Enter Fandom

Your friendship had been an interesting one, that confounded his family. You'd met at a bar,  when you'd seen him sulking into a beer for reasons still unknown to you, and challenged him to a game of darts. The friendship that followed had not been entirely intentional, but it had happened,  and had been good, until he'd caught you with your bag open,  a few of his belongings shoved inside, and his fiddle in your hands in quiet contemplation.  

You'd dropped the instrument immediately,  stammering out excuses, before you ran. You knew the city like the back of your hand, and managed to evade him, heart hammering in your chest.

He'd had to go through your bag, to get his things, and had found the past due notice there, the threat of eviction over your head. You'd talked briefly of your past,  of having stolen for survival as a child and between jobs. You knew it wasn't right,  but you were too stubborn to ask for help. So he didn't give you the chance to ask. He'd shown up on your doorstep unannounced, family in tow, on a day your brother was around.

You couldn't really believe it when he'd pulled you into a one armed hug and told you that you were forgiven,  and he was moving you in with him - just until you get on your feet. That had been months ago, and he hadn't pushed you to leave, letting you find your footing, and a new job.

His phone chimed, and he glanced down, surprised when he saw a text from you.

My brother thinks we're dating...or should be. He thinks we're cute.

He stared at the message, frowning. He knew you'd never been serious about anyone in the past, for various reasons, and made to reply when he got another text.

I told him no. Even if...you wouldn't. You're not like that and I'm gonna shut up now.  

Sighing, Fili shook his head,  not bothering to text back. This was what had you upset enough to get so drunk your pants were in the floor? Shaking his head, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge,  and then your pants as he passed, knocking on your door with no response. Assuming you'd passed out, he peeked in, frowning at your empty bed. Placing the pants in your hamper, he moved to his own door, knocking, “Y/N?”

No answer.  Hoping you hadn't left the apartment without pants again,  he opened the door slowly,  finding you sprawled across his bed, passed out, and phone in hand. Shaking his head,  he quietly put his violin away,  changing and sliding into bed with you and gently placing your phone on the nightstand.  Drunk or no, you rolled into him,  grumbling under your breath and snuggling into his chest - something he had always quietly enjoyed.  You were tactile,  but often seemed tense around him.  It was usually only when you were drunk or upset that he got to enjoy this,  and that was,  frankly, something he wanted to change.

You woke the next morning confused by the warm body beneath your cheek, the arm around you. Eyes opening, you tensed at the sight of Fili sleeping peacefully, mind fuzzy. You remembered the conversation with your brother,  drinking until he was taking you stumbling home. Where were your pants? And how did you end up in bed with the very man your brother had been teasing you about?

He stirred, and you made to move away,  but his arm tightened, voice sleep-soft,  “Y/N.”

“I don't...I was just going. I'm…” Abort mission. Abort. Abort.

He sighed, shifting some to watch you, releasing you from his hold,“You're wrong, you know.”

Your eyes darted from the streets to his face,  brows furrowing, “I'm wrong.” Fili had never really shown any signs of attraction to anyone, but if he was attracted to other men,  surely you weren't on the list, not after the incident.  

With a nod, he hesitated, before leaning in, brushing his lips over yours.

You were still asleep - had to be,  still dreaming and this was some cruel joke of the cosmos - but his skin felt warm under your touch and your face flushed when he pressed his forehead to yours in a gesture you'd only seen him share with family.  “Fee.”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

You weren't sure what else to say. There were a lot of questions,  why,  how long,  but they didn't seem to matter much when you blinked at him,  nerves settling in your gut before you stole a slow, lingering kiss, “Breakfast.”

He laughed, breaking the kiss and shifting away,  “How hungover are you?”

Why did he have to mention it? The moment he did,  it drew your attention to the quiet protests of your body from last night's dinner of vodka and gummy bears. Slumping back into bed with a groan,  he nodded,  leaving you to your misery while he made breakfast.  

A few hours later found you curled up with him on the couch, back to his chest as you read. Glancing up from your book, you brushed a kiss to his jaw, drawing his face toward you, “Thank you.” His brow rose,  and you gestured between you, “For this.”

With another soft kiss,  he murmured against your lips,  “No need to thank me.” Setting your book aside with his own,  his arms wrapped around you more securely,  “You… do have to tell your brother he was right,  though.”

