to her feet and stood at Dáin’s back, working with him fight off the hordes.

“What is your name, Lass?” Dáin asked as they fought.

“Caithwistë.” She answered with a growl as she drove her blade into a charging Warg. “I have a favor to ask of you.” She said as she ripped the blade out and blocked an attack from the rider.

“I am at your service, Lady Caithwistë!” Dáin exclaimed cheerfully as he shifted both of them to face the opposite directions to kill the rider himself.

Caithwistë took a dagger from one of the fallen Orcs and threw it at another, killing it as it ran. “I need better insults for Thranduil. We are not exactly the closest of friends.” She explained and Dáin let out a bellowing laugh.

“Well, My Lady, you have certainly come to the right Dwarf then!” He said, still laughing. “I have a list, though it may take some time!”

“I believe we have enough!” Caithwistë said cheerfully.

That is how they spent the time, watching each other’s backs and Caithwistë laughing as Dáin provided multiple insults reserved specifically for the Elven King.

As they fought another group of Orcs moved to attack the City. The Men and Elves were forced to retreat back to Dale to protect the women and children, and the Dwarves were left to defend the Mountain alone. Caithwistë was growing weary, as was Dáin. “Thorin! Where’s Thorin? We need him. Where is he?” He cried out in frustration as his brothers began to fall.

Caithwistë frowned and shot a glance back to the still Mountain. ‘Thorin abandoned us’ she thought with grief. She had been so certain of him, that he could break free of his darkness. She felt herself being pulled back and she glanced at Dáin with a detached emptiness. “Fall back, Lass! To the Mountain!” He cried, shaking her.

Caithwistë nodded and followed him blindly, running with the rest of the Dwarves until they reached the gap between them and the barricade. Caithwistë turned, standing by Dáin’s side, and watched as the Orcs regrouped at the sound of a horn for their next attack. She took a calming breath and tightened her grip on her sword accepting her fate. “I’m sorry, I failed you.” She muttered, feeling the bitterness of lost hope taking hold of her.

Dáin turned at the words and glanced at the tight grip she held on her blade. He sighed and clapped her shoulder in a friendly manner. “I’ve no idea who you are Lass, but you’re a damn good warrior and I am happy to have you by my side.” He said, sounding oddly cheerful.

She gave him a half-hearted smile but froze when the sound of another horn rang in her ears, the deep tone seeming to make the earth around them tremble. “Thorin?” She gasped when she realized it came from the Mountain. She turned with the rest of those on the battlefield, eyes widening at the sight of a large golden bell crashing through the barricade. She held her breath as the dust cleared slowly, only releasing it at the sight of the Company charging through.

Thorin was leading them.

Caithwistë could not help but feel emboldened by the sight of Thorin, and the sound of the bell that had revealed him. “You were right Dâd. The bells are comforting.” She murmured with tears in her eyes as Thorin charged past them.

“To the King! To the King!” Dáin cried as he tore after the Company, hammer raised.

Caithwistë joined the battle cries as she ran after Thorin with rekindled hope spreading in her heart. Quickly, the battle resumed with new ferocity, but this time they were slicing through the ranks of the Orcs like butter, rallied by their King.

Caithwistë turned to block an attack she knew was coming from behind but Thorin suddenly appeared in front of her, having dispatched the Orc, and their blades met. They stood like that for a moment, frozen in shock until Thorin pushed her sword out of the way and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him and unceremoniously crashing his lips against hers. She was surprised, but quickly melted against him and returning the passion of their second kiss. There was no trace of the softness of their first. In its place there was desperation, laced with pain and fear but also conveying the fierce hope that not all was lost. They broke apart, breathless and she took him in. He had shed the crown and elegant robes. Her Thorin, the one she had fallen in love with now stood before her gazing at her with a confusing mixture of adoration and trepidation.

Caithwistë smiled at him, reaching up to place her hand on his cheek. “Thorin, it’s really you.” She said with tears in her eyes.

“Yes, Unalê.” He said, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her forehead forward to touch his. “Caithwistë, I’m so…”

Caithwistë pulled away and grasped his arm tightly. “I don’t believe this is the right time for this, Thorin.”

Thorin frowned, but quickly glanced at the fighting around them and smiled bashfully. “Right.” He said, taking a step away. “I must find Dáin. Fight by my side?” He asked, holding his hand out to her.

Caithwistë took his hand and smiled at him affectionately. “Of course, My King.” Her smile shifted into a smirk as she added. “Besides, if I allow you to wander on your own you may lose your way.”

A wide grin spread on Thorin’s face and he laughed heartily. The sound made Caithwistë’s heart soar. Hand in hand, they turned and were abruptly met with the sight of Dáin staring at them, mouth hanging open. “What in Mahal’s beard was that?” Dáin asked with a raised eyebrow at Caithwistë. “You failed to mention that you’re being courted by my King.”

Caithwistë scratched her head, blushing. “It didn’t come up.” She said, making Thorin chuckle.

“Hey Cousin.” Dáin said, glancing at Thorin. “What took you so long?

Thorin simply laughed again and pulled Dáin forward into a tight hug.

“There’s too many of these buggers, Thorin. I hope you’ve got a plan.” Dáin said when they parted.

“Aye.” Thorin said, climbing onto an armored ram that Dwalin guided to them. He pulled Caithwistë up behind him and smirked at the bewildered Dáin as she wrapped her arms around him in a bold display of affection. “We’re going to take out their leader.” He said, turning serious again.

“Azog?” Dáin said in wonder.

“I’m going to kill that piece of filth.” Thorin growled, urging the ram forward to charge the hill where Azog was commanding his army.

“Lead on!” Dwalin called out from his own ram, Fili and Kili riding beside him.

Caithwistë eventually released her grip on Thorin and drew her bow as they rode, killing any Warg in their path. The ram easily took care of the rest of the Orcs until they reached the top of the hill. As they entered the destroyed watchtower, Caithwistë and Thorin both lept of the ram and began to kill the Orcs standing guard. Dwalin, Fili and Kili joined shortly after and it was not long before the guards had been dispatched and Thorin ran forward toward a frozen lake, looking at the empty spot where Azog had been.

“Where is he?” Fili asked quietly. “It looks empty. I think Azog has fled.”

Caithwistë glanced around, feeling uneasy. Azog would not abandon this fight so quickly.

“I don’t think so.” Thorin said, voicing her concern. She glanced up as Thorin turned to them. “Fili, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back, do not engage. Do you understand?” Thorin commanded and the brothers nodded.

“We have company. Goblin mercenaries. No more than a hundred.” Dwalin said raising his axe.

“We’ll take care of them.” Thorin said, nodding at Caithwistë.

Caithwistë drew her blade but could not shake her fear. “Thorin, I am going with them.” She suddenly announced, uncertain of what was drawing her to follow.

Thorin frowned but nodded. She turned to follow the brothers but was stopped by a tight grip on her arm. “No wait, before you go… I need to know. Your hand, how?” He asked, eyes flicking down to her wrapped hand.

Caithwistë glanced down at it and grimaced. She had forgotten about it in the chaos of the battle. “I believe you already know.” She said with an odd feeling of certainty, meeting his eyes again.

Thorin studied her eyes for a moment and nodded. “I do.” He said dreamily. He shook himself and glanced at the approaching goblins before releasing his grip on her. “Go now, hurry!”

Caithwistë gave him a wink and tore after the brothers. Together, they snuck quietly across the frozen lake toward a pathway that would lead them higher in. As they made their way through the winding pathway, they heard something clatter to the floor and Kili moved to charge forward but Fili pushed him back. “Stay here.” He told him and glanced at Caithwistë as well. “Search the lower levels. I’ve got this.”

Caithwistë frowned, but nodded and tugged Kili with her to the stairs that led below. Caithwistë instinctively stopped at an opening they crossed and glanced out. She would have a good view of both the tower and the area where Thorin and Dwalin were fighting the Goblin’s at this spot. “Keep going Kili, I will keep an eye out from here.” She said, encouraging him to keep moving.

