Vengenace

by imperishedinc

Summary:

Her pack craves it. Azog craves it. She craves it. She needs it.

A girl with a demon trapped within must do her father justice, and complete the job he could not: finish the line of Durin, ensure no one sits on the throne of Erebor, and make sure the will of her masters is satisfied.

OR: in which a hybrid takes the king's heart instead of his life.

Chapter 1: The Hunt

In the first fourteen years of her life, she was happy; she lived happily with her Elvish mother and Human father (he of whom hailed from the race of Men), younger sister of four years and older brother of three, all of them sharing a home in the settlement of Hultvís of within the Vales of Anduin. She loved the first fourteen years of her life, she loved her family, she loved her friends.

She loved her home.

At the time, she didn't understand why it had to be taken away from her. Even now, she feels confusion as to why the world chose to curse her instead of some other girl.

Azog the Defiler was ruthless when he raided her settlement, but he didn't do it for plunder and gold — no, but because his master wished it: find him someone to manipulate and torture into their perfect assassin, all to spite the world of the Free Peoples and all of Middle-earth. To spite the Woodland realm who would dare wage war on them and prove that not even they are powerful enough to protect their people. And in order to please him, he personally traveled to her homeland and ravaged it to nothing but ashes.

The darkened sky and the golden light over the hills gave the impression of an early dusk to the people of her settlement — no one could have guessed that the darkening sky was in fact the smoke of settlements before hers, and the golden light that was mistaken for sun was, in fact, fire. The roars and distant cries of people slaughtered were all but mistaken for cheers of an untimely but not unusual celebration. The people kept this mindset, of course, until the same disaster struck them.

They came in one singular wave, torching homes and brandishing rusty weapons that was caked with dried blood. Her mother and siblings were all huddled into one corner, the woman clinging onto her three children as tightly as she could. The girl had to force herself to focus on her mother's gentle hymns and soft voice in attempts to block out the screaming of her kin that were being slaughtered from outside their home. When she heard the stinging sound of a blade tearing open someone's flesh, the girl let out a soft whimper.

Her mother pressed her lips into her daughter's hair. "Hush your cries, Katrina," she shushed gently. "This will all be over soon."

Not a few short moments later was the door to her small home being kicked down, and the shriek of the three Orcs raiding their home was overpowered by the screams of the terrified family. The Orcs stalked towards them, one of them grabbing Katrina by the arm as he attempted to rip her away from her mother's comforting grasp. Katrina struggled with all her might: she pushed, she kicked, she screamed, she even tried to claw the flesh of her attacker, but to no avail. Her siblings faired no better.

"My babies! Don't take my babies!" Their mother wept. "Katrina, Runin, Caitlyn! DON'T TAKE MY BABIES! NOO!"

Katrina was dragged out of her home and into the burning village shortly before she could witness the fate of her mother, her screams being drowned out by the cries of so many countless others. The air was foul with dead and rotting flesh, thanks to the fire that was peeling the skin off the bodies of her dead kin. But she was too focused on fighting her attacker's grip to focus on her surroundings, her mind racing with all the possibilities of where she could possibly be dragged to: a stake to burn at, a group to roundup and murder, or perhaps to a group of other children that would soon be made slaves of.

Survival. She had to survive. She had to.

After a sharp inhale, she sunk her teeth into the thumb of the opposing Orc, feeling a small sense of satisfaction when the Orc hissed sharply in pain and involuntarily brought his hand to his chest, letting go of the girl in the process. 

Her fight or flight instincts told her to run in an aimless direction, to avoid any Orc, to survive. She forced her eyes forwards, her feet feeling sluggish in the mud as she ran — maybe this was because the mud was starting to become slippery with all the blood that was being spilt, or maybe it was because the amount of ash that was getting in her eyes was preventing her from seeing clearly. But still, she pressed on.

This was, until, she bumped into something soft. Now on the floor, she took the time to rub her eyes with her wrist, wishing she hadn't as soon as she had figured out what—who—she had ran into.

The white Warg was larger than any other Warg she had heard stories about. When it bared it's teeth, she saw how its fangs were glinting with the fresh blood of her kin. But it wasn't the Warg that was scaring her, but rather its rider: Azog the Defiler, the Pale Orc, the Orc-chieftan, was staring down at this small girl that was most likely more than half his size.

Quickly as she had fallen, she rushed to her feet. "My siblings," Katrina managed to say, crinkling her nose to rid of the itchy feeling of ash that was filling the air. "Where is my family?"

The stare the Pale Orc was giving her made her want to shrink, but she knew better than to back down. Her father had always told her that standing up to bullies was how you developed strength, and the being she was standing up to now was no more than a power hungry bully who thrived off of the pain and suffering of others. 

Be strong. I can be strong. I have to be strong.

Her comment was met with a deep hum and almost grunt of satisfaction, something that made the girl's eyebrows twitch. Her breath hitched when the Pale Orc slid off of his steed, taking a small step back for every large step forwards. A small cry left her lips when she tripped, the sudden impact of her back hitting the ground making her wheeze as she hit the floor for a second time. By now, the ash stinging her eyes and causing tears that was worsening her already struggling eyesight. She did, however, manage to make out the clear image of a hand eye-level with her face.

With hesitation, she placed her small hand into the Defiler's larger palm. He helped her stand with relative ease before she was being picked up by her underarms, the Pale Orc awkwardly settling the girl in his arms before she was being placed on the back of the large white Warg. He was soon mounting the Warg as well before it burst into sprint. The Defiler used his large stature to prevent Katrina from looking behind her, the settlement shrinking in size as they and the rest of the raiding party rode away to Dul Guldur.

Azog saw a little girl in a time of desperation and manipulated her into being his pawn until eventually, she became perfect. Experimented on with the power of dark magic and the curse of a living demon taking residence within her body, Azog and his master soon attained their master assassin: a hybrid of both demon and Man, capable of dealing death like a second nature. Trauma became a repressed emotion, happiness became attributed to Azog's pleasure, and family? Family became Dul Guldur.

She would never know true family again.

Unless, by some magic, thirteen Dwarves became family instead.

Chapter 2: The Mission

Notes:

quoted bolded speech will represent Black Speech

From the window inside the poorly-lit second-story tavern room she was in, the Prancing Pony, at least from the angle she was at, looked small. The green sign creaked as the rainy wind rocked it back and forth, almost mocking her as she waited as patiently for the job to finally be over with.

Seven seconds felt like seven minutes as she played with her knife, spinning it in between her fingers like the weapon was a toy. She didn't understand why the task was taking so long to begin with — how hard was it to kill a Dwarf? A nomad at that, he of whom would have been impossible to track had it not been for Yazneg's careful but painfully boring teachings.

And then after months and months, she had finally found him.

Bree was… cute, in a weirdly disgusting type of way: dirt roads, constant dreary weather, unsavory characters, and the constant stench of alcohol. Being located on the borders of the Shire, one would have thought that the town wouldn't attract as many shady characters as it did — from Hobbits too far but somehow close to home, Men trying to gamble for drinks, whores making quick coin, to Dwarven Kings chasing a rumor. A woman such as herself had no business here, at least not without reason.

It was humorous, she thought with a silent chuckle, that Azog was offering "payment" for the Dwarf's head. Both Azog's hand and ego never recovered after their last encounter, so of course it would be natural to incentivize others to do his dirty work for him. It made sense, in hindsight, as everyone believed him to be dead. But he would emerge, when the time was right, and the world would be his for the taking. For now, however, she had to do everything in her being to make sure her father stayed in power within the shadows.

A slight shudder. Father.

Years and years had passed, and she still couldn't believe that an Orc such as himself—or just an Orc in general—would come to be known as her father. Even through his cruelty and his lack of empathy for life, he treated her as his favorite child before his own blood and her adoptive brother, Bolg: always showering her with compliments, always parading her to other chieftains, always putting her at a caliber that was virtually impossible for anyone to achieve. The realist in her knew that he wasn't really proud of her, but rather himself for creating her and blessing (cursing?) her with a bloodthirsty demon who literally drained the life of anyone it possessed.

It was still a wonder she was alive and hadn't been the meal of choice.