Groaning, you slumped into the embrace,  “Don't wanna.” The thought, however, brought another forward, and you shifted to better see him, “Fee… how's your family going to take it?” They weren’t exactly the happiest with your situation - the continued friendship, moving in together, and everything else. His Uncle especially, had raised concerns about the fact that you’d tried to rob him, but Fee had quickly shut him down.

The only reason you’d even thought about robbing him was the fact that you were being evicted. With a secure roof over your head, and food to eat, you didn’t need the money. Once you’d found a job, it had been even easier. Of course, they might just think you were doing this because you didn’t want to lose the security that Fee’s own money brought, but that wasn’t it. Your feelings had been the main reason you’d hesitated at all with stealing from him, why guilt ate at your guts even after he’d forgiven you. With a sigh, he tightened his grip, “They’ll get over it.”

As he headed out with Bilbo, you took space next to Bofur to watch out the window, shaking your head some.  Beorn was intimidating even at a distance, tall, broad, and built of lean muscle that could rip even an Orc to pieces of he so desired.  There were clear signs of the bear in his features, and when he mentioned going near the Goblins had been stupid, you laughed at how right he was,  barely managing to keep Bofur from sending the first pair out. “That's not the signal,” you hissed, giving him a look.  

“It's not?”

You shook your head, and Gandalf glanced over his shoulder, an almost relieved look that none of you had revealed yourselves yet. Gandalf continued, admitting that several of you were Dwarrow, and you waited,  sensing the time was right,  “Dwalin and Balin.”

The pair went,  and Beorn shifted his axe, but did not brandish it, eyeing the pair warily, before asking, “How many?”

“In the Company? Sixteen,  including Bilbo and myself.”

Oin and Gloin went next,  Beorn watching beleagueredly, “And what are a Halfling and a Wizard doing travelling with fifteen Dwarves?”

“Actually, there's only fourteen.”

Dori, Nori, and Ori managed their way out next,  Ori barely managing not to trip over his own feet, allowed to go as a trio to push Bombur out on his own. Halfway there. Without waiting for instructions, Fili and Kili made their way, smiling despite the sight of the shapechanger before them. As if emboldened,  Bifur and Bofur scrambled out,  tugging Bombur in their wake and earning a sigh from Gandalf. You'd tried,  at least. Moving from your perch, you glanced to Thorin, gesturing to the door.

With a nod,  you both joined the rest,  Beorn's eyes lingering, before gesturing back toward the great house,  “It seems I am to have a party.”

You hunched over the large table, eating as you listened to the talk around you. Your heart went out to Beorn, and when he mentioned Mirkwood, you nodded. He was not wrong about Thranduil and his kin. They would not be hospitable,  but there was fear you had little choice. When Beorn agreed to help you, there was silence from the rest, but you offered him a smile, “Thank you.”

Despite knowing it was the best way, and being glad to not have to walk, you weren't overly fond of the fact that you were about to be on a pony. While you loved the animals, and had wanted to learn to ride as a child,  you'd never gotten the chance to.  It wasn't until you were an adult and began working Faire that you had the opportunity to learn, and while competent, you weren't often enough on horseback to feel truly comfortable. At least with you there, Bilbo wasn't the only one grumbling about it even quietly.

It was quicker,  as well.  On foot,  it might have even been enough of a delay to keep you from reaching the mountain in time. You rode with silence and haste, to reach the mountain and flee the Orcs who might yet follow, until danger no longer felt as if it were at your back,  the company already chattering and singing around you.  

Their more merry spirits lifted your own,  and your voice rose softly at first, growing in strength as they fell silent to listen.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Remember me to one who lives there, For she was once a true love of mine. Tell her to make me a cambric shirt, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Without any seam or needlework, Then she shall be a true love of mine. Tell her to wash it in yonder well, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Where never sprung water or rain ever fell, And she shall be a true lover of mine. Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Which never bore blossom since Adam was born, Then she shall be a true lover of mine.

“Is there more,  lass?” Bofur broke the spell of silence,  glancing back at you from his place ahead, curious eyes looking at you.

You shrugged, “There are other versions, and an answer as well, from his former love. In response to his impossible requests,  she asks some of her own,  and says once his are done,  so hers will be.  It's rather sad.” They nodded,  but didn't ask for you to sing the rest, instead lifting their own songs,  some familiar to you from the books.

You traveled in such a way to four more sunrises, before reaching the borders of the woods,  an ominous feeling seeping into your bones.  You knew what waited,  the loss of the path,  the great spiders,  and at the center of it all, Thranduil.  You could only hope to not fall victim to the forest’s spell, to keep your wits about you.  Uncertain of your success, you shifted nervously,  gaze moving fitfully between the forest and those you called friend. Fear had touched you on the Quest so far,  but this? It was not a monster you could fight.  