Kili groaned but begrudgingly followed the order and continued through the path. Caithwistë watched him disappear and glanced back out, trying to gain her bearing. She did not have to wait long before she heard the beating of drums coming from the tower and she glanced up, feeling ice run through her veins.

Azog was walking slowly toward the edge, dragging someone at his side. He stopped and peered over the frozen lake and smiled menacingly, before holding his prize over the edge effortlessly.

“Fili, no.” She gasped in fear at the sight of the blonde Dwarf in Azog’s grasp. She drew her bow and reached into her quiver, but briefly hesitated as her fingers wrapped around the lone arrow. In the chaos, she had not been paying attention to how many she used. She pulled it out with a sick feeling in her stomach and nocked it, shaking as she looked back to the gathering of Orcs.

Azog was smiling in triumph when he began to speak. “This one dies first. Then the brother and the half-breed. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last.” He said with malice.

Caithwistë drew the arrow back, weighing her options. In her carelessness, she was left with a single chance to save Fili. She took a deep breath and held it, steadying her aim. Even if she managed to kill Azog, Fili would still be in danger from the fall.

“Go. Run!” Fili screamed at all of them.

Caithwistë blanched as Azog drew his bladed arm back to strike. Without a second thought she released the tension on her bow, to the chorus of Fili’s name ringing out over the lake.

Translations: Unalê - My tracker (khuzdul)

Caithwistë couldn’t help but fidget as she stood next to Mithrandir amongst the Elven army before the barricade of Erebor. She glanced at the faces of the Company that stood armed at the top, looking smug as if they had already won the battle.

“How can they feel so confident?” She asked as Bard held up the Arkenstone to prove the key to their bargain.

“Thorin is unwell, but not to be underestimated. He will have a plan.” Mithrandir muttered grimly.

Caithwistë frowned and glanced at the top when Kili’s voice rang out. “Thieves! How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the king!”

“The King may have it, with our good will.” Bard said, tucking the Arkenstone back into his pocket.

“Is there any chance of this ending peacefully?” She asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

“No, My Dear. I do not believe so.” He said, patting her gently on the shoulder.

Caithwistë felt sick, but felt even worse when she heard Thorin’s voice. “Throw him from the rampart!”

She could see the commotion on the top, and blanched when Thorin pushed Bilbo to the edge. Without a second thought, she pushed forward through the army to reach them. “Thorin, no! Please stop!” She yelled.

It seemed as if he did not hear her as he continued to try and push Bilbo over the edge. “Cursed be the wizard that forced you on this company!”

“If you don’t like my burglar, then please don’t damage him. Return him to me.” Mithrandir said from behind Caithwistë. His voice boomed loud enough to echo through the valley and the Mountain. “You’re not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain are you Thorin, son of Thrain?”

Thorin froze at the sound of Mithrandir’s voice and looked up, finally releasing his grip on Bilbo. He dropped his gaze from Mithrandir to Caithwistë and his mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of her.

Caithwistë glanced at Mithrandir, who nodded encouragingly, before taking a tentative step toward the barricade. “Thorin.” She called out. “I understand you have no reason to trust us, but please believe me when I say that no one here wants to see any more death. They only ask for what was promised, then what you desire most will be returned and we can all go home.” She pleaded.

Thorin regarded her silently for a moment before his face contorted with rage. “Us!?” He screamed. “You wish to gain my trust and yet you stand beside my enemies?”

“These people are not your enemies!” Caithwistë argued.

“Enough!” Thorin yelled. “Never again will I have dealings with wizards, or Shire rats, or filthy half-breeds!”

“Are we resolved?” Bard asked, distracting Thorin from his ranting. “The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised.”

Caithwistë caught the sight of Bilbo running toward them out of the corner of her eye and turned to him opening her arms. He ran into her embrace and sighed. “I kept my promise.” He said and Caithwistë chuckled.

“In a way.” She said releasing her grip on him as the sounds of marching reached her ears. “But I fear we are not safe from danger.” She added, turning as a new army approached.

Bilbo gave her a worried glance and she tugged him toward Mithrandir. As they ran, the elven army changed their position to meet the oncoming host, led by a stout Dwarf riding an armored boar.

“Who is that?” Bilbo asked Mithrandir when they reached him. “He doesn’t look very happy.”

Mithrandir grimaced. “It is Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills. Thorin’s cousin.”

“Are they alike?” Bilbo asked, trying to keep up with the wizard’s long strides.

Mithrandir stopped and regarded them, looking exhausted. “I’ve always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two.” He said grimly before moving toward the front of the Elves.

Bilbo gave Caithwistë a shocked look and she could only shrug, taking off after Mithrandir again as Dáin began to address them. “Good morning! How are we all? I have a wee proposition, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a few moments of your time. Would you consider… Just sodding off?!”

Caithwistë smiled, liking the Dwarf-Lord immediately.

“Come now, Lord Dáin.” Mithrandir said, stepping forward.

“Gandalf the Grey.” Dáin acknowledged and Mithrandir gave him a polite bow. “Tell this rabble to leave, or I’ll water the ground with their blood.”

The men surrounding them began to murmur in fear and Caithwistë tensed. “There is no need for war between Dwarves, Men and Elves.” Mithrandir said, loud enough for them all to hear. “A legion of Orcs march on the Mountain. Stand your army down.”

“I will not stand down before any Elf. Not least this faithless woodland sprite. He wishes nothing but ill upon my people. If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I’ll split his pretty head open! See if he’s still smirking then.” Dáin said proudly.

Caithwistë could not stop the grin from spreading across her face at the insult to Thranduil.

“He’s clearly mad, like his cousin.” Thranduil quipped as the Dwarves cheered.

“You hear that, lads? We’re on! Let’s give these bastards a good hammering!” Dáin cried, raising his Warhammer. He turned his armored boar toward his army and rode down the ranks, readying them for the attack.

The Elves readied themselves as well and Caithwistë blanched.

“Is this really happening?” Bilbo asked with a quavering voice.

Caithwistë glanced at him and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Stay with me.” She urged him and he nodded, looking as sick as she felt.

Suddenly, a deep rumbling sound reached her ears and she turned in the direction it was coming from. “No.” She whispered.

“Were-worms!” Mithrandir exclaimed.

As if he had summoned them by speaking their names, the were-worms began to burst out of the rocky hills as if they were nothing more than strips of dusty parchment. Behind them, came streams of Orcs in numbers that Caithwistë could hardly believe was possible.

“The Hordes of Hell are upon us! To battle! To battle, sons of Durin!” Dáin called out, leading his army to the front to meet the Orcs.

“The Elves, will they not fight?” Bilbo asked as they watched Dáin’s army set up a defensive position, barricading themselves with their shields. The Elven army had not moved, and Thranduil was watching the action with wide eyes.

Caithwistë drew her sword and took a step to join the dwarves but was pulled back harshly. “No Caithwistë.” Mithrandir said forcefully.

Caithwistë gave him an incredulous look. “What are you doing Mithrandir? They need help.”

“Yes, they do.” Mithrandir said, giving her a searching look. “They cannot win this battle on their own. If the Elves will not join them, they will need Thorin.”

Caithwistë shook out of his grip and fixed him with a glare. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You have to convince him. I believe you are the only one he may hear now.” Mithrandir pleaded.

“He relieved me of my contract, Mithrandir. He hates me, why do you think he would listen to me now?” Caithwistë demanded.

“He loves you, Caithwistë.” Mithrandir said impatiently. She scoffed and turned back to the incoming battle. “Hate cannot grow without love.” He added softly, stopping her in her tracks.

Caithwistë watched Dáin’s army stand at the ready as the Orcs approached them. Her eyes glistened, taking in the sight of how they had placed themselves.