Still, she liked to believe that, like a true father would, he loved her and he really was proud of her and everything she had done for him and the rest of the Orcs within Dol Guldur. Every kill she made not only satisfied (and, most importantly, fed) her demon, but both Azog and his master — and that was what was most important.

No, she couldn't fail. Not at something this big.

Her thinking was cut short when she saw movement from the opposing Inn at the corner of her eye, only to sigh with unsatisfaction. Two men came sulking out of the Prancing Pony and were marching directly towards the tavern she was in, the taller of the two looking up briefly at the window she was staring down at them from before he ducked his head down again. 

Her nails picked at the skin on her fingers with restlessness. They failed.

She didn't care enough to look behind her when the door to the room she was in creaked open, her eyes fluttering to a roll as the two men awkwardly shuffled in. There was a brief and awkward silence until she spoke a simple, "You took long."

The shorter and wider of the two, containing a missing right eye and a scar swallowed. "We… we uh- uh—"

"We ran into a dilemma," the taller one finished cooly, but not without a quick glare to his partner. "We apologize for keeping you waiting, Lady Katrina."

The thunder rumbled softly, and she took to focusing on the rain drops that were pelting upon the glass. The lightening that followed illuminated the room ever so slightly, revealing the look of impatience and annoyance Katrina was wearing to the two men. "Ever the excuses, Douglass. Nine minutes, and a 'dilemma' is the best you idiots can come up with. And don't call me 'Lady', that's patronizing and weird," she cringed. "Now"—finally, she turned around and forced her eyes away from the comfort of the window—"where, may I ask, is my Dwarf head I was promised?"

When she faced them, both men took a small step back. It was strange, in her mind, how two men both bigger in size were so terrified of a small woman such as herself.

The shorter one took to stuttering again. "There were a lot of pe'ole. An' he saw us. An'—"

"He saw you?" A wry laugh left Katrina's mouth as she internally face palmed, letting her head softly hit the window pane that she took to staring out into the bleak streets of Bree again. "Gus, you poor, poor, insufferable man. You let the Dwarf see you." She shook her head in disappointment with yet another bleak sigh passing her lips. "And there he goes."

From where she was standing, it wasn't hard to realize that the shorter-than-average being leaving the Inn was, in fact, the Dwarven King himself, he of who inclined his head before using his black cloak to blend in with the shadows. Again, there was another long and awkward silence as Katrina watched him walk away, her eyes narrowing as he passed beneath her window and walked further into town.

A small smirk made way. "I have further need for you both," she said with a turn of her toe. "Consider yourselves released from my care."

"Wh- what does that—?"

Her movements were swift. One moment, she was briskly almost skipping to the door the two men were basically blocking, and in the next, she was casually sticking two knives in each heart, timing the slamming of the door with the thudding of their bodies. 

Her footsteps were light as she traveled down the steps, containing her cruel giddiness behind a lax expression. The light but heavy smell of ale touched tickled her nostrils when she arrived at the main floor of the tavern, ignoring the sudden rumble in her stomach that she took to soothing with a rub of her hand. In contrast to the bustling Prancing Pony, this tavern was scarcely occupied, which made it easier for her to quickly brush past other patrons and reach the door—

Her fingers had just barely brushed the handle when it suddenly flew open and forced her to take a couple steps back. "Hey!"

A man—he of who was about a head and a half taller than her—adorned in gray robes suddenly stood before her. His grayed hairs traveled down his head like silky strings just barely holding together, but his beard was bushy and perhaps was an inch away from accidentally being singed. Despite the tired eyes and the heavy set of wrinkles that adored his facial features, he wore a kind and inviting smile that she hadn't genuinely seen in a long time. 

"Oh!" A look of surprise before he cleared his throat. "I apologize. Please, allow me to buy you a drink."

"Look, as nice as that is, I really have to—"

"Oh, please. I insist."

The tip of Katrina's tongue was being latched onto heavily by her teeth. These past intruding seven seconds had all but closed her window of opportunity to slay the Dwarven King — he was probably long gone into the town by now, and there was no way she would be able to stay in Bree for much longer now without drawing more attention than the bodies in her previous room had already drawn.

But a drink? Considering what she was about to endure when she returned to Dol Guldur, a drink couldn't hurt.

So they sat at a table, and the old man kept true to his word. Katrina's knee bounced up and down with restlessness and anxiety, and she suddenly wished that she were in the Prancing Pony — noise, she needed noise; it was too quiet and awkward, and the beer that was supposed to settle her nerves was doing quite the opposite.

Her eyes widened slightly when he snapped his fingers, using a small flame that ignited between his finger and thumb to light his pipe. "Forgive me for not introducing myself," he mumbled as he took a big puff. "My name is Gandalf." A large but thin smile. "Gandalf the Gray."

"Yes I… at least now I'm aware of who you are," she coughed, waving away the puff of smoke that had accidentally traveled into her lungs. She despised smoking. "I didn't realize Wizards like you were still around."

Gandalf sputtered in a surprised manner as she took a small swig of her drink, hiding her smirk. He soon recovered with a brisk ahem of his throat before taking another puff of his pipe, and she could see that he was doing his best to hide his annoyed glare. "There are still many of us out there. Wandering the world, finding peace within." A mischievous raise of his eyebrow. "And some, stirring trouble."

"And what kind of trouble are you intending on stirring up, might I ask?"

"An adventure, of sorts." A slight pause. "A quest: to march and reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

Katrina felt the blood suddenly drain from her face. "You wish to march on Erebor and find the King's Jewel," she whispered harshly, leaning forwards to attempt to try and close the gap and make sure no one else could hear. "Might I remind you that a fire-breathing dragon sits upon a hoard of gold? Not to mention, it lies a half a world away. This is suicide."

"Perhaps," Gandalf mused. "But with you at our side, we stand more of a chance."

Katrina, now unamused by the conversation, pushed her drink away from her and leaned back in her chair. "We didn't run into each other by accident, did we Wizard?" Her tone of voice was darker and more threatening than she meant it to be, but it conveyed her annoyance all the same. 

Gandalf matched her stance. "No," he answered, "we did not." There was another awkward silence. "I need strong warriors—like you—on this mission, who is capable of protecting everyone."

"Protecting?" She laughed at this. "You know nothing about me. I don't do protecting."

"No?" That amusing glint in his eye was back. "Is that so?"

Katrina opened her mouth to refute before she glanced over his shoulder. A tavern staff member was emerging from the staircase, eyes filled with terror and crimson hands shaking. Her mouth was forming rushed sentences, and even though Katrina couldn't exactly hear what was being murmured, she knew that it was time to leave.

The Wizard seemed unbothered by Katrina's shift in demeanor. "You know who leads this quest," he pressed further. "So I can expect to see you soon?"

"How will I know where to meet you? And when?" Katrina's knee was bouncing again. The vagueness from the Wizard and the press for time was making her anxious again. "And how do you know of me?"

Gandalf was too relaxed for her liking. "We will see each other soon. And he will guide you."

Katrina wanted to ask more questions, but by now the bar staff were eyeing her skeptically. So with one last large swig of her drink, she bounded towards the door and exited the tavern.

By now, the rain had slowed down. The muddy roads stained her boots and sloshed as she walked, with some passersby kicking up dirt and staining the lower parts of her cloak. Her arms hugged her chest as she attempted to both warm herself up and weave past multiple individuals, staring at her feet to avoid lingering eyes and potential and unwanted conversations.

Her conversation with the Wizard was replaying over and over in her mind, but the bigger question was how did he know? How did she was at the tavern? Was it just Wizard's intuition? Why did he want her to come along on the quest? Did he know about her?

Her thinking was cut short when she heard a howl. She had been so deep in thought that she hadn't even realized that she had finally traversed through Bree and made it into the forest. Instead of being frightened from the howl, she felt comforted and smiled. So she howled out an "Awoo!" of her own into the night sky and leaned against a tree, soaking in the light of the moon as she waited.

It was a few short minutes later when she felt the ground slightly shake. A genuine smile grew on her face as thudding on the ground grew closer and closer, until suddenly she was being pounced on. She sputtered as she was met with bad breath and a moist nose sniffing her face before her face was being bathed by a giant tongue. 