In you went,  quiet and focused,  telling yourself the story in your head.  The deeper you went, the harder it became,  feeling trapped and muddled. What day was it? Had it been a day? You'd stopped to camp but had it truly been time? The air was thick and stale,  and it wasn't until you came to the river once more that you felt your wits about you. The bridge was out.  You had to find a way across.  

You nearly fell,  pulled up to safety by strong hands and when you looked up,  you briefly saw the smiling face of your stepfather before it shifted,  Thorin watching you with quiet concern. It was a trick of the forest, yet still it pulled at your heart. He had taken you to your first Faire as a teen,  gifted you your first sword,  the one now at your side,  and taught you to use it.  He never said it with words,  but considered you his own.  

He had talked at length with you about fantasy,  broadened your knowledge of authors, and teased you over your love of Hobbits.  He never did get to see your love of Dwarves.

You watched as Thorin drew his bow, aiming at the white stag in the distance,  dread in you though you weren't sure why.  “No.”

The arrow missed,  Bilbo musing that it was bad luck, and you scoffed at Thorin's response.  

Nobody saved Bombur from the fate you nearly faced.  

It was much the same after that,  disorienting,  stifling, you trudged on,  unable to truly help carry the sleeping dwarf,  and not envying the others in that task.  You didn't hear the voices,  but you knew.  You knew something was coming,  but what?

The path was left behind you,  despite Bilbo's protests, and deep in your mind you saw the wisdom of his words,  but still you followed Thorin,  better than the Dwarrow,  but far more lost than Bilbo.

He went up,  while you circled, hand on the hilt of your sword as you tried to find what watched you, what would have been a piercing shriek dying on your lips as the Spider claimed its prize.  

The Dwarves fought in their webbed prisons, and you felt woozy, listless,  dropping to the forest floor and already feeling the bruises.  Kili cut you free, and you pushed yourself up with roots and branches,  defending yourself though you put up little fight.  Bundled along by the group as you moved until the elves showed,  a brief moment of relief, despite knowing what came next.  

The color had caused more stir than the length,  though it was getting longer now,  brushing your shoulders and you began fashioning bindings to keep it at your nape, still too short to braid. Your true hair color was showing through now as well, the mid-toned brown looking almost muddy against the fading colors.  On more than one occasion, you'd been overheard contemplating borrowing a knife from Fili to just hack it all off. Not that he would have let you. Honestly, the Dwarves were fascinated,  Thorin finding himself watching when you came back from bathing in nearby streams, silently lamenting the way the blue was leaving.

With an Orc pack on your trail,  you moved swiftly,  each night of camp spent in tension,  watch taken in pairs through the hours.  The day you sent Bilbo to scout felt almost surreal, huddled within the group for warmth as you awaited his return. What you wouldn't give for even just a hunter’s hood as fall began to descend around you.  You mentally traced the legs of the journey in your head, the Shire, and Bag End, which you'd unfortunately not had the privilege of seeing,  the trolls, Rivendell, the goblins and the carrock. Next was Beorn's, any day now you'd wager,  and then Mirkwood, Lake Town, and the Mountain.

You looked up when Bilbo reappeared,  the flurry of voices making you shake your head.  Today. Adrenalin was going to be your only friend as you ran, hoping to outrun the Bear. It was different,  the dead spring across yards of open field. There was no brief respite to dig a blade into an enemy, your destination so far before you. Long distance running like this had never been your strong suit. You'd always been fast,  but more predisposed for short bursts,  and your steps slowed, a stitch in your side, in your chest, breathing through gritted teeth as you pushed.

Not like this.  

Your body was the last to slam into the mass of bodies as the door opened, jerked inside and out of the way roughly, though you could give no complaint. Resisting the urge to double over and gasp, you raised your arms above your head, focusing on deep, slow breaths. The sounds of the bear outside faded as Gandalf explained where you were,  and you finally lowered your arms with a sigh. Safety, for the time being, felt like a luxury you didn't quite deserve.

The dwarves moved around you in the barn,  finding places to sleep for the night as well as a space to start on dinner,  and you moved through the space quietly,  gently stroking the muzzle of a creature that headbutted your shoulder,  not glancing to identify it.  So much had passed,  with so much still ahead,  and it felt almost overwhelming.  