They were protecting the Mountain.

They were protecting the Humans.

They were even protecting the Elves.

All these lives, they protected with no guarantee that any of them would come to their aid. “I cannot let them fall.” She said softly.

“Then you know what you must do. Go to him. Go to Thorin and make him see.” Mithrandir urged.

Bilbo grabbed her arm. “There is a rope on the left side there.” He said pointing. You can use that to get in, the Company won’t stop you I know it.”

Caithwistë nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Be brave, Bilbo, and stay alive.”

“I believe that is the most useful advice I have ever been given.” Bilbo said with a smirk.

Caithwistë grinned and gave him one more hug before she took off toward the barricade. She found the rope that Bilbo had mentioned quickly and scrambled up and over the wall, hopping onto the platform.

“Miss Caithwistë, what are you doing here?” Bofur asked, running to her.

“I need to speak with Thorin, now.” She said breathlessly.

“I do not think that is wise, Lass.” Balin said, sharing an uncomfortable look with his brother.

Caithwistë shook her head. “This is not an option, it will only go faster if you help me find him.”

Balin frowned. “You don’t understand…”

“I will take you to him.” Dwalin said, interrupting his brother.

“Dwalin, no.” Balin pleaded, grabbing Dwalin’s arm. “Do not put her through this.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Dwalin asked gruffly. “He is lost and she may be the only way to bring him back.”

Balin opened his mouth to protest but sighed in defeat. “Go then.” He said waving them off.

She walked quietly with Dwalin through the halls of Erebor, trying to figure out what she could say. They stopped in front of a doorway and Dwalin regarded her. “He will be in there.” He said with a wave at the door.

Caithwistë nodded and moved to enter the throne room but Dwalin stopped her with a fierce grip on her arm. “Be careful Lass. He is not the Thorin you know. The dragon-sickness has taken hold of him and I fear that if it crosses his mind, he will kill you. I won’t be far away. If you need me, call and I will be there.”

Caithwistë smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you Dwalin, for always protecting me. I must do this though, for our King and for your people.”

“Our people.” He said gruffly with a tight squeeze to her arm. He released his grip and backed away to guard the door.

Caithwistë took a deep breath and entered the room. It was massive, walls made from the greenest stone and lined with streaks of gold. It would have been beautiful to her, if it weren’t for the sight before her.

In the center of the room sat a large throne, and Thorin lounged on it lazily watching Caithwistë approach. He was wearing thick fur lined robes and sported a golden crown on his head, reveling in his fortune.

“Come to share in my riches, half-breed?” He said with a smirk as she reached the steps that led up to the throne. “Your contract is void; you have no claim here.” He finished, sneering.

Caithwistë took another deep breath and addressed him calmly. “I have no interest in gold. I come on behalf of your kin, Thorin.”

He leaned back in the throne and regarded her with disinterest. “And what business does a treacherous liar like you have speaking on behalf of my people?”

Caithwistë felt anger surge within her, but she pushed it down hoping that he would see reason. “The business of one who cares for them, like Thorin Oakenshield used to.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed with disgust. “You care for no one, only yourself. I will no longer listen to your filthy lies.” He said with a wave.

Caithwistë bristled, struggling to control her anger. “You speak to me of not caring?” She spat. “Your own family will die today without your help and yet you sit here on your throne, hiding like a coward.”

Thorin stood, towing over her menacingly. “I am the coward? How many times did you have a chance to tell me the truth of your birth? How many times did you choose to lie instead? You call me a coward, but you are far less than that.”

Caithwistë clenched her fists and met his glare. “Yes, I lied. But look what happened when you did find out the truth. You cast me away, just as I expected. At least I was always there to fight for those I love. I would never abandon my family at the time they need me the most.” She said with disdain.

Thorin growled. “Do not dare speak to me of love. How can you speak of something that you have never felt?”

Caithwistë opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. This wasn’t him; he wasn’t himself. As she watched him, she saw only hate and greed in his eyes and nothing of the one she loved. She shook her head before glancing at him with sadness. “I love Thorin Oakenshield.” She said softly, taking a tentative step toward the throne. “I cannot take back what I have done to him. But I would do anything to make it right.” Thorin froze as she climbed the steps toward him. His eyes darting between hers as she slowly approached with her hands raised.

When she reached him, Thorin glanced down at her injured hand and let out a surprised breath. He gently reached out and took it, turning it over and studied her wrapped palm silently. After a few moments, Caithwistë stood on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek and whisper in his ear. “If there is anything left of you, please remember that the ones you love need you now more than they ever have. Come back to us.” With that she turned and retreated back down the steps. “I am going to fight by Dáin’s side. Join us when you are ready.”

When she reached the bottom, she turned to look at him one last time. For a moment, it seemed as if he had heard her, but his expression quickly turned back to rage, and he stormed toward her with a new ferocity. “Go then, traitor!” He yelled, unsheathing his sword and swinging it wildly. “You have no place in my presence. Go!”

Caithwistë grimaced at his outburst. “Whatever resentment you harbor toward me, do not let it define you.” She concluded and turned on her heel to exit the room.

She greeted Dwalin at the door and he let out a sigh of relief. “What did he say? Will he come?”

“I do not know.” She said honestly.

Dwalin hung his head in grief and shot a glance back to the room. “Come on then, Lass. I will lead you back.”

“No Dwalin.” She said, stopping him in his tracks. “Thorin is still in there, I know it. There is nothing more that I can say but perhaps you can still reach him.”

Dwalin crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. “And what will you do?”

“I think you already know.” Caithwistë said, giving him a wink.

“Aye, I know.” Dwalin said with a nod. He gripped her shoulder tightly and added, “You take care of yourself now. We will see you soon.”

“I’ll try to leave you a few Orcs.” Caithwistë said with a laugh. She turned then and ran back to the barricade.

“My Uncle, is he coming to fight?” Kili asked as she ran up the steps to the platform.

“No Kili, not yet at least.” Caithwistë informed him and Kili’s face fell. “Do not worry, there is still hope.” She said as she moved toward the rope.

“Wait, where are you going?” Fili demanded.

Caithwistë turned and simply raised an eyebrow at him. “There are not many places to go from here are there?” She asked with a giggle.

“I’m coming with you.” Kili said, picking up his sword.

The rest of the Company cheered and began to gather their weapons but Caithwistë would not allow it. “Stop!” She commanded and they froze. “You will not follow me into battle. Thorin is your King and you swore an oath to him. You cannot abandon him now.”

“But what about you? You swore an oath to him as well!” Kili demanded.

“Yes, but I am no longer honor bound to follow his command.” The Company began to grumble at this and Caithwistë sighed. “Look, I know Thorin will come back and when he does, he will need every single one of you at his side. Please, do not give up on him.” She pleaded.

The Company glanced at each other, all taking in her words slowly. Finally, Balin spoke. “We will wait for him, Lass. But please do not get yourself killed out there.”

Caithwistë smiled, “The one goal I have had for my whole life is to stay alive.” With that, she gave them a quick bow and scrambled down the rope. She reached the ground again and moved forward, to battle. She was armed with her bow, her father’s dagger, Emel-o Orcrist and a fierce hope that her faith in Thorin was not misplaced.

Caithwistë walked through a dark passage. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she last visited this place in her dreams. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the heavy chamber doors open to find him there. He was turned away from her, but he was there nonetheless. “I did not expect to find you here, My King.” She said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Thorin raised his head at the sound of her voice, but still did not turn. She padded toward him slowly, reaching out to touch him. As soon as her fingers wrapped around his arm, she jerked her hand back harshly as pain coursed through her. She glanced down at her hand and gasped at the marks that were spreading. The contact had burned her. “Thorin?” She asked warily, holding her burned hand tightly to ward off the pain.