"Felix!" she sputtered. "Hi, yes— Fel— oFF!"

Her big black and brown Warg whined as she shoved him away and crawled to her feet, but she did take care in making sure she scratched his ears, giggling when his tongue drooped out of his mouth and his hind leg started stomping in obvious glee.

"I do hope you enjoyed your plentiful meals," she murmured as she saddled herself on his back, gripping his fur. "Let's… let's go home."

---

Dol Guldur's dark and murky presence filled Katrina with comfort, something that would've picked people strange. The dark and turquoise atmosphere only exemplified its darkness, the moonlight further exaggerating its presence. The abandoned Hill of Sorcery stood at the highest point of the once known Greenwood the Great, its rocky and barren hill towering over the trees and threatening to spill its darkness further into the forest.

Her hair blew back when she entered through the entrance barrier, the spell that concealed everyone now lifting. Now she was able to see her kin of Orcs scurrying around the many floors of the fortress, some engaging in useless chatter and others running to report to their higher ranking officers. Few hallways were illuminated with torches, and stairs littered every twist and corner and lead to no true destination. Black concrete was impaled by bronze and rusted metal, adding to the already eerie atmosphere.

The chatter seemed to diminish slightly when she entered the structure, but it wasn't her that was causing everyone to cower.

Pretty soon, she was face-to-face with her approaching brother. "Hello, Bolg," she greeted with an unintentional bitterness in her voice. "Kind of you to wait for me, as you always do whenever I leave."

Whether or not Bolg sensed the distaste, he dismissed it with a low and rumbling growl; though, the growl wasn't out of malice, rather thoughtfulness that said he sensed her agitation — not at him, mind, but rather who they were about to meet.

"Our father awaits you, little sister," he said, taking note of how she frowned, squeezed her eyes shut, and sighed. "I take it your assignment went—"

"Just take me to Father," she grumbled. "To keep him waiting is unwise in my position."

Bolg knew better than to press, as they both knew the wrath of Azog was nothing to look forwards to; and with her being his favorite, that only meant the blissful words and compliments were backed by cruel and frightening consequences. But Bolg also knew that Azog would never truly harm Katrina, not really: just break her spirit enough to perform to her max ability. It was a cruel kindness, one that confused everyone.

So he nodded and led her up the numerous staircases, and Katrina kept her head held eye and steeled herself for what was to come. Her gaze was focused on Bolg's back, not letting the murmurs of other Orcs distract her; Felix snapped his teeth and growled at anyone who dared to look upon his master for too long.

Soon they reached the highest peak of the tower: an outcrop that looked over the whole of the forest, as well as the multiple floors below. Wargs were relaxing in open crevices on the walls, a few of them baring their teeth when Felix made his appearance. Her Warg's response to that was simply barking at them, the Warg letting out what seemed to be a satisfied snort when the other Wargs ducked their heads.   

Her father was standing on the edge of the outcrop, a torch lit to his left. His large white Warg was sat in its designated space perched comfortably as it, too, let out a snarl as the Children of Azog made their appearance, yellow beady eyes almost challenging Felix. Felix didn't respond, only bowed his head as the previous Wargs had.

Both Bolg and Katrina took their places near the white Warg's perch and knelt, eyes trained at the floor. "Father," Katrina spoke as firmly as she could, "I return."

Azog didn't even flinch at her voice, he was too focused on staring at the forest. "Rise, my child," he chided cooly. "You failed me."

Again, Katrina's eyes squeezed to a close. She hated that he knew her this well, and that he could see right through her. She could fool everyone in the world with relative ease, but her father? He could pick out her lie like it was nothing, but he could lie and she'd believe it like a fool.

There was a light shuffling as Azog shifted his feet to turn, to which she took cue to rise to her feet slowly. Bolg didn't move.

"My prized star, my golden assassin, fails me." Azog's Warg snorted softly when he took to petting it, and she couldn't tell if that action was out of kindness for the beast or if it was a way of him patronizing her. "Why? Why do you deny me the head of the Dwarf King?" 

When he didn't move from his spot, Katrina let herself release some of the tension in her shoulders, tilting her head back and forth. He was granting her leeway, and she wasn't going to squander the opportunity. "I was interrupted," she started, "by a Wizard: Gandalf the Gray."

At this, Azog's eyebrow rose.

"He knew I was in Bree, and he plans to retake the Lonely Mountain and defeat the dragon that resides." Katrina allowed her father to process the information before adding the cherry on top. "The Dwarf you hunt for, Thorin Oakenshield, is to lead the quest. And I am to accompany this brigade as a 'protector', of sorts." Her head shook in confusion. "After all this time, why would they choose now to take back the mountain?"

The Pale Orc simply ignored her question and retook his place at his peak. "You will go," Azog commanded, arms behind his back as he stared off into the night. He looked over his shoulder and said, "The Dwarf will never reach that mountain alive."

Katrina frowned. "So... you want me to kill him?"

A grin. "Precisely."

Notes:

if it seemed lazy towards the end, I dully apologize; a wave of exhaustion took over but I was too determined to finish. I've also been trying to figure out the best ways to introduce already well-known characters but add my own take to it.

Normally, we would see Orcs and characters like Azog as evil, but I find that the movies added some sort of cruel compassion to Azog's character through small details (i.e., petting his Warg before sending Yazneg to his death) — because of this, I'm trying to incorporate this in some way, but also show how manipulative and evil he really is. He's a fun character.

To further note, timelines may differentiate from the movies just a bit, just for realism's sake and also from the information I've gathered online. That'll be evident in the introduction of next chapter, and continue on from there.

Chapter 3: Cold Greetings

Notes:

I do, oh so very much, am sorry. A year hiatus. No excuse… sort of. I keep telling myself I will continue this story because I love the way it sounds in my head, and I can only hope I do myself justice by sticking with it.

Bold lettering for Black Speech

It had been about a month since his meeting with the Wizard.

One month. But it felt like eternity. 

Maybe because it has been eternity; it's been an eternity since he held hope in his breast, eternity since he felt excitement on the horizon, eternity since he felt the world was on his side.

A sudden dread twinged as his eyebrows drew closer together. If the world was truly on his side, then why wasn't his kin? Why deny the Dwarves a chance to reclaim their home, restore their honor, finally live a life of peace instead of groveling at the feet of Men who would dare treat them lesser than they deserved? A life in the Blue Mountains had been quaint and peaceful, he guessed, but it wasn't home. 

Erebor was home. And he swore to his family that he would kill that dragon, no matter what.

He quickly shook his head in attempts to dispel any distractions that wanted to venture forth into his head. Focus, he had to focus on the task at hand. A King wasn't supposed to show doubt in the faces of his peers, nor fear in the face of a daunting mission. He was prepared, he was ready — if he allowed himself to feel this way, one could argue that he was excited.

But, as quickly as it may have came, that excitement soon molded into frustration. Where in the fuck was he?

He had been riding through the Farthing woods for much longer than he knew he should've been riding for, anticipation rising with each tuff of his pony's hooves. A simple trek to the Shire was turning out to be an unwanted adventure, and every moment he spent lulling about in empty sticks were wasted moments that could be used to plan.

A feint rustling of the trees forced his cascaded raven hair out of his eyes as he looked up, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows angled downwards. The hairs that were standing on the back of his neck was a pure indication that something was wrong, but the anxiety in his stomach was an indication that he didn't know what was wrong — false, he knew what was wrong, the anxiety came from the problem itself:

He wasn't alone.

"You're lost."

There was no direct location of the sound, and now the anxiety was churning in his stomach. But he remained his composure.  What kind of king would he be if he showed fear every time a voice called out to him in the dark?

"You keep traveling in circles."

Still peering into the trees, he slid off his horse and cautiously placed his palm on the hilt of his axe. The voice was female, that much he could interpret, but there was still no direct location of where she actually was. 

Thorin's ears never picked up the soft thud of someone's feet touching the ground from behind, landing with so little but enough force to rustle the leaves surrounding both of them. She was so subtle, Thorin took the movement of the leaves for the wind, which was lowly whispering in his ears, telling him—

"Turn."