“Y/N,” a voice at your back pulled you from your thoughts and you turned,  smiling at Bilbo. “Dinner’s ready.”

Nodding, you followed him back to the others, settling between Kili and Ori, taking the bowl offered to you. Conversation flowed around you,  and you lost yourself in it,  content to listen until Fili glanced around his brother,  “What about you,  Y/N? Do you have any tales?”

You glanced around the circle,  thinking of the stories you could tell,  a wealth of knowledge and legends drifting through your thoughts,  “Several, though they're not really mine.  We have books upon books of tales,  past, present,  future,  fantasies and realities.” Nodding to yourself,  you hunched some,  “Some tales feature the same hero, but the details vary. Like Robin Hood.”

“And who's he,  lass?”

“A thief,” your eyes cut to Nori and you smile,  “Some say he was a common man,  loyal to crown and country,  others, the son of a benevolent Lord, who lost his lands and title, but in all tales,  he's loyal to his rightful king.  Unfortunately,  when his King goes on a Crusade, leaving his brother to rule in his stead,  things start to go wrong.”

You paused,  shaking your head some,  “King Richard was a just man,  while his brother,  Prince John, was greedy.  The prince raised the taxes during his brother's absence,  leaving the people to nearly starve. Robin saw this,  and could not idly stand by,  and began to rob the tax collectors,  returning the money to those who needed it.  He was considered a hero to the people of the land, and gained support as well as forming a group of like-minded individuals to aid him. He was a renowned archer and swordsman.

In some tales, a trap is set in the form of a tournament, Prince John knowing Robin would not give up a chance to not only show his skills, but to win the hand of his lady love, Maid Marian. Every step Robin takes in any regard is followed as well as possible by the Sheriff of Nottingham, loyal to Prince John.  Many legends don't have an end,  but some end with King Richard returning,  pardoning Robin, and Robin and Marian marrying.”

You settle back some, shrugging, “I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller, however.”

If he could even be called that. He was nothing compared to the majesty of Thorin. Your fingers dug into Kili’s back where he stood before you, searching for your balance and something to focus on that wasn’t the long drop that awaited you. Your stomach lurched, and you knew you must be pale, but you kept your gaze straight ahead over Kili’s shoulder to Thorin’s back, letting their strength in your sight and touch ground you.

At least goblins were poor fighters. You found yourself caught in the battle,  your sword cut through their flesh, tasting blood for the first time, and you ran, following the Company as they moved along the walkways, looking for escape. Thank the Valar for Gandalf. You were no longer able to touch anyone, but adrenaline kept you moving, kept you focused. It didn’t allow for distractions as the others moved around you, hacking and slashing until you heard Thorin call, “Cut the ropes!” Dread clutched you even as the current threat fell away and you moved to the next, a constant flurry of motion. A goblin blade made contact with the leather at your side and you cursed, shoving them away and removing the head before continuing down and deep. The lower you went, the safer you felt, until you were trapped once more. The Goblin King taunted, and Gandalf took him down, the portion of bridge you were on collapsing, taking you with it, only slowed by surrounding obstacles. You moved along them carefully as you fell, making your way from the rubble with Gandalf before the body of the king fell upon the rest of the Company. You caught your breath, moving quickly toward the exit, breathing deep as you stumbled into daylight and trees. Your heart sank as you remembered what came next, glancing around as the Dwarves and Gandalf followed you.

The wizard counted you off, frowning when he noticed they were one short,  and you glanced back the way you came,  barely catching the sight of dirt and grass moving beneath invisible feet.  Good. He'd done it.  Your gaze moved to Thorin as the he accused Bilbo of deserting, mentally counting down until the Hobbit appeared,  knowing where to watch to see the ring drop into his pocket.   He countered Thorin's words, though his eyes darted to you as well, including you in the displaced, and you gave him a small smile, sheathing your sword for a moment and waiting for the tell-tale sound of wargs in the distance. More climbing, more heights. You stayed as low as safety would allow, gripping tight as the trees began to fall, crashing into one another and leaving you all stranded on just the one. “Don’t be a hero, Thorin,” you muttered, as he moved to do just that, his actions urging both you and Bilbo to follow, along with what members of the Company could manage.

You just needed to delay.  That was all,  delay.  You couldn't contain your cry as Thorin fell,  struggling with your own enemy as you tried to get closer, pride swelling as Bilbo knocked the orc away, glancing to the sky,  “The Eagles!” Your eyes moved to Thorin again,  and you rushed toward him,  shoving your way to grab his shield and sword, driven by a memory that felt almost hazy. “You'll need these,” you murmured to his still form, before stealing your courage and running off the cliffs edge.  