Thorin turned to her slowly and she let out a shaky breath at the sight of him. His eyes were not the familiar blue that she had known, instead, they burned like fire. Glowing brightly with life and somehow appearing dead at the same time. “You should be with me, by my side.” He said slowly. His voice had even changed. Every word came out as if it were a low growl, the voice of Smaug.

Caithwistë took a small step away, shaking her head as if it would rid her of the sight. “I do not understand.” She said weakly.

Thorin sneered at her. “You abandoned me, but all will be forgiven if you return now.” He said, holding his hand out to her.

Caithwistë regarded his outstretched hand for a moment, then took another step back. “Thorin, I did not abandon you. You sent me away.”

Thorin took swift steps in her direction, bearing down on her as he would an enemy. “Lies.” He growled. Caithwistë had not realized she was still moving away until her back hit a wall. She was more frightened of him now than she had ever been. Thorin’s eyes flashed down her quivering form and he scoffed, turning to move back to his original position. “It does not matter now.” He said, facing her again from the opposite side of the room. “You are mine, and I protect all that belongs to me.”

“This is wrong. This is not you. Thorin please, tell me what is happening to you!” Caithwistë pleaded.

Thorin smiled at her and spread his arms. “I am home. The wealth of Erebor is once again mine, and I will never lose it again.”

Caithwistë’s eyes flicked to the still open doors and back to Thorin, hoping he missed the movement. “You are unwell, Thorin. Please tell me how I can help you.” She said, taking a small step away from the wall.

Thorin frowned at her. “I am the wealthiest of all, but my Queen is not by my side. I only wish for what is mine to be returned to me.”

Caithwistë frowned at his words. “I am not a treasure to be hoarded. My heart does belong to you, but I know you would never speak to me in this way.” With that, she simply gave up her façade and began to walk toward the door.

“You will abandon me again?” Thorin asked from behind her.

She stopped at the door, turning to look at the beast disguised as Thorin that stood before her. “I will never truly abandon Thorin Oakenshield.” She said brusquely. As she turned to leave again, she saw another flash of fire in in front of her and screamed while Thorin laughed sinisterly behind her.

~

Caithwistë woke up gasping for air. As she attempted to catch her breath her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. She was still in the small room she had found after they reached Dale. The morning light was pouring in through the gaping hole that had been left from Smaug’s first attack. She was safe.

“It was only a dream.” She muttered to herself. She moved to stand but hissed when she placed her hand on the ground and it stung. Taking another shaky breath, she slowly turned her palm up to inspect it and let out a gasp. It was burned, with the same marks she had received in her dream. “Just a coincidence.” She told herself, shaking off her fear. She quickly grabbed a clean cloth and wrapped her hand then strode out of the room hoping for something to distract her. In a moment that came as both a relief and frustration, she walked out to the sight of Thranduil and his army waiting in the courtyard as carts of food filed into the town.

She approached just as Bard was addressing Thranduil. “You have saved us. I do not know how to thank you.”

Thranduil gave him a disinterested look. “Your gratitude is misplaced. I did not come on your behalf. I came to reclaim something of mine.”

Caithwistë scoffed. “Of course, you would only show when there is a benefit to you.”

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to her at her remark. “What is That doing here?” He asked with a grimace.

Caithwistë smirked. “Thranduil, how lovely to see you again now that the dragon has been slain and the danger has passed.” She said with a mock bow.

Thranduil’s hand moved to his blade but Bard stepped in between them, shooting Caithwistë a look of warning. “She is our guest; she helped our people during and after the attack.” He said, holding his hands up.

“So be it.” Thranduil said. He turned his great elk to his army and tilted his head toward the Mountain, silently commanding them to begin their march.

Bard shared a concerned glance with Caithwistë before they took off after Thranduil. “Wait!” Bard pleaded. “Please, wait! You will go to war over a handful of gems?” He demanded.

“The heirlooms of my people are not lightly forsaken.” Thranduil said in a bored tone.

Bard shook his head. “We are allies in this. My people also have claim upon the riches in that Mountain. Let me speak with Thorin.”

Thranduil gave him a sidelong glance, eyes flicking to Caithwistë before responding. “You would try to reason with the Dwarf.”

“To avoid war? Yes.” Bard stated calmly.

Thranduil stared him down, but Bard held his ground and Thranduil eventually waved his hand in a shooing gesture. “Have it your way then.”

Bard nodded and grabbed Caithwistë’s arm. “Come with me.” He whispered.

She nodded and began to follow him until Thranduil spoke again. “No. That will stay with me.”

Caithwistë huffed and turned back to him. “You do not command me.”

“No, but I do command the lives of all in this city now.” Thranduil retorted smugly.

Caithwistë frowned, knowing what he meant. He could easily take all that he had given back and would do it simply on a whim. “Go.” She muttered with frustration to Bard.

Bard hesitated, eyes moving between the two of them nervously. “Do you promise that she will not be harmed?” He asked Thranduil.

Thranduil looked as if the question had hurt him. “I give you my word.” He said, placing his hand over his heart. “We will simply watch together from the bridge.”

Bard looked as if he wished to protest but Caithwistë shook her head, urging him to drop it. Bard nodded at her and gave one last look to Thranduil before dashing toward the gate.

“Come, half-breed.” Thranduil said, riding his great elk forward. Caithwistë had to jog to keep up with its long strides but it did not take long for them to reach the bridge and they watched in silence for a few moments as Bard rode swiftly toward the Mountain. “Impressive, how you have fooled so many into trusting you.”

Caithwistë crossed her arms. “It is no trickery. It is simply the reward that comes for caring for something other than oneself.”

“Perhaps.” Thranduil mused. “Betrayal comes in many forms though. Tell me, do you believe that Thorin will hold to his word?”

Caithwistë flexed her burned hand as her mind wandered to her dream. The image bothered her, but she still held to the hope that it was nothing more than her own fear manifesting itself in the visions of her mind. “I trust Thorin.” She said firmly.

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, amused. “Then tell me half-breed, why are you not by his side?”

“That is none of you concern.” She snapped.

“He cast you away did he not?” Thranduil continued mercilessly. “He found out what you are and deemed you unworthy.”

“That is not what happened.” Caithwistë growled, clenching her uninjured fist.

Thranduil still continued, amused at her feeble attempt to hide the truth. “I wonder, what does it feel like to be cast away by those you love most?”

“I am not certain, where is your son?” Caithwistë asked bitterly.

Thranduil’s eyes snapped to her, the edge of anger beginning to show through his calm mask. “That is none of your concern.” He said, face falling back into disinterest. “Besides, the dragon slayer returns.”

Caithwistë glanced to the approaching man and frowned. He looked upset. “What happened Bard? What did Thorin say?” She asked fearfully.

“He will give us nothing.” Bard replied with a scowl.

“Such a pity.” Thranduil said cocking his head to the side. “But still you tried.”

Bard shook his head with frustration. “I do not understand. Why?” He asked, turning to Caithwistë. “Why would he risk war?”

Caithwistë just shook her head. “Thorin is honorable.” She said meekly, mind racing.

“It is fruitless to reason with them. They understand only one thing.” Thranduil said, drawing his sword. The sound made Caithwistë jump and she glanced between the pair fearfully.

Thranduil shot her a victorious smile and turned the Great Elk back to the city. “We attack at dawn. Are you with us?” He called out to Bard.

Bard looked back to Caithwistë and sighed. “I am sorry Miss. I know you care for them, but I don’t know what else I can do.”

“I understand Bard. You must do what you feel is right for your people.” Caithwistë replied grimly.

Bard nodded, equally as disturbed and guided his horse forward to the city to ready his men for battle.

~

Caithwistë had never felt so torn in her life. She watched with a grim detachment as the fishermen who had never wielded anything deadlier than a fishing pike practiced at swords.

“If it does come to war, we will spare the Dwarves if we can.” Bard said, stepping to her side. “We only wish for what was promised. We only want to survive.”