So he did, cautiously, palm still resting on the hilt of his axe. And when he did turn, the creases in his forehead relaxed and he allowed the tension in his body to dissipate. Before him stood a woman who appeared to be non-threatening (despite the—uncomfortable—mischievous glint in her eye screaming the opposite), petite, whose height matched him but on her toes would surpass him, and...

Beautiful.

"Who are you?" He was demanding to know who she was, not only to distract him from his intrusive thoughts, but to satiate his curiosity about her. 

"Demanding, aren't we?" Her voice was smooth, but he could sense an edge that could cut glass if her tone were to change ever so slightly. Her hand ran through the coat of his pony as she took small steps closer. Now he could hear the crunch of the leaves beneath her boots. "But not you, aren't you?" she cooed to the horse, the beast nickering softly against the palm of his hand. "You're headed to the Shire, aren't you, Thorin Oakenshield?"

The tension had returned to his body and his axe was brandished when she spoke his name. The anxious feeling had found a way back into the pit of his stomach once more, and it churned with every passing second of silence. His nose puffed as he inhaled and exhaled forcefully, grunting as he asked, "How do you know me?" His tone was more aggressive, and he mentally scolded himself for that. He needed to show no fear. What would she do against a mighty Dwarven King such as himself?

Kill him?

Even with the hostility radiating off of him, she never flinched. In fact, she smiled, and this, somehow, made Thorin feel more enraged.

"Relax," she said, tearing her attention away from his pony and standing up straighter. "Your Wizard approached me. Invited me to come along. Begged me, if we want to take it a step further." Her smile widened when she stuck her hand out in a greeting. "Ashdautas Vrasubatlat, Thorin Oakenshield. My name is Katrina, and I know the way to Bag End."

It was a slow six seconds until his breaths finally returned to normal and his grip on his axe loosened. His eyes wavered between her icy blue eyes and her hand for what seemed like forever until she asked, "Well, are you going to shake it? My arm is getting tired."

Two more seconds passed before he sighed and once again released the tension in his shoulders, allowing his arm to swing loosely before returning the gesture and shaking her hand.

And then there was a spark. But there was something odd about it: it wasn't the natural, static shock that occurred, like pinching a needle through skin with the accompanying pop! that followed suit. This felt more electric, as if both of their veins were being invaded with some foreign energy that was flooding through their bodies. 

Both of them retracted quickly, taking an equidistant step back from one another. Thorin stared at his palm for a few moments, and he looked up to find that she was waving hers around as if she was trying to get the feeling to go away. 

What was that?

"Are… are you alright, Katrina?" He felt awkward saying this, and he hoped it wasn't too evident in his voice. 

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. She quickly cleared her throat and brushed her palms on the edges of her dark blue, long-sleeved tunic, tightening her weapons belt held high on her waist before her and his pony were trudging on ahead. "Come on, Master Dwarf," she called almost playfully, "unless we'd like to be even more late."

And so he followed her, not standing exactly next to her but not completely behind her as well — a cautious distance away, if he would, simply so he could study her and once again try and quell the eager curiosity he was feeling. She didn't appear normal: she was no Dwarf, the creaminess of her skin and lack of facial hair confirmed that. Perhaps an Elf, but he knew it was rare for for Elvish women of the Arda to be as small as she, and her ears appeared the same as his; while she did have their smoothness, there was something about her that seemed cunning — more cunning than the Elves of the Wood he despised all too much. So perhaps the race of Men, as she was definitely brash enough.

Before long they had made it to the Shire. Thorin followed Katrina as they walked past the narrow opening of the mossy stone and flowers, signaling their departure from the woods before they stopped, simply choosing to admire the region of Eriador. Even in the pale moonlight, one would be able to admire the lush greenery of the Shire. The passing spring season meant blooming red and yellow flowers all over, and as they walked the path, they noticed how tame and well kept the shrubberies that belonged to each mound-shaped home were.

A part of him envied these Hobbits. Ignorant to the rest of the world, yet so careful when it came to their vegetation.  

But, once a upon a time, so was he. Once upon a time, all he and his family had to worry about was how deep they could go into the mines, not knowing that one day their own ignorance to the terrors of the world would cost them everything. 

Mahal help me. 

They continued to travel down the East Road before they were met with an intersection: turn left and travel up the hill, or continue straight along the path they were already on. Katrina wore a perplexed look. "What now?"

"We walk."

Thorin stiffened when she turned to give him a cold glare. "Walk," she mocked. "And then what? We hope that one of these homes belong to that of our Hobbit?"

"If we have to."

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "Why don't we ask one of these lovely creatures for directions? Perhaps one of them, in their brightly drunken state of mind, can help us."

For a third time, Thorin felt his body tense. "I don't believe that to be necessary."

The glare turned into an almost playful frown. "Too much for your pride, my good king?" When Thorin grit his teeth in response, she only laughed, that of which sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. "I jest, I jest. Which way do you think we should go?"

Once more, Thorin didn't answer. Instead, he marched past the young woman and kept it straight. He could feel her eyes burning a hole through his skull, but he chose to ignore the unsettling feeling and pressed on.

Thirty minutes or more passed until they found themselves at the same crossroad. Once again, Thorin insisted they keep it straight, sure in himself that he would find the house that Gandalf had marked for them to find. And once again, they found themselves right where they had started. 

They had roamed the whole Shire, twice, still with no indication of where they were supposed to be.

"I believe," Katrina started slowly, "that we should go left this time. Perhaps, we'll find our Hobbit up this hill."

Thorin grumbled something under his breath but followed her suggestion. They were about halfway through their trek up the slanted hill when the sound of commotion started growing nearer, and nearer, and nearer. Soon they had stopped, standing to the side as they watched Hobbits make their way in and out of the local inn known as the Green Dragon. Some Hobbit inhabitants were clearly drunk, arms hoisted over the shoulders of one another as they swayed awkwardly toward their homes. Others were giddy as they entered the inn, flushed as they left, or a mixture of both.

"Look at them." The bitterness in Katrina's voice caused Thorin to turn his head her way in surprise. "Ignorant to all else that move. To the world. They stay here, in their little bubbles, and treat time as nothing more than a luxury that others don't have." Her chuckle was cold and empty as she shook her head. "When the world burns, they'll be the first to fall."

This took Thorin aback. "You speak as if you don't care about it," he observed. "Like you don't care about other people."

"Because I don't." Now she was meeting his eyes. He noticed they were closer in proximity to one another, so much so that her breath tickled his nose when she spoke again. "I don't care about lowlifes who have no respect for themselves or others, nor for high lords that think poorly of everyone but themselves. I don't care about the men who say they've changed when they're still the same. I don't care about the men who make a difference to the world only to ruin it. No, I only care about myself, and only myself, because in the end, that's all that matters."

Thorin still didn't understand. It was ludicrous, all of it. "And what of your family? Do you care about them?"

Thorin grunted softly when he felt something sharp prodding at his rib. He looked down to see that she was holding a small dagger, and where she had gotten it from he had no idea. "Never, ever, ever speak of my family again unless you'd like to join them," she hissed lowly. Her eyes flashed with angry tears, and he noticed a sudden darkness to them: no longer were they that icy blue, but rather it seemed as if the color were draining itself from the iris. "They're dead. They left my life a long time ago, and the last thing I ever remember was—"

She stopped herself, biting the inside of her cheek. Thorin observed the way she squeezed her eyes shut, taking three big inhalations through her nose before exhaling the air from her mouth. The blade left his side, and he found himself releasing the breath he had been holding. Her eyes opened again and he noticed the color had returned to them, but there were still tears, no less. "We continue up the hill. The quicker we find this Hobbit hole, the more relieved I'm sure the both of us will feel."

So they continued, and all conversation ceased. Thorin felt himself replaying that small incident over and over in his head, but what scared him the most was that he didn't feel scared of her or the potential threat that she posed to his family, but rather he was intrigued about her. She was dangerous, but he wanted to know more about her. That alone shook him to his core. 

Soon the hill started to flatten itself out and they were standing in front of a Hobbit hole, and thankfully the copious amounts of ponies standing awkwardly in the lawn guaranteed that they had arrived at the right door. Like all the other Hobbit holes, the shrubbery was well kept, but this Hobbit had took the time to make sure he had cross-bred evert flower to perfection, down to the color and the bloom. Unlike the other Hobbit-holes, this one had a fence, which Thorin could only assume that this Hobbit was not keen on surprise visits, and Thorin felt a twinge of pity for the poor fellow as he and Katrina walked up the stone steps leading to the circular door marked with glowing blue runes. 