The wind left your lungs as your frame collided with the Eagle's back, and your eyes closed,  arms wrapping securely as the convocation flew away, toward the Carrock. Your lips moved,  murmuring songs to keep calm,  glad when the motions stopped and you were able to remove yourself from the creature,  giving a low bow, “My thanks to you and Gwaihir.” The Eagle gave a bow of his own before taking to the air,  leaving you to join the circle of the company,  looking on at their fallen King.

“Come on,  Thorin.”

When he spoke finally, you smiled,  allowing his kinsmen to help him stand, his attention fully on Bilbo for the moment. “You. What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed.  Did I not say that you would be a burden - that you would not survive in the wild?” As Thorin advanced, and Bilbo looked justifiably scared,  you bit back a relieved chuckle, earning a couple glances from those nearest you.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life,” you whispered the words as Thorin spoke them to Bilbo, the Dwarf wrapping the Hobbit in a tight hold, lingering before turning back to the company, eyes finding yours, “And you.”

Your head tilted and you stepped forward, offering him his sword and shield,  “Yes, my King?”

“You fought…” his words filtered off as he took stock of your injuries, a frown creasing his features. “You fought well.” He took his arms belongings, putting them away with a sigh. Turning back to Bilbo,  he added,  “I'm sorry for underestimating you.”

Your belt and blade were at your waist again once she finished to your satisfaction,  and you gave her a small bow of thanks,  before following her to dinner,  your pack over your shoulder once more.  

Eyes were upon you quickly once you rejoined the group,  and you smiled, chuckling softly.  “Quite an unexpected change,” Gandalf mused, nodding as you fell into step with him, Elrond at his other side.  

“I doubt there will be much opportunity on our journey to wear such things.  I'll be back in my armor before we leave.” You absently reached to toy with the stone pendant at your chest,  revealed with the change in attire as you hesitated,  uncertain of where to sit before Gandalf beckoned you to join him with Elrond and Thorin.  

The Dwarf's eyes remained upon you as you sat,  leaning in just a little,  “What is that?”

You turned the stone,  the engraving resting against your skin when you removed your hand,  revealing only the flat back side,  smooth deep grey on black string,  “It's nothing.  Just a trinket.” His brow was not the only one that rose,  and you gently draped your napkin in your lap,  reaching for your fork as dinner began. Laughter at your back had you glancing over,  catching sight of Kili being teased, and you smiled into your salad, attention moving back to the conversation at your own table.  

Orcrist and Glamdring were named,  and you smiled,  shocked as Elrond asked,  “Might I see your blade?”

“It isn't Elvish make, or from the hoard,” you managed,  but he reached out,  and you obliged,  allowing him to turn the blade over slowly in his hands.

“It is a fine blade,  a gift,  if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yes, from my stepfather.  He passed two years ago.”