Caithwistë smiled. “I must admit, I simply appreciate that you did not imprison me for my attachment to the Company.”

“That would not do us any good.” Bard mused. “I don’t believe there is a place to lock you up here.” He said, giving Caithwistë a sidelong glance.

Caithwistë met his gaze and he smirked, making them both dissolve into a fit of laughter. It felt good to laugh, even though everything felt so wrong.

As their laughter died down, the sound of Alfrid’s voice rang out in the courtyard. “No, no, no!”

“What is it now?” Bard groaned, walking toward the commotion.

“Oi, you! Pointy hat!” Alfrid called again.

“Pointy hat?” Caithwistë asked no one in particular, excitedly moving to follow Bard.

“Yes, you. We don’t want no tramps, beggars nor vagabonds around here. We’ve got enough trouble without the likes of you. Off you go. On your horse.” Alfrid was saying.

“Who’s in charge here?” Came the unmistakable voice of Mithrandir. At the sound, Caithwistë quickened her pace.

“Who is asking?” Bard asked warily, stopping a few paces in front of her.

“Mithrandir!” Caithwistë cried when she saw him. She dashed around Bard and slammed into the wizard who let out an ‘oof’ as she hugged him fiercely.

“Caithwistë! It is so good to see you, My Dear.” He said with a chuckle. He pushed her away slightly to examine her. “And what on Earth has happened to your hand?”

Caithwistë glanced down at her wrapped hand and grimaced. “Dragon fire.” She said waving it nonchalantly. Mithrandir narrowed his eyes at her but chose to say nothing as she took him in as well. He looked as if he had been traveling for months without ever stopping. “Where have you been?” She asked him, furrowing her eyebrows.

Mithrandir looked uncomfortable, as he does when he intends to avoid a topic. “That is a story for later, right now we must speak with those in charge.”

Caithwistë rolled her eyes at the expected dodge, but motioned to Bard nonetheless. “That would be Bard here.” Bard nodded respectfully at his name.

“Mithrandir?” Bard asked holding his hand out.

“You may call me, Gandalf.” Mithrandir said with a smile, shaking the man’s hand. He glanced around then, noting the training men and elves. “I suppose this means Thranduil is here as well?” He asked both of them.

“Yes.” Caithwistë said through gritted teeth, jerking her head toward the well-lit tent the Elven King was residing in.

“Very well.” Mithrandir said, tone growing serious. “We all have much to discuss. Lead the way, My Lady.”

Caithwistë huffed but led Mithrandir and the dubious Bard toward Thranduil’s tent, wondering what the wizard could possibly be plotting now.

~

Caithwistë remained silent while Mithrandir pleaded with Thranduil to see reason. She could hardly believe herself that what he told them could be true. Sauron, the Lord of the Rings has returned and now an army of Orcs, bred for war, was on their way to the Mountain to claim it. “So much for staying out of the politics of the world.” She muttered quietly to herself. She remained in a daze until Mithrandir raised his voice.

“Since when has my council counted for so little? What do you think I’m trying to do?” He demanded.

“I think you’re trying to save your Dwarvish friends.” Thranduil replied with a disdainful glance to Caithwistë. “And I admire your loyalty to them. But it does not dissuade me from my cause.” He stood to his full height then and bore down on Mithrandir. “You started this, Mithrandir, you will forgive me if I finish it.” He said softly before turning to the tent opening. “Are the archers in position?” He asked the Elf standing guard.

“Yes, My Lord.” The Elf replied respectfully.

“Give the order. If anything moves on that Mountain, kill it. The Dwarves are out of time.” Thranduil commanded, and the Elf bowed before leaving to give the command.

“You cannot do this!” Caithwistë cried. She leapt toward him, but Mithrandir grabbed her and held her in place.

“I already have.” Thranduil replied smugly.

Caithwistë struggled against Mithrandir’s grip but he kept a firm hold on her. “You, bowman! Do you agree with this?” Mithrandir asked Bard, who looked as if he wished he could be anywhere else in this moment. “Is gold so important to you? Would you buy it with the blood of Dwarves?”

Bard regarded Caithwistë who was now watching him with glassy eyes while she struggled against the wizard. “It will not come to that.” He said, trying to reassure her. “This is a fight they cannot win.”

“That won’t stop them.” Bilbo said from behind them. Mithrandir was so shocked that he lost his grip on Caithwistë, but she was also frozen in place at Bilbo’s sudden appearance. “You think the Dwarves will surrender? They won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Mithrandir exclaimed.

Bilbo glanced at him and gave him a toothy grin.

“Bilbo!” Caithwistë squealed, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Kili told me he had seen you in Lake Town.” Bilbo said with a chuckle as he hugged her back. He released her and gave her the same grin. “I am so relieved to see you alive.”

“If I’m not mistaken, this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.” Thranduil said, glaring at the poor Hobbit.

Caithwistë could not help but smile as Bilbo shuffled his feet. “Yes. Sorry about that.” He muttered bashfully. He stepped toward Thranduil cautiously, holding out a small package and placing it on the table between them. “I came to give you this.” He unwrapped the package and revealed a gem.

This was no ordinary gem though, and Caithwistë had never seen anything more beautiful. It was smoother than a river stone, and glowed brighter than the stars. Even more impressive were the colors that danced inside it, as if a rainbow had been captured and stored inside it for safe keeping. “The Arkenstone.” Caithwistë breathed in awe.

“The Heart of the Mountain. The King’s jewel.” Thranduil said with an equal reverence in his tone.

“And worth a king’s ransom.” Bard said thoughtfully as he stepped toward the table. He furrowed his eyebrows at it and glanced at Bilbo. “How is this yours to give?”

Bilbo bounced on the balls of his feet before he answered. “I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” He said proudly.

“Why would you do this? You owe us no loyalty.” Bard asked him with suspicion.

“I’m not doing it for you.” Bilbo said with a shake of his head. “I know that Dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. And suspicious and secretive with the worst manners you can possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can. But Thorin values this stone above all else.” He said, shooting Caithwistë an apologetic glance to which she simply shrugged. “In exchange for its return, I believe he will give you what you were owed. There will be no need for war.” He concluded.

“Bilbo…” Caithwistë sighed. If Thorin finds out what he had done, there is no telling what he would do.

Thranduil shared an intrigued look with Bard before addressing them all. “Have it your way. We will use this to barter with.” He said gesturing to the Arkenstone and Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief.

They bowed respectfully and Caithwistë followed Mithrandir and Bilbo out of the tent.

“Rest up tonight, Bilbo. You must leave on the morrow.” Mithrandir said as they walked through the city.

“What?” Bilbo asked, surprised.

“Get as far away from here as possible.” Mithrandir continued.

Bilbo stopped in his tracks and looked at Caithwistë for help, but she could give him none. She agreed with Mithrandir. “I… I’m not leaving.” He stammered.

Mithrandir stopped as well and turned to the hobbit. “Oh?”

Bilbo nodded. “You picked me as the burglar. I’m not about to leave the Company now.”

Gandalf let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “There is no Company, not anymore. And I don’t like to think what Thorin would do when he finds out what you’ve done.”

“I’m not afraid of Thorin.” Bilbo countered.

“Well, you should be. Don’t underestimate the evil of gold. Gold over which a serpent had long brooded. Dragon-sickness seeps into the hearts of all who come to this Mountain.” Mithrandir said ominously. He quirked his head to the side and smirked at Bilbo. “Almost all.”

Mithrandir turned and called Afrid to them, sharing hushed words with him.

Bilbo glanced at Caithwistë. “And you? Do you think I should leave as well?”

Caithwistë studied him for a moment, taking in the hobbit who had come so far in this journey and survived at times where it seemed impossible. “I cannot presume to make this choice for you Bilbo.” She began, and he frowned but Caithwistë put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I can only say that I do not want you to be harmed and if that means running from here then yes, I do wish that for you.”