The mailbox next to the fence had a name. Baggins.

"THAT'S WHAT BILBO BAGGINS HATES!"

"Well," Katrina started awkwardly, "shall you do the honors, or shall I?"

Notes:

ashdautas vrasubatlat — someday I will kill you (yes, that actually is standard Orcish greeting)

Chapter 4: Persuasive Negotiations

Thorin gave three fists to the door. Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Any more forceful and you'll break the poor Hobbit's door down," Katrina remarked sarcastically. "The presence of a handful of Dwarves isn't enough torture already?"

"You have quite a way with your words." It was the only comment Thorin could make without any bitterness attached to it. He didn't know if her goading was purposeful or a naturally occurring phenomenon in her life, but his already waning patience was wearing thin. 

Her smile was ghostly. "I've been told it's a gift," she boasted. "Impressed, are we?"

Again, Thorin chose to remain silent and not fall victim to her incessant jabber. Mahal save me from this woman.

He was saved from any additional comments when the door opened. "Gandalf," Thorin practically sighed with relief, glancing at the Grey Wizard before peering into the small home. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way, twice."

"Which, with all due respect, my good king, could have been avoided had we asked one of the very pleasant Hobbit-folk who resides in this here region." 

Thorin sighed in defeat and fought every urge to roll his eyes as he carefully strode into the home, not failing to notice the cheeky smile Gandalf was wearing as he gestured both of them inside. "We would not have found it at all had it not been for the mark on the door," he continued as he worked on the straps of his cloak. A warm smile allowed itself onto his face when he met the eyes of two younger Dwarves, one blond, the other a short-haired brunette that had a stubble for facial hair.

Katrina observed this small but very important detail. In the hour they had spent together, his cheekbones had never lifted. It was only when he laid his eyes on that of his kin did he seem to allow himself to become more vulnerable, but at the same she could feel that he was also forcing himself to be more guarded, as if showing that he was relaxed equated to weakness. 

The host of the Hobbit hole sputtered in surprise. "Mark?" he exclaimed as he shuffled past three Dwarves. "There's no mark. It was painted a week ago!"

Katrina allowed herself to rest on the now closed door. "There's one there now," she commented, allowing a sly smile to form as she rose her chin. "I wonder how that came to be, Gandalf?"

"Now, now, Katrina," the Wizard grumbled lowly before remaining composure. "Bilbo Baggins, allow you to meet the leader of our company: Thorin Oakenshield."

Katrina's eyes were poised on the named Dwarf. She watched as his chest seemed to inflate and his shoulder broadened as he observed the Hobbit. His eyes held a different sense of pride than the look from earlier. Perhaps being in the presence of someone inferior to him was a way he could mend the ego she had bruised, but she knew that although he was brash, he wasn't so cruel as to demean lower life. 

Not like her.

"So," he mused, "this is the Hobbit." His stature changed from poised to curious as he held his arms behind him and circled the Hobbit — carefully, however; he couldn't make the prey aware he was stalking him. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins: have you done much fighting?"

Bilbo was lost. "Pardon?"

"Axe or sword?" By now, Thorin was back in front of him again. "What's your weapon of choice?"

"Handkerchiefs," Katrina blurted as she held up one out of a dozen (or so it seemed) that were placed on a windowsill, sending some of the Dwarves into fits of laughter. "Apparently."

There were two, however, that weren't laughing. Placed behind Thorin's left shoulder (protectively or safely, she couldn't quite deduce), they seemed to be staring her down by glaring. A simple glance at them would reveal them to be brothers, with one aged but immature and the other young and desperate to prove. 

"You shouldn't embarrass him like that." It was the younger Dwarf who had decided to boldly speak, a long-haired brunette whose facial features seemed too soft to be that of a Dwarf's. "He graces us into his home and you shame him relentlessly."

Now he had everyone's attention. Both of Katrina's eyebrows were risen in humor. Her pursed together as she slowly pushed herself off the wall she was on. "Well, dear me!" She gasped with feigned shock. "I do apologize for offending you, Master Dwarf." By now she was slowly waltzed toward them, placing one foot in front of the other in a stalking manner. "Perhaps we could... get to know each other a little bit. Allow me to amend my mistakes."

Bold and uncomfortable. It was a bad game, but she loved to play that way. There was an air of ambiguity in her words. Threatening? Suggestive? Either way, it was enough to make the Dwarf swallow thickly and shuffle in his place. 

And as she had hoped, she struck a nerve with the eldest. "You should know who you speak to." The blond's blue eyes had ice, but his words didn't stick like they should have. They spat off his tongue too boyishly, not at all as intimidating as the Dwarf she could now confirm they were cowering behind. Nonetheless, he continued. "You will treat us with respect if you should have a place in this company."

"And why do I already not, I wonder?" She wanted to walk past Thorin, but he moved his body in such a way that made them touch shoulders. It was protection. He was warning her, subtly, she knew this; she could feel his stare but was deciding to ignore her peripheral view. "Is it because I am not a Dwarf? A woman?" She allowed herself to size the blond up and down. "You seem to be one who... enjoys their women, from what I see." 

Whatever maturity he held (if any) quickly disintegrated. "We are the heirs to the greatest Dwarf King to ever grace Middle-earth!" He shouted. "And we will not be forced to suffer the gib of—"

"That is enough." Thorin didn't even have to raise his voice, the attention had shifted to him as soon as he opened his mouth. Almost immediately the two boys closed their mouths and tightened their jaw. But she wasn't focused on them, she was too busy staring down the Dwarf King himself. Eventually she allowed herself a smile and inclined her chin in relent, and it was enough for Thorin to move his upper body and allow their shoulders space from one another. 

Tense. Dangerous. Spectacular. She was loving all of it.

"Well..." Bilbo eventually murmured, "I do have some skills at conkers, if you must know. But.. I... I fail to see why that's relevant." His voice grew softer and his body language shy as Katrina slowly shifted her body to face that of the Hobbit. For the third time that night, everyone's attention had shifted in unison, only it was to the one who wanted it least.

"Thought as much," Thorin mused aloud. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The mood seemed to lighten slightly as the Dwarves chucked at their king's comment, all of them shuffling in unison to the dining room. Katrina didn't miss the lingering stare of the brunette and the angry glare of the blond.

"That would be Fili and Kili," a goofy looking Dwarf informed as he approached from her left. "Try not to take what they say to heart. They're Thorin's nephews. They'd do anythin' to try an' impress him, even if it meant embarrassin' themselves."

"Mm." Her head titled toward him. "Are we sure Kili is a Dwarf?"

The Dwarf's face glowed as his cheeks crinkled from laughter. His chocolate eyes were warm and inviting, and his lopsided smile was full of fun and wistful ignorance. His mustache was well groomed and it was obvious he combed his beard, but for a Dwarf that had that aspect of manliness he adorned a hat that was childish and silly, yet it added charm that somehow drew her closer to his presence. "I like your hat," she blurted, suddenly full of embarrassment. 

If he noticed, he didn't comment. Instead, he beamed and pulled on the wing before suddenly clearing his throat. "Where are my manners!" he exclaimed. He placed himself in front of the assassin, bowing low. "Bofur, at your service."

"Oh, um..." Katrina just stood there, not entirely knowing how to respond. "Katrina, at yours?" It came out more as a question than a statement.

Bofur straightened himself, his smile somehow wider as he stuck his hand out. Katrina just stared at it for three seconds too long before putting hers out too. To her utter surprise, he kissed her knuckles instead of shaking her hand. The heat crept up her neck as it made its way to her cheeks. Bofur tilted his head to the side before saying, "I can take your cloak."

"Oh, ah... sure."

Bofur gingerly took it out of her hands and hung it on a rack next to the door. Katrina was stunned; it had been so long since she had experienced the love and affection of another human soul, she forgot how much she craved it. But then she quickly remembered why she had to be without it. How else could she perform if every time she received a simple kiss she allowed herself to melt?

