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As Fili gently leads Belireis away Thorin cannot deny the way his nephew has already begun to look at her. He knows Gandalf sees it too even as he tells Bilbo to get some rest before the sunrises and they must leave. The hobbit looks overwhelmed but has not said anything out of turn or protested in any way and for that Thorin is grateful. A man who can keep his own counsel and weigh facts before acting will be a true gem on this quest, especially being surrounded by so many hard-headed dwarves. Thorin loves his kinsmen but even he has to admit their faults to himself if this quest is to succeed. Then it is just Gandalf and himself on the precipice with the gleaming waterfall rushing past them like a loud sigh. The wizard looks haggard, more tired than usual and Thorin suspects it has something to do with Belireis. Foresight. He can hardly believe it. They regard each other for a moment, both feeling the weight of leadership leaning heavily on each of them in different ways. Thorin

Belireis. Such a lyrical name for such a tortured woman, so small a figure, Thorin thinks to himself as he watches the woman sitting in the bed. Kili came rushing to him in the morning, full of stories about the farm girl, almost love struck in his lauding of her. Thorin must admit she is making an impression on his company, whether or not he wants it. In the end, he summons Dwalin and Balin, his two oldest friends and advisors to come to the healing room to hear the farm girl’s story. He is tempted to dismiss Fili and Kili but one look at the stubborn look already forming in Kili’s eyes and Thorin knows that it will be less effort on his part to have them hear anyways. He supposes it will be good practice for Fili at least to be present to make decisions and judgements about the validity of her story and where one brother is the other is never far behind. He resigns himself to having both of his nephews, Gandalf and his burglar present. Belireis is sitting against the headboard of

“Here lies the last Homely House East of the Sea,” Gandalf says. As Bilbo stands with mouth agape at Rivendell, Thorin turns to Gandalf, fury etched across his face. “This was your plan all along,” he growls. “To seek refuge with our enemy.” “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf retorts. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.” Bilbo surreptitiously glances back at the pair of bickering leaders. He keeps his face blank, desperately wanting to go down to the valley, but not wanting to anger Thorin, who is temperamental about the elves at best. “Who think the elves, will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin spits incredulously. “They will try to stop us,” he says, shaking his head in frustration. “Of course they will,” Gandalf says good-naturedly. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” Thorin slowly lowers his head, fighting his pride and trying to let good sense prevail. He gives a sigh of defeat. “If we are to

A chorusing of howls, the baying of night hunters, signals the start of the chase. There is an explosion of breaking tree branches as Radagast bursts from the foliage, hollering “Come and get me!” The wargs and riders immediately give chase, the wolfish creatures loping after the diminutive wizard with long strides. As Radagast crests the rise in terrain, wargs in close pursuit, Gandalf pulls the dwarves together, grabbing gear and rounding each other up, slinging packs onto shoulders, checking their numbers to make sure they have all fourteen of their company. Well, actually it’s fifteen now, Gandalf muses quietly. The woman rushes over to the dead warg, sticks her fingers deep into the head wound Dwalin dealt the creature and smears the dark blood across the thigh of her pants before any of the dwarves can react. She looks up at the bewildered faces and chooses to meet Thorin’s eyes. “To disguise the smell of my wound,” she says, her words quiet but fierce. He gives a slight nod

The stench is what finally allows them to find the troll hoard. It lies underneath a slope of forest floor dotted with large weathered boulders, moss hanging from the ceiling and the damp smell of decay permeating the air near it. Dead leaves crinkle on the floor as Gandalf and Thorin lead a small group of dwarves deep into the troll hoard. “What’s that stench?” Nori asks as they move from the light of the cave entrance. “It’s a troll hoard,” Gandalf says, as if that explains it all. Which it does. “Be careful what you touch,” he warns. Coughs and gagging sounds echo from the dwarves as they descend further. The floor of the cave is littered with all sorts of flotsam and debris. The skeleton of a chandelier and an old rotting pumpkin sit side by side. Bofur’s eyes alight on a small treasure chest sitting against a wall which leads him to the small pile of gold at its base. He nudges it with his foot. “Seems such a shame to leave it lying around,” he says, “Anyone could take