“And what about you?” Bilbo demanded. “Why do you get to stay, and I don’t.”

“I am a fighter. And… because this is the only place I have ever felt could be home.” She said with a sad smile. Bilbo considered that and dropped his gaze in defeat. Caithwistë glanced back to the wizard who was still speaking with Alfrid before stepping closer to Bilbo and whispering in his ear. “I know you will sneak out tonight anyway, just promise me that if you are in danger you get out of there.”

She leaned back and Bilbo smiled at her, giving a conspiratorial wink. “You have my word, Miss Caithwistë.”

Caithwistë had never heard the sound of bells before. Her father had told her about them once, explaining that the melody they made was a beautiful song to behold. The bigger the bell, the deeper the call and the better the music that is awakened in your heart. He had told her they were comforting, a call to home.

Caithwistë grimaced. The bell that now rang was not comforting. It was a warning. A melody that was tainted with the screams of the townsfolk who were scrambling to evacuate before death reached them. Caithwistë jumped when she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized Tauriel was standing beside her, silently watching the approach of the dragon.

“We must go, now.” She urged and retreated into the house.

Caithwistë physically shook herself out of her daze and followed Tauriel quickly.

“Caithwistë!” Fili and Kili exclaimed together as she entered the home, pulling her into their now familiar bone-crushing hug.

“We thought we would never see you again!” Kili said excitedly after they released her.

“And I thought I had lost you as well.” She said, narrowing her eyes at him. He was quite pale, but his eyes still twinkled with humor as they had before.

“Your reunion can wait. We have no time, we must leave.” Tauriel admonished as she helped the human children prepare to leave.

Caithwistë nodded. “She is right. Can you walk, Kili?”

“I’m fine, I can walk.” He muttered as he shook off Fili who had reached to help, making Caithwistë chuckle.

“We’re not leaving, not without our father.” The human boy said, approaching Tauriel.

“If you stay here, your sisters will die. Is that what your father would want?” Tauriel said impatiently.

Caithwistë frowned at her abruptness as the boy bristled, but she knew Tauriel was right. “You’ll know this place better than any of us. Help us get your sisters to safety.” She added, hoping to ease the tension.

The boy regarded her for a moment then nodded, straightening himself. “This way.” He said, leading them out of the house and down to the dock where a small river boat was tied.

“We’ll never fit.” Oín grumbled as they approached.

“We must.” Caithwistë said, patting him on the shoulder before hopping on behind Bofur and Fili.

They managed to all squeeze together on the boat, but Caithwistë was pressed tightly between Kili and Oín. Her discomfort was quickly forgotten; however, as they pushed away from the dock and the form of Smaug the Dragon appeared directly over their heads. She felt completely helpless as they could only watch the dragon flip in the air and begin toward the town again, chest glowing.

“Get down!” Oín yelled, pushing Caithwistë on top of Kili and covering both of them just as the first stream of fire hit the town.

When Oín sat back up after the first pass, Caithwistë tried to rise but she felt Kili grip her arm tightly. “My Uncle.” He said shakily, looking at her with glistening eyes. “Do you think Uncle is…”

Caithwistë winced as another spray of fire was released directly behind them, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Kili’s mournful expression. He had voiced the very same fear that she held, but in that moment she felt a warmth in her that was not connected to Smaug’s breath. “Thorin is alive.” She said, feeling strangely confident as she gripped Kili’s shoulder.

Kili, despite the situation they were in, looked immensely relieved and looked toward the front of the boat deep in thought. Caithwistë glanced around then, after confirming Kili was comforted, and tried to focus on the attack. The screams were quieter now, and somehow louder at the same time. They were now completely surrounded by fire and ash, and still the bell rang.

As they continued through the town though, the ringing stopped abruptly. Caithwistë glanced through a clearing of smoke and gasped at what she saw. “There is an archer on the bell tower.” She said in awe.

“Da!” The boy cried out when they finally saw the man.

The girls screamed as well as the archer drew and fired at the passing dragon, but Caithwistë groaned as the arrow pinged harmlessly off its thick scales.

“He hit it!” Kili exclaimed excitedly. “He hit the dragon!”

“No.” Tauriel whispered.

“He did, he hit its mark, I saw!” Kili argued.

“Those arrows cannot pierce its hide. I fear nothing will.” Tauriel said sadly.

Caithwistë felt Kili physically deflate at that news, and they all turned back to watch the lone archer continue his fruitless defense of the town.

Unexpectedly, the boy suddenly jumped from the boat and dangled from a hoist.

“Bain! What are you doing?” Bofur cried, trying to catch the boy as he swung himself toward the docks.

“Come back!” Fili cried, joining the call. “Bain! Come back!”

“Leave him! We cannot go back.” Tauriel said, urging Fili and Bofur to continue rowing.

“Bain!” The smaller girl cried as her sister tried to hold her back.

Caithwistë reached to squeeze the trembling child’s hand and tried to give her a comforting smile. “Is there nothing we can do?” She asked Tauriel after a moment.

Tauriel only frowned and shook her head.

They were nearing the entrance to the lake when she heard Smaug’s voice again. She was not able to make out his words over the roaring fires and remaining screams, but she could hear his triumphant tone. She felt the tears begin to stream down her face at the feeling of defeat. “So much pointless death.” Oín said quietly.

Caithwistë could only nod as they slowly paddled into the lake, passing the last burning home. Suddenly, a howl of pain rang out through the night and she glanced back in time to see the dragon writhing in the air. “It cannot be.” She whispered.

“It is!” Kili called out joyfully as the dragon began to fall.

“The bowman, he did it.” Fili said quietly.

“Smaug is dead.” Bofur said in awe when the dragon finally crashed into the remains of the town.

~

Caithwistë trailed behind the dwarves on the ashen beach as they readied their boat to leave for Erebor. The screaming while the town was under attack had been terrible, but this somehow felt worse. Families cried for those they had lost. Many who had been deeply burned screamed as the few healers the town had tried to assist them.

She shook her head and stole a glance to the spot where Kili had run, to Tauriel, and couldn’t help but smile.

“This will cause nothing but trouble.” Fili muttered, stepping to her side to watch the pair share hushed words. Caithwistë raised an eyebrow at him and he met her pointed look. “Tell me I’m wrong.” He said with a shrug.

Caithwistë chuckled when Kili finally returned to them. Oín and Bofur were already on the boat and Fili was tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m ready.” Kili announced.

“Finally.” Fili grumbled. “After you, Miss Caithwistë.”

Caithwistë frowned again and glanced toward the townsfolk. She didn’t feel right leaving, not with so many people that needed help.

“You’re not coming?” Kili asked when she remained silent.

Caithwistë winced, hearing the pain in his voice. “I feel that I can do more here.” She said softly, turning to Kili. She crossed her arms and smirked. “Besides, I was relieved from my contract remember?”

Kili shook his head. “Thorin will welcome you back, I know it.” He said with certainty.

“Kili, don’t.” Fili warned.

Kili turned on him angrily. “No, she needs to know.” He argued before turning back to Caithwistë with pleading eyes. “He was heartbroken when you left. He wanted to chase after you but that’s when the bowman showed up. After that he never smiled; he barely ate. He needs you Caithwistë. Don’t you love him?”

Fili grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “This is not our place.” He said firmly before regarding Caithwistë solemnly. “You must do what you feel is right.”

Caithwistë nodded and addressed Kili. “I do love him, very much. Perhaps someday I will be brave enough to face him, but now is not the right time.” She said sadly.

Kili’s gaze fell to the ground in defeat but Fili nodded in understanding. “Come brother, we must go.” He said, pulling a dejected Kili into the boat.

Caithwistë’s heart went out to the young dwarf. She knew what this meant to him. It would have been hard to miss his connection with Tauriel. A bond between Caithwistë and Thorin could grant the possibility for Kili to love her freely.