His arm swinging around her shoulders pulled her from thought as he guided her past the halls of the Hobbit hole and to the dining room, where chatter was heard. "Now, considering that you're new here to our hearty crew, you'll want to know the names of my companions." Bofur and Katrina stopped at the dining room entrance, where everyone (expect Thorin, who wasn't in the room at the moment along with Bilbo) stared at them. "Now, the brute closest to your left is Dwalin."

Dwalin only grunted. Katrina grimaced.

"His brother is on your right, the Dwarf with snow white hair."

"I like snow."

"Great! Me too."

The white haired Dwarf stood and extended a hand. "Balin, at your service," he greeted kindly. She shook his hand in kind with a thin smile.

"Right! Next to Balin is Gloin, Nori, and his two other brothers: Dori and Ori. Bombur, my brother, is at the end."

All of them waved. Bombur barely registered their presence and continued to munch on the loaf of buttered bread that was in his hands.

Bofur swallowed thickly. "You know the princes."

Katrina faked a courtesy. "Majesties. My apologies for earlier, I humbly request your forgiveness so my soul can be cleansed of the guilt that lays waste to it."

They sneered in response.

Bofur was quick to give them a reprimanding glare before continuing. This Dwarf was slightly older and was leaning toward them with what looked like an ear trumpet in his hand. "This is Oin, our medic."

Katrina's eyebrow rose in caution when her eyes fixed onto a Dwarf with an axe lodged into his skull. Bofur quickly answered. "That's Bifur, my cousin. He, ah, got into a bad accident. Axe in his head hit a part of his brain, making him unable to speak the language we all know. But on the bright side, he speaks fluent Khuzdul."

"Wonderful." Katrina sighed and did a once over of the dining room. "The brute and the Wizard are missing."

Bofur glanced behind them before clearing his throat. "He's, ah, right behind you."

"The brute or the Wizard?"

"Both."

Katrina silently cursed herself for jumping when she heard's Thorin's voice. She glanced down at his hands, seeing a bowl of soup in his hands, along with a free pint of ale that he gestured towards her. They stared each other down before Katrina reluctantly took the pint from his hands and stepped to the left. Bofur took his place next to Balin, innocently patting the free space that was next to him as if gesturing for her to sit. She shrugged and gingerly took a seat, not missing his smile as he pulled out his pipe. Thorin sat at the head with his food and pint of ale while Gandalf sat on the stool to the left, a pipe also in his hands.

It was Balin who decided to officially start the meeting. "What news from the meeting at Ered Luin? Did they all come?"

"Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms," Thorin responded proudly.

The company of Dwarves started to murmur in satisfaction. Balin seemed the most excited. "All of them!" he practically sang.

"And do the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin interjected. "Is Dain with us?"

A moment of silence as Thorin stirred his soup around. "They will not come," he answered uneasily. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

There were numerous grumbles of disappointment at that comment, visibly annoyed. Katrina shuffled around in her seat, glancing at Bofur. He, too, seemed preoccupied in mumbling as well, so Katrina decided to drink her ale in peace.

"Y-you're going on a quest?" Bilbo practically squeaked from the dining room doorway.

Everyone looked back. "Ah, Bilbo, my dear fellow," said Gandalf, actually acknowledging the Hobbit before saying: "Let us have a little more light."

Bilbo hummed and scampered off to get a candle light. As he left the room, Gandalf pulled out a map from his robes and started to set it on the table. "Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, lies a single solitary peak," he answered as the map was placed down.

Bilbo was finally back with a candle, so he leaned in and looked over Thorin's shoulder. "The Lonely Mountain," he mused.

Despite the previous knowledge, Katrina couldn't help it. As soon as that name came from Bilbo's lips, she spat her drink. The ale spewed all over Dwalin and Bifur before she started to cough violently from choking. All of the Dwarves stared at her in shock as Bofur held her steady. "The Lonely Mountain?" she managed to exclaim. "Are you crazy?! That's suicide mission at its finest! You'll never make it there alive."

Well... that part was mostly true. They wouldn't succeed if Thorin was dead. And even if they tried to go on, they would die by Katrina's hands.

Even Bofur if she was forced to.

Her mind twinged in confusion when she felt a pang in her heart.

"Perhaps, but Oin has read the portents, and the portents say: it's time," Gloin defended.

Katrina didn't look convinced. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "What portents?" she demanded.

Oin took over. "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold," he explained before reciting what seemed like a prophecy: "When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"Don't read too deep into the meaning, Katrina," Kili spat. "We all know you'll always be a monster."

Katrina's emotions betrayed her when she slammed her palms into the table and stood. "You know what, Dwarfling, I would be honored to show you how right you are by murdering you in front of your brother. One less heir to deal with. Perhaps then he would understand just why I was selected by one of the wandering Istari of Middle-earth."

"Do it, I dare you!" Kili challenged, standing up as well.

In the blink of an eye a dagger was being hurled his direction. Gandalf, perhaps (irresponsibly) anticipating such an outburst quickly shouted in Black Speech to redirect the blade from going through his skull to just barely shaving the side of his head and cutting a braided strand of hair. All the Dwarves craned their necks to look, a mixed reaction when they viewed that the dagger had dug itself so deep into the wall, only the hilt was showing. Soon their necks were craning toward a glowering Katrina.

"That was a warning. Do not ever get me that way again."

Her threat was just as much a warning. Her color in her eyes had begun to drain the same way they had at the Green Dragon. The overstimulation was causing her senses to go on overdrive: the smell of blood seeping from Kili's barely created cut, the whispers of the Dwarves; hell, her pulse was beating so violently against her neck it was beginning to cloud her vision. 

Not now. You can't show yourself now. Not when this is so important.

Three deep breaths later and she was sat back down in her seat. A sudden wave of exhaustion hit her body and she allowed her neck to dip over the headrest. She was grateful when Bofur all but placed his pipe in her lips, allowing her body to relax as she inhaled the smoke. 

So much for her despise of the act. 

"Wha— What beast?" Bilbo Baggins stuttered.

"Oh, well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and calamity of our age," Bofur said casually after Katrina took another big huff of smoke from his pipe. "Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals—"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is," Bilbo snapped thinly.

Ori, being the youngest, jumped to his feet in a heartbeat. "I'm not afraid. I''m up for it. I'll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!" he stated loud and proud.

Katrina rolled her eyes as the company of Dwarves cheered the little one on. I guess my work will be cut out then.

Dori was not impressed as he pulled Ori back down to his seat with a stern, "Sit down!"

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, yet we number just thirteen," Balin mused to the group. "And not thirteen of the best."

Katrina leaned in to whisper into Bofur's ear. "Nor brightest."

The company seemed to hear her words, and in combination with Balin's, they started to chat angrily among one another and shout things in anger. Katrina smirked in her seat, ignoring the annoyed look that the Wizard was giving the girl. Thorin simply rubbed his temple and sighed.

Fili banged his fist hard on the table. "We may be few in number, but we're fighters, all of us. To the last Dwarf," he shouted, banging his fist yet again for emphasis.

Kili seemed like an excited toddler because of the way he was practically jumping up and down in his seat. "And you forget, we have a Wizard in our company. Gandalf would've killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

This seemed to freak the Wizard out a little. "Oh, well, I wouldn't say that—"

"Well, how many then?" Dori intervened.

Gandalf stumbled a bit. "What?" he asked, playing dumb.

"How many dragons have you killed?"

Nervous and slightly embarrassed, Gandalf started to cough on his pipe. Smoke escaped his mouth in little wisps as he wisely avoided the question.

Dori wasn't as dumb as he must have thought as he shot up from the table. "Go on, give us a number!"

That's when the fighting started. After Dori had decided to test the Wizard, all of the other Dwarves started to chime in on the ruckus. Shouts and accusations were being thrown everywhere as a heated fight started to break out.

Thorin seemed to have finally had enough and he rose from his seat. "Shazara!" he bellowed, making all of the Dwarves shut up and sit back in their seats. Even Katrina was shocked at his sudden outburst.

The lead Dwarf cooled down before continuing: "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon, Smaug, has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look to the East assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du bekar! Du bekar!"