…skin them of course!” Disgruntled, outraged cries erupt from the dwarves. Bilbo grinds his teeth and tries not to make his eyeroll so obvious to the trolls. The dwarves, still hurling insults at him, can’t bloody well see what he’s trying to do, can they? Bilbo Baggins has never been so frustrated in his life. Dwalin curses him from the spit with angry pointing while Gloin tries to wriggle towards him. There are shouts of “traitor!” and it’s all Bilbo can do stay focused on his task. “What a load o’ rubbish!” one of the trolls protests. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on! Scarf ‘em all with boots still on!” Out of the corner of his eye Bilbo sees a grey shadow flit across the beginnings of the sunrise behind the giant boulder at the edge of camp. He tries not to turn his head as the grey robe and staff duck behind a bush and out of sight. “He’s right,” Snot-Nose cackles. With one meaty fist he picks Bombur up by his feet. “Nothing wrong with a bit or raw dwarf.” He dangles

“Twice like a barn owl, twice like a brown owl, no once like a barn owl, twice like a brown owl?” Bilbo Baggins cannot believe the speed with which he found himself in this situation. One moment the bowls of stew were being taken from his hands by Fili and Kili and the next they were shoving him towards the troll camp with strange instructions about owls. He doesn’t have the faintest idea what to do. He’s a hobbit from the Shire, not a troll-slayer for goodness sake. Quiet on his hobbit feet, Bilbo creeps towards the shimmering firelight of the troll’s camp. He hopes Fili and Kili are behind him somewhere in the trees because this is too big of a task for just one person, let alone one hobbit. He hears grunting and snorting up ahead and disgusting sounds of a troll blowing it’s nose with enough force to shake the trees. “Mutton yesterday, mutton today and, blimey if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrow,” one of the trolls says in its deep voice. The trolls are repulsive

“Uncle Bilbo?” Bilbo looks up to see his little nephew Frodo standing in the doorway, dark curls wild. Little Frodo scuffs his toe into the floor and clasps his hands behind his back. Bilbo pushes the map he has been working on aside. Recently he has taken to drawing maps as a way to pass the time when his mind wanders to memories of past adventures. “Yes, Frodo?” “There’s a lady at the door to see you,” Frodo says, swaying side to side the way children do when they have too much pent up energy to stay still. Bilbo’s forehead crinkles in confusion. “She said…. She said she lived in a town by a lake,” Frodo adds haltingly, trying to be helpful. “Well, then, I guess we must go find out what she needs,” Bilbo declares, slapping his things and rising to follow Frodo towards the open front door. He does not know many women and he certainly can’t recall a woman who lived by a lake. Who could possibly be at his door? Could she be mistaken? It’s true that there aren’t many Bagginses in the

“Perhaps you should lie down?” This is such unfamiliar territory for Jay. She could conceivably see having a wounded person in her room, sure. She can imagine an Asgardian showing up out of nowhere; she’s seen that happen before plenty of times now. She can even see having to maybe explain a random stranger in her room to her over protective, older-brother-figure roommate Thor. What she cannot imagine is telling Thor that his long lost brother has returned from a literal trip to Hel with his mouth sewn shut and is now currently bunking with her because she has absolutely no idea how this situation should feasibly be handled. “That sounds reasonable,” Loki says just as carefully. They’re dancing around each other right now, not sure where this game is going or even what game they are playing. Even if there was a rule book, Loki would probably set it alight after Jay had ripped it in half and stomped on it. Neither of them moves. Jay sighs. “No rest for the wicked,” she grumbles. “And

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, looking at each other with an intensity that sears her. Then Loki’s eyes roll back into his head and he passes out cold. Jay still doesn’t move. She never thought she’d be the kind of girl who froze like this but in her defense; this is not really a situation she could have ever imagined. The shock has her momentarily paralyzed as memories assault her, memories of waking in the Avengers Tower, thinking she should be dead and wondering why Thor was sitting next to her with the saddest expression on his face that she had ever seen. Loki had made some terrible bargain with Hel, Queen of the Dead, and because of it Jay was alive. She is in his debt no matter what he exchanged for her life. That thought jars her out of her stupor. Jay slides herself across the floor towards Loki and very gently takes his pulse. His heartbeat is sluggish and erratic but it’s there. He doesn’t move at her touch so he really must be unconscious. She’d half