Caithwistë watched them row away for a moment, sad to lose them again so soon. She knew her decision was the correct one though and, straightening herself, she turned to find the children again.

She spotted them quickly among the crowd and jogged to them. The smaller one was crying and it was all the older one could do to console her. “We cannot find Da or Bain.” The older one explained as she approached.

Caithwistë nodded. “What are your names?” She asked politely.

“I am Sigrid, and this is Tilda.” The older one said patting her sister gently.

“Pleased to meet you both. I am Caithwistë. I will help you find them if I can.” She said kindly.

Tilda smiled and ran to Caithwistë, hugging her fiercely. She was shocked but hugged the child back just as hard. When they broke apart, she held Tilda’s hand and gave her a wink before moving through the crowd to find their family. She could only hope they had survived.

Fortunately, it was not long before they heard a commotion and slowly moved toward it. As the group parted, Tilda released her grip on Caithwistë and dashed forward screaming “Da!”

Caithwistë glanced in the direction she ran and there stood the bowman, his son standing proudly at his side. Sigrid must have seen them in the same moment, for she suddenly dashed forward with the same delighted scream.

“Come here.” The bowman said smiling widely. He opened his arms wide as the girls ran into his embrace.

Caithwistë smiled at the interaction and approached the boy. “You are either completely mad, or quite possibly the bravest boy I have ever met.” She said clapping his arm, making him smile bashfully.

“I knew it was the only way we would survive.” He said with a smug grin.

Caithwistë grinned and turned as someone began to yell. “It was Bard! He killed the dragon! I saw it with me own eyes. He brought the beast down. Struck him dead with a Black Arrow!”

The surviving townsfolk cheered wildly, and the bowman tensed as a smaller greasy haired man held up his arm. “All hail to the Dragon-slayer! All hail King Bard!” The bowman ripped his hand away from the man, but the other continued. “I have said it many times, this is a man of noble stock. A born leader.”

Bard bristled, just as his son had earlier with Tauriel. “Do not call me that. I’m not the Master of this town.” He growled, turning to the crowd. “Where is he? Where’s the master?” he demanded.

Caithwistë frowned as the townsfolk began to argue. Eventually they tore the smaller man they called Alfrid away, presumably to kill him. This went on for some time before Bard stepped in again. “Enough, let him go! Let him go!”

The group dropped Alfrid to the ground roughly and shuffled their feet in a stunned silence.

“Look around you! Have you not had your fill of death?” He asked them incredulously.

Alfrid tried to stand and put his hand on the Bard’s shoulder as if to act as his support but was quickly pushed back down into the dirt. Still, he tried to rise as the bowman spoke but Caithwistë shoved him back down with her foot. “Stay down if you wish to survive this.” She warned quietly.

Alfrid glowered at her but nodded, wisely choosing not to protest.

“Those who can stand, tend to the wounded, and those who have strength left, follow me. We must salvage what we can.” Bard commanded, walking toward the wreckage with a group of men in tow.

When the townsfolk had dispersed to fulfill their duties, Caithwistë finally removed her foot from Alfrid. He stood up and brushed his cloak off, regarding her warily. “Thank you, Miss?” He asked, holding his hand out.

Caithwistë glanced at his hand briefly and chose to ignore the gesture. “I did not do that for your benefit.” She said coldly, feeling ill at ease with this man. “I simply have seen enough death to last me many of your lifetimes.”

Alfrid huffed and stomped away, leaving Caithwistë to simply shake her head. She looked around, wondering what she could do to help before noticing Legolas speaking quietly to Bard. Assuming Bard would know best what they would need, she decided to simply ask him.

“How may I be of the most help?” Caithwistë asked as she approached them.

Legolas narrowed his eyes at her, but Bard smiled warmly. “You have no obligation to help us any further. My daughters told me that you helped them escape. That is far more than I could ever ask for.”

Caithwistë returned the smile before responding. “How may I help anyway?”

The bowman raised an eyebrow and glanced at Legolas who had let out a small chuckle. “This one is very stubborn but is a very capable hunter.” Legolas said with a smirk. “She can help keep your people fed.”

“Very well. You can join the hunters as we travel to Dale, Miss?” He asked, holding his hand out just as Alfrid had.

This time, she took the offered hand gingerly and shook it. “Caithwistë.” She replied softly, surprised at the warm gesture. “I should warn you though, I am a half-breed of an elf and dwarf.” She blurted out suddenly when he released his grip.

“Is that a problem?” Bard asked with a raised brow.

“For some.” She said, shooting a smug look to Legolas who had begun to shake with silent laughter.

“If you are willing to help us beyond what you have already done, then I seen no problem.” He said, still wearing the kind smile. He nodded respectfully to both of them before returning to his salvaging.

Caithwistë glanced back at Legolas and crossed her arms. “I never thought I would hear you speak so kindly of me.”

Legolas smirked again. “It was not kind. It was simply truth.” He said simply.

“Have it your way then.” Caithwistë said, rolling her eyes.

She turned to join the group of hunters but Legolas stopped her by gripping her shoulder. The smirk was gone, replaced by something far more serious as he searched her eyes. She was uncomfortable but waited patiently for him to find the words he was searching for. “Keep your ears sharp and your eyes open, Mellonnen. I fear there is a greater evil at work here.” With that, he turned on his heel and left her standing there, speechless.

Beyond the fact that he had called her friend, she also felt a chill creep down her spine as the image of fire flashed before her eyes.

“Why must Elves and wizards always speak in riddles?” She muttered to herself, shaking off the strange fear that had gripped her from Legolas’ words.

Author’s Note: Awww, ever the all-around good guy Bard and see? Legolas isn’t a complete shit like his father! Don’t panic y’all, Thorin makes a re-appearance in the next chapter. This chapter was super fun to write and we’re getting so close to the end! I actually can’t believe it. Thank you all SOOO much for all the support you have given me through this journey. 😊

Caithwistë was alone. It was always meant to be this way.

She sat silently in the branch of a tree at the edge of Mirkwood, waiting for her prey to move into sight with her makeshift spear at the ready. She could hear rustling in the brush close to her, it would not be long.

As she waited, she couldn’t help but reflect on her current predicament. She had been alone for weeks now, and in that time her strength had returned but she was still unable to choose the next path she would take. She could not travel North, she would risk running into the Company again and she did not believe Thorin would be forgiving enough so soon to allow her to pass. She could not travel through the forest, the Elves would certainly kill her on sight if they found her again after their escape. South was her only option, but that path would lead her past Dol Guldur. Beorn had warned them of the dangers that lurked there. She was certain it would be well guarded and did not believe she would be able to move through unnoticed.

Caithwistë shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts. She had been over it too much already and could not decide, but she needed her focus now. It was in that moment when the first orc wandered into her path. She lept from the tree silently, driving the spear into its chest hoping to not draw the others’ attention. Unfortunately, the orc screamed as it died and it wasn’t long before she heard the battle cries of the rest of the group that had been scouting the forest.

“Wonderful.” Caithwistë muttered darkly as she picked up the sword of the fallen orc and prepared herself for the battle to come.

The orcs crashed through the trees swiftly and she dispatched the first few that ran through, but it rapidly became apparent that she was vastly outnumbered and would have to run.

Growling in frustration, she killed the closest orc and turned but was surprised when she ran directly into another. She easily disarmed it and moved in for the kill but it fell before she could make her move. Legolas was standing behind it, wielding Orcrist with a smug look on his face.

“I don’t need help.” Caithwistë said as she turned to block an attack that she heard coming from behind her.

“We didn’t ask.” Said Tauriel who appeared at her side, killing another.

Caithwistë huffed but remained silent and worked with them to finish off the pack. When the final orc fell, she regarded the Elves with her arms crossed.

“That was reckless.” Legolas said, sheathing Orcrist.