Again, the Dwarves stood up from their seated positions as they started to cheer like maniacs, their spirits raised and their hopes lifting. Katrina shuffled nervously around in her seat; the amount of confidence the Dwarves had was making her job ten times harder.

"You forget, the Front Gate is sealed," Balin spoke when the Dwarves sat back down. A sigh from the elder Dwarf. "There is no way into the mountain."

Katrina let a silent breath of relief from her nose.

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true."

Damn it, Wizard.

Gandalf seemed to magically pull out a key from his robes as he flipped it around his fingers. It was a silver key of Dwarven make, and writing seemed to be engraved all over the place. Everyone looked at it in awe and shock while Katrina simply gritted her teeth and hardened her jaw.

"How came you by this?" Thorin breathed in a rather hoarse and low voice.

"It was given to me by your father. By Thrain," Gandalf replied smoothly. "For safe keeping. It is yours now."

Katrina's heart rate shot well beyond it's normal pace and anxiety racked her body upon hearing that name. But it was gone as quick as it came.

Thorin took the key, flipping it between his own fingers as he examined the ring. Fili seemed to be thinking hard. "If there is a key... there is a door," he mused.

Katrina suppressed a sarcastic comment for the sake of the moment they were having.

Gandalf nodded. He took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed to the map. "These runes speak of a passage to the Lower Halls."

Kili put a thoughtful hand on Fili's shoulder, a soft grin on his face. "There's another way in," he said.

Gandalf shrugged. "Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." The Wizard sighed and propped his elbow on the table, resting his head in his palm as he pointed to the map with the end of his pipe. "The answer lies hidden in this map somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle-earth who can."

"So what's your plan?" Katrina asked.

"The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage." A glance to the Hobbit was sent by the Wizard. "But if we are careful and clever, I believe it can be done."

Ori nodded in understanding. "That's why we need a burglar," he mused.

"Oh, Valar, noo," Katrina groaned quietly, gliding her palms down her face. "Not the Hobbit."

Bilbo didn't seem to hear her as he chuckled and gave a light tug of his suspenders. "Hmm. And a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And are you?" Gloin demanded.

Everyone looked his way. The poor Hobbit paled as he gave them all confused looks. "Am I what?"

Oin was excited as ever, his odd looking ear trumpet attached to his ear. "He said he's an expert! Hey, hey!" he cheered with a laugh to his friends.

"Me?" Bilbo exclaimed as the pieces started to put themselves together. "No. No, no, no. I'm not a burglar," Bilbo stuttered. "I've never stolen a thing in my life."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to agree with Mr. Baggins," Balin sighed. "He's hardly burglar material."

"Ah, see?" Bilbo said as the Dwarf justified his case. "Told you."

"Aye, the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can't fight nor fend for themselves," Dwalin grumbled.

"You're absolutely right."

"He'll be the first to die," Katrina added. "The danger will eat him whole and he will either die from fear alone or stupidity in bravery."

Bilbo wasn't as excited to chime in on that opinion. 

The murmurs grew into bickering until shouting was involved as comments about the soft-hearted Hobbit was being thrown back and forth across the room. Some were overconfident, others not so much. Even Bofur and Katrina had their go at a spat before the room rumbled and darkened.  "Enough!" Gandalf bellowed, and Katrina figured that it was his anger boiling over that was causing the room to grow in darkness. "If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!" The light in the room returned as the Wizard calmed down, sighing and continuing: "Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of a Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage."

The girl shrugged casually. "Or disadvantage if he, I don't know, dies."

Poor Bilbo looked petrified.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Katrina, do try and be a little more optimistic," Gandalf grumbled before turning to Thorin. "You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins."

"You also chose her." Fili couldn't help but get his opinion in. 

"Yes, but—"

"No," Katrina found herself blurting. "It doesn't make sense. Why? I have nothing to offer, nothing to gain from this suicide quest. So why go out of your way to look for me?"

"Because there is a lot more to the both of you than appearances suggest, Miss Katrina. You've both got a great deal to offer this company. Including yourselves."

There was such genuineness in Gandalf's voice that it made her feel shame. He knew nothing about her and he was willing to make this bet.

What an old fool. 

There was a slight scowl on his face before his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Very well, we will do it your way." He faced Balin. "Give him the contract."

Bilbo was a sputtering mess, though none of his complaining was heard as the Dwarves mumbled to themselves loudly as Balin stood and held a folded up piece of paper in his hands. "Just the usual," he explained. "Summery of out-of-pocket expenses, time requirement, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" Bilbo squeaked as an impatient Thorin snatched the paper from his friend and shoved it into the Hobbit's chest without even looking at him. Bilbo frowned at the moody Dwarf before stepping into the hallway, murmuring to himself as he looked at the contract. Katrina watched as Thorin leaned to whisper into Gandalf's ear.

"I cannot guarantee his safety," he warned.

Gandalf noddded. "Understood."

"Nor will I be responsible for his fate."

Gandalf swallowed the lump in his throat. "Understood," he said uneasily.

Katrina glanced to Bofur, who shrugged. She only frowned as she leaned her head on her palm, her elbow resting on the table as Bilbo read the rather long contract.

"Okay... let's see here," he murmured. He let out a rather long sigh before reading: "'Terms: Cash on delivery, up to but not exceeding one-fourteenth of profit, if any.' Hmm. Seems fair," he mused. "Uh, 'Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, but not including... lacerations...'" His eyes seemed to pop out of his sockets. "Evisceration?" He flipped open a flap of the contract, his jaw dropped before he glared at the company in the dining room. "Incineration?"

"Oh, aye. He'll met the flesh off your bones in a blink of an eye," Bofur oh so casually remarked as he smoked his pipe next to Katrina.

Bilbo blinked repeatedly, looking to the floor as he put the contract to the side, a tiny whimper escaping his lips as he tried to take it all in.

Balin raised an eyebrow. "You all right, laddie?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just feel.." He inhaled sharply and put his hands on his knees before standing straight again. "I just feel a bit faint."

Bofur and Katrina leaped out of their seats and got close to the circular entrance. "Think furnace with wings," Bofur continued.

Bilbo rested his weight on his knees. "Air. I need air," he practically breathed out.

Katrina was giddy with cruel excitement. "Keep going," she whispered.

"Flash of light, searing pain, and then—"

"Poof!" Katrina exclaimed.

"You're nothing more than a pile of ash," Bofur finished, waving his pipe around.

Bilbo stood upright, looking around. He made a grunt-like noise, tilting his head to the side and looking at the company and shaking his head. "Nope," he said before he plopped to the floor.

Gandalf shook his head and sighed. "Oh, very helpful, Bofur," he muttered, glaring at the girl who was on her elbows, clutching her stomach as her laughter rang like bells throughout the small Hobbit hole.

Chapter 5: Ghosts

Notes:

After some research, I've changed some things in the Prologue. To make sense, I have changed Katrina's home from outside Lórien to the Vales of Anduin (more specifically Woodsedge) as it has connections to the Misty Mountains, Mirkwood, and Dol Guldur. This will make more sense as Katrina's story develops.

Shortly after Katrina and Bofur's cruel joke (more on her end), the poor Hobbit had passed out. Gandalf didn't take this lightly and demanded she carry him to his sofa so he could regain some of his dignity when he awoke. Both of them received a a long and drawn out reprimand that fell on deaf ears as each word simply traveled straight through one and out the other.  

Now she and Gandalf were huddled around the Hobbit in a spare office room. The poor Hobbit was chewing on his inner lip and nervously tapping his fingers against his mug filled with tea. "I'm alright," he murmured through many blinks, "just let me sit quietly for a moment."

"You've been sitting quietly for far too long," Gandalf all but snapped, causing Bilbo to sputter before sheepishly taking a drink. "Katrina, please leave us. Mr. Baggins and I have much to discuss."

She didn't need to be told twice. Her feet carried her aimlessly through the Hobbit hole as she pondered on where to make herself comfortable. Even with so few Dwarves the dining room was still bustling with activity, Thorin's brooding stature was occupying the whole of the hallway, and she didn't feel like stuffing herself in the pantry just for the sake of solitude. 

That meant the living room. Fantastic. 