“A fine gift indeed.” You smiled, returning the blade to its home, as Elrond returned to his talk with Gandalf and Thorin, watching with a soft sigh as the Dwarf left your table in a huff. Any moment now, things would fall into disarray. The Dwarves would prove a rowdy, if enjoyable bunch,  and as if aware of your thoughts,  Bofur rose,  singing,  your own foot tapping to the rhythm beneath the table. The Elven music was nice, but even you had to admit it was a little dry in comparison to the Dwarven tune, and you laughed, ducking when the food fight started. Nearly hit with a roll, you reached for your own, taking aim and knocking Kili square in the head, a light in your eyes as you stood. If they kept at it, you’d be changing before you were ready. Behind you, you could hear Gandalf and Elrond’s low voices, a brief mention of the strange company, yourself included. When Gandalf mentioned that you were an unexpected addition, you glanced back, hit with another roll as you did, “Unexpected is an understatement.” There was a knowing look from Elrond, and you could only smile. He was wise, and there was no hiding from him that this was not your home, that you were from another world. He didn’t say anything, however, as you all but hopped down from the dias, joining the Company on the lower level as they began to disperse, glancing between Dwalin and Fili, “Would either of you care to spar?” Dwalin shot you an incredulous glance, “Not dressed like that, lass.” “Yes, dressed like this,” you countered, shaking your head some. You were just as capable like this, though you really did need the practice. True battle would be different than the reenactments you participated in back home, even if the technique was the same. Fili shrugged beside you, and you followed along to a clear area, drawing your blade and taking a ready stance. “Do you even know how to use that?” “Of course, though most of my fighting has been for fun, and show.” It was the closest to the truth you could easily manage, and a brow rose, Dwaling gesturing for Fili to take the first round. You should have known you’d lose, but you put up a decent fight. It didn’t help that Dwalin began questioning you the minute everything started, “What do you mean, fun and show?” “Like a tournament, only we’re not actually aiming to hurt one another. We have these Faires. I worked at one.” Which just led to more questions, until you were kneeling, panting on the stonework, propped gently on your blade, “I yield.” At this point, despite your loss, Dwalin was smiling, moving over to reach a hand to pull you up, “You fight well.” Glancing down at your attire, you nodded, “I think it’s time to change back, though, if you’ll excuse me.” Later, when you returned to the group in your armor, you truly wished you could charge your phone. It was sitting, turned off for the moment, to preserve what you could of the battery for as long as possible. The lack of wifi at least allowed you to save some, by turning on airplane mode, but it would still not be long before it was fully dead, and your past lost to you in such a concrete way. Still, as you joined them around the fire, you found yourself reaching for it, powering it on as they sat and talked, sometimes breaking into song before Bofur glanced your way, “What’s music like where you’re from, Y/N?” You hesitated, shaking your head some, “That’s a broad question. There’s so many types, and centuries of songs. We have music much like the Elves, and some like your own, and some that are harder, darker, faster.” You thought through the genres, before gesturing with your phone, “I have some here, if you’d like to hear it.” The company nodded, a little confused by the prospect, but intrigued nonetheless. Pulling up some of your downloaded music, you scrolled, before smiling. “Okay, so what I’m about to play is a collaborative effort. There’s this amazing violinist, and an acapella group who decided to work together to cover a popular song, and I think you’ll like it.” You didn’t wait, pressing play and the Pentatonix Lindsey Stirling cover of Radioactive started playing, your eyes on them as they took the music in. It didn’t take long before you were singing along softly, “I’m breaking in, shaping up, and checking out on the prison bus. This is it - the apocalypse…” In some ways, it almost felt that way. Middle Earth was like something from the history of your own Earth, something from the past, and you were an anachronism. Out of time and place, waking up to a new age. The song lapsed automatically to the next, but you paused it. While you liked the next song, you wanted to give them something else, something a little more out of their comfort zone. You scrolled a little more, and the next song you played was a little more apt than perhaps you intended, Through the Fire and Flames screeching through the speakers, startling Ori beside you. Dwalin listened with rapt attention, his eyes darting to you as they narrowed. “And what is this?” “Dragonforce. Through the Fire and Flames.”

He huffed, “I like it.” Of course he did. You went through a few more songs, some more mellow and melodic, some a little more forceful, avoiding the recordings you had related to Middle Earth. When your phone battery lowered more than you could really bear, you turned it off, Bofur studying you curiously, but didn’t speak, watching as Balin and Thorin stood, the map tucked slowly into Thorin’s coat. You rose as well, hesitating before you asked, “Do you mind if I join you?” Thorin frowned, but Balin stayed him with a gentle hand, “It might be important that she do so.” With a curt nod from Thorin, you fell into step with Bilbo behind him, reaching to press the pendant to your chest tighter beneath your leathers, aware of what was to come and wondering just what a difference your presence would make.

The cavern was breathtaking, the midsummer moon illuminating it as you moved into place, watching Thorin grudgingly hand it off to Elrond. As the runes were illuminated, you mouthed along with Elrond, getting curious looks from the assembly. If they had bothered to ask about it, you wouldn’t have had a convincing lie, but they didn’t, at least not there, things progressing much as they had initially.  

It was Balin, of all people, who questioned you, once you were removed from the situation and on your way back to the others, falling into step with you and slowing until you lingered alone, “You could read the runes?” “No, not really, but...I did know what the map said.” His brow rose, and you sighed, “Where I’m from, this quest is a story. A children’s story at that. I’ve been aware of the tale since my childhood. I know the path, the dangers, and things like what was written on the map. I don’t wish to reveal too much, to jeopardize the quest itself, but I will reveal things that come up that could potentially be changed, things that need to be changed.” You were still uncertain of the Goblin Caves. Bilbo finding the ring was important, almost tantamount to the quest itself, but Thorin’s death? Those of Fili and Kili? Those would be changed if you had any say.