“Why do you care? Is it not your order to kill me on site?” Caithwistë asked bitterly. She glanced down at Tauriel’s hip where Emel-o Orcrist was hanging and scoffed. “Do you plan to do it with my own blade?”

Tauriel rolled her eyes and unbuckled the sword, holding it out to Caithwistë who watched her warily. “If I wished you dead, I would have let the orcs do it for me.” Tauriel said with exasperation.

Caithwistë took the blade gingerly and strapped it to her back but Tauriel was not finished. She pulled the pack she was carrying from her back and handed it over as well. Caithwistë couldn’t stop the tears forming in her eyes when she opened it and saw her bow, as well as her fathers’ dagger. She picked it up and cradled it gently before returning her attention to Tauriel. “I have no idea how to thank you.” She said after regarding the Elf for a few moments.

Tauriel smiled as if hoping for that response. “Come with us. Help us hunt the orcs that follow your Company.” She pleaded.

Caithwistë crossed her arms and glanced at Legolas who was watching her with distaste. “Anything but that. Besides, I’m doing well enough here.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow at that. “Are you? From what I just saw, you were trying to get yourself killed.”

Caithwistë shook her head at the accusation and turned back to Tauriel. “What do you want from me?”

“Kili, he has been poisoned. We must help him.” She said hastily.

Caithwistë narrowed her eyes at Tauriel, who wore nothing but sincere concern in her expression. “You’re certain?” She demanded. Tauriel nodded solemnly and Caithwistë shook her head in disbelief. She should have known the wound was worse than he let on. She allowed her feelings for Thorin to cloud her judgement and now, because of her actions, his young nephew was at risk.

“You love them, do you not?” Tauriel asked quietly as Caithwistë silently admonished herself.

“Yes.” Caithwistë murmured, feeling the burning of tears in her eyes.

Tauriel stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If we can defeat the orcs, then they will all be safe. Is that not worth fighting for?”

Caithwistë sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes before she responded with new determination. “It is. Where are we going?”

~

The Elves traveled far quicker than the Dwarves had. Caithwistë struggled to keep up with their long strides, but she was determined not to show them any signs of weakness.

They reached Lake Town by nightfall and Caithwistë glanced at the surroundings curiously, until they heard the screams of a child. “I think we have found our quarry.” She said dryly as they started through the winding docks toward the sound.

Caithwistë turned a corner ahead of both Elves, rejuvenated by her anger, and saw an orc throw Bofur against a wall. She drew her bow and fired quickly, killing the orc as it rose its blade.

The screams were louder now, and Caithwistë’s rage grew. “Tauriel, help them!” She screamed at the Elf as she ran to help the dazed Bofur. She didn’t have to check to know Tauriel was headed in their direction. “Come, Bofur. It’s not like you to sit a good fight out.” Caithwistë urged as she pulled him to his feet.

Bofur grinned. “It’s about time you showed up, Miss Caithwistë.” He bent over to picked up a bushel of weeds and Caithwistë raised an eyebrow. “Kingsfoil, they’re for Kili.” He said catching her expression.

Caithwistë nodded and drew Emel-o Orcrist. “Let us be on our way then.” She said, killing an orc in their path.

As they ran through the docks to the home where the screaming had come from, she could hear the command being called out.

“Fall back! Regroup at the bridge!”

They reached the base of the stairs and she saw Legolas leap down onto a boat. “Legolas! The bridge!”

Legolas nodded at her and glanced at Bofur who was gripping the weeds tightly. “Hurry, he doesn’t have long.” He said before turning on his heel and running after the Orcs.

“Good luck, Legolas.” Caithwistë muttered before pushing Bofur to the stairs. They clambered up quickly and Tauriel stepped out, prepared to attack. “Hold, Tauriel.” Caithwistë pleaded.

Tauriel’s eyes widened as she took them in and sheathed her weapons. Stepping forward, she gingerly pulled the weeds from the shocked Bofur’s hand. “Athelas.” She whispered dreamily.

Bofur shot a worried glance to Caithwistë who simply shrugged before he turned back to Tauriel. “What are you doing?” He asked, sounding as if he were fighting tears.

Tauriel glanced back into the house before regarding them. “I’m going to save him.” She said with a fierce look of determination in her eyes.

Caithwistë nodded and she ran into the house, but Bofur was still frozen in shock. She pushed him forward gently. “Go Bofur, help her and protect them.” She said, starting back down the stairs.

“Wait, where are you going?” He asked incredulously.

Caithwistë glanced at the docks and grimaced. “To help Legolas.” She said and turned back to Bofur.

“You can’t go now, Kili needs us.” Bofur protested.

Caithwistë smiled at him warmly. “There is nothing I can do for him now, except give him time.” Bofur frowned at that and she couldn’t help but grin. “I will return.” She promised.

She pushed Bofur toward the door again and he nodded grimly. “You better.” He said. “I don’t plan to be the one to tell Thorin what happened if you’re hurt.” Caithwistë furrowed her eyebrows and he gave her a wink before disappearing into the house.

Caithwistë stared at the empty doorway in shock for a moment, but quickly shook herself and dashed down the stairs. She may not like Legolas much, but she would not allow him to defend the town on his own.

She arrived just in time to see Legolas surrounded by a group of orcs. Barely deflecting the attacks as an orc as large as Azog stood by and watched. She charged forward and beheaded one who was trying to slash at his legs and killed another who suddenly appeared behind her.

Legolas turned after killing the ones in front and nodded at her appreciatively but the big one was stalking toward them. “Behind you!” Caithwistë cried.

“And you.” He said as he rose Orcrist to effortlessly deflect the attack.

“Show off.” Caithwistë muttered as she turned to ward off the next orcs that were crossing the walkways to them. She killed them quickly and was surprised to hear a groan of pain from Legolas. She tried to turn but squealed as he collided against her making them tumble to the ground.

“Sorry.” He said as he pulled himself off her and caught the kick that was headed in their direction. The force of the impact pushed Legolas back into her as she was climbing to her feet, and she fell off the dock into the icy water.

By the time she surfaced, sputtering, Legolas was already there to pull her back out. “Thanks.” She said, shaking the water off of her.

“Don’t mention it.” Legolas groaned as he stood. He walked over to pick up Orcrist but swayed with the motion and leaned heavily against the wall.

Caithwistë rushed to his side and gripped his arm gently to steady him. She couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping her when she saw the blood dripping from his nose. “You’re hurt.” She whispered.

Legolas wiped at the blood and regarded it as if he had never seen anything like it before. “I’m fine.” He said, visibly shaking himself.

“Right.” Caithwistë said, rolling her eyes. Ever the young warrior. “Is he dead?”

Legolas shook his head, frowning. “I will follow him.” He said, glancing to the bridge. “Will you let Tauriel know where I’ve gone?”

Caithwistë crossed her arms as he began to walk away. “No, I’m going with you.”

Legolas regarded her then, as if her were truly looking at her for the first time and a grin spread across his face. “Your place is here, with the Dwarves.” He said patting her shoulder.

Caithwistë huffed. “Why do you believe you can make that decision for me?”

Legolas shrugged. “You’ll slow me down.” He said with a wink and turned on his heel. “Oh, and half-breed?” He said with a glance over his shoulder. Caithwistë glared at him then and he laughed. “My father is not always right. I am glad I did not kill you.”

Caithwistë shook her head as she watched him run to the stables. “Elves.” She muttered affectionately, turning back to the house.

Caithwistë had reached the top of the steps to the small home when she felt the first tremor. Stopping in her tracks, she slowly turned in the direction of the mountain. She could only watch in muted horror at the sight before her. It was a dragon, erupting from a shower of what appeared to be gold and taking flight toward Lake Town.

“I am Fire. I am Death.”

Caithwistë heard the words clearly, as if it were standing next to her. She had felt fear before, but never anything so potent as the fear that gripped her in this moment.

If the dragon was alive, surely it meant the quest had failed.