She exhaled slowly and slowly made her way over, peeking inside. The Durin boys, Dwalin, Balin, Bofur, Ori, Dori, and Bombur were occupying that room. Whatever chatter existed quicklu ceased when they saw her standing at the doorway, both parties giving each other pointed looks. Fili and Kili sneered at her, standing and striding out of the room, bumping into her as they left. She bared her teeth and snarled behind their back before walking in.

She made her way to the couch, Ori and Dori quickly scurrying off and sitting elsewhere. Katrina only rolled her eyes and sat down, a long sigh exiting her lips. Dwalin was whispering with Nori in the halls, Ori and Dori also speaking in hushed whispers. Katrina leaned forwards a bit and fumbled her fingers as she looked to the ground and listened.

"...what's she doing here? We don't need her," Nori hissed. "She's crazy, crazier than a whole Goblin hoard!"

"Hush, Nori," Dwalin growled. "Although I agree that we don't need the freak here, it's not our choice. If Thorin want's her to come, then so be it."

Katrina growled and listened elsewhere.

"...I wonder where she's from," the thoughtful voice of Ori mused. "She seems different, not like the rest of us. Odd, possibly, but she's pretty. I like her eyes."

Thanks, Ori.

"Hush yourself and dispel those thoughts from your head!" Dori snapped. "It's obvious: she's under some dark spell."

Katrina scoffed and rolled her eyes at the irony of that statement. They were scared of her. It gave her a sense of pride to know she had that type of power over them. She allowed her mind to formulate, make plans: how would she pick them off? Start with the weak to get it done quickly or start with the strong so there was no resistance left? She sighed heavily and raked her fingers through her hair. They were afraid, but she was no fools. These were Dwarves, and although their fear made them clumsy, it also made them all the more protective. 

"May I sit?"

Balin's kind voice cut her thinking short. She cleared her throat awkwardly and moved slightly to the left to allow him space. He inclined his head and took a seat, facing the girl. She slowly met his eyes and tilted her head to the side. "Do mind if I ask a few questions, lass?" he asked yet again.

Katrina wanted to reject him, but she found herself shrugging and shaking her head. She tucked in her legs and brought them close to her chest, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them. "Shoot."

Balin thought about it. "Where are you from, lass?"

"Bree." A lie.

"Really?" It was a genuine expression, but no less quizzical. "A nice lass like you doesn't belong in Bree." A pause. "...originally?"

Her head tilted to the side, feigning a smile. "Bree and I have... history together. Enough to make it home to me more than where I would have originally hailed had it still existed." There were some truth to her words.

Balin seemed intrigued. "You're puzzling," he admitted. "As you can see"—he gestured to the Hobbit hole with a wave of his hand—"we are Dwarves. However, we cannot place a finger about you." He frowned slightly in thought. "You do not fit the physical stature of of... anyone. So, what race might you hail?"

"I'm of the race of Men," was the simple reply. It wasn't a full lie... she was born part human. If she would've said Elf... Katrina didn't want to think about that.

"What of—"

"Master Balin, I do not mean to be rude, but why do I interest you so?" Katrina interrupted. "Do I make you or the company uncomfortable in any way?  Don't answer that, it's obvious I do. Is this some sort of trust initiation, or an interrogation? If anything, this is actually quite amusing me, asking me questions about my life when I know nothing about any of you. I find that a little unfair, don't you?"

Balin was taken aback, and he stuttered a bit. "I did not mean to offend you in any way," he murmured.

"Of course not," Katrina mumbled. "Half of you have succeeded in that already."

Balin blinked in shock. He opened his mouth to speak, probably questions, until Bofur cleared his throat from the doorway. The two of them looked to see the Dwarf leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. "Balin, I think Thorin wants to see you," he said, gesturing to the hall.

Balin sighed and stood, inclining his head towards Katrina before leaving the room. Bofur watched him leave before he skipped towards Katrina and plopped down next to her. She giggled as Bofur put his arms behind his head and exhaled. "I believe my fateful intervention deserves some praise," he pointed out as he prepped his pipe. "That at least deserves a 'thank-you'."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Thank you so much, dearest Bofur," she dragged out.

Bofur grinned before he quickly turned serious and matched Katrina's sitting position, rubbing his chin. "I know you lied to Balin," he said in a hushed voice. "You're not really from Bree, and you're not all human, are you?"

Katrina's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Impressive," she mused. "Not many people can read me as good as you can."

"Pray tell, lassie?" Bofur asked, scooting a little closer. "Where are you really from?"

Katrina thought about it, tilting her head to the side and playing with the laces of her boots that she suddenly found interesting. "Anduin," she said quietly before pausing. "Woodsedge, in a settlement called Hultvís. Between the Carrock and Gladden Fields near what's now Mirkwood."

"So you're Elvish?" Bofur whispered. 

"Half," Katrina answered. "I really am part Man on my father's side. My mother was an Elf of what used to be the Greenwood. That's how they met. Sadly, I didn't obtain much of her beauty, but my sister did."

"Your sister?" he mused. "What was her name?"

A pause. "Caitlyn," she whispered. "My brother's name was Runin."

A sharp pain hit her heart when she mentioned her siblings. She hadn't spoke about Caitlyn or Runin or even her parents in so long, yet here she was mentioning them again.

Bofur hummed through his pipe. "So, Kat, anything about yourself worth knowing?"

Katrina bit her tongue to suppress a scoff. Then she frowned. "What did you call me?"

Bofur's casual demeanor was confusing her. "Kat," Bofur responded. "You know, as a nickname. I give all my friends nicknames." He gave a goofy smile as to emphasize his point. 

"Even Thorin?" she asked with a raised brow. Then the frown returned on her face as she peered into the hall. What looked to be a shaken Bilbo was quickly walking out of the room he was in, ruffling his curls in what Katrina assumed to be an attempt to regain his bearings. Looking further into the darkness of the hall, her eyes narrowed to see Thorin and Balin talking in hushed voices.

Bofur looked on, too. "It's best not to pry into their conversation," he murmured. "Whenever they talk, it's usually serious."

Katrina frowned. "Really?" she mused. "What, about Erebor?"

"Mostly," he said.

Katrina hummed. "Can you tell me, Bofur, about how it was back then? Erebor, I mean."

He got comfortable in his chair. "Erebor's existence began long ago, but before, there was the city of Dale, its markets known far and wide, full of the fine and vail, peaceful, and prosperous. And this city, when it was in its prime, lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth: Erebor."

He sighed thoughtfully. "Oh, Erebor, Katrina, you should have seen it. Built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this city was—is—legend. Its wealth lay in the earth in precious gems hewn from rock and in seas of gold running like river through stone."

Katrina tilted her head to the side. "I've heard that the skill of the Dwarves is unequal," she mused. "Your people fashion objects of great beauty out of diamond, emerald, ruby, and sapphire."

"Yes," he agreed. "Ever we delved deeper into the dark... and that is where we found it: The Heart of the Mountain."

Katrina was confused. "What was it?" she whispered.

Bofur lowered his voice. "The Arkenstone," he said. "Thror named it the King's Jewel. He took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine. All had to pay homage to him, even the great Elven King, Thranduil."

Katrina's eyes widened. "Thranduil?" she just barely breathed out. Her jaw locked. "Let me guess, as your wealth grew, your lack of goodwill boiled over."

He nodded. "Thror had taken a box of Lasgalan gems, the jewel of the former Greenwood. It was their price of friendship, the king argued. Thorin didn't agree to this, but as a prince, his concerns fell short to nothing." He sighed. "No one really knew what started the rift," he explained in a low voice. "The Dwarves say that the Elves refused to give them their rightful pay."

"While the Elves claim that you stole their treasure," Katrina finished, chuckling at his raised eyebrow. "I've spent time with the Elves of the Greenwood, and I have heard their stories."

Bofur hummed. "It is sad how old alliances can be broken, how friendships between people can be lost."

"And for what?" Katrina scoffed. "Pathetic."

"After that incident, Thorin went to Balin for guidance, seeing as their friendship had carried over since childhood. Balin reassured Thorin that alliances has their lifelines and those that were not fit to last would wither out in a way that fate saw fit. But then Thror started to go mad, Thorin started to lock up within himself, and things changed. The only people who were ever able to get anything out of him was his siblings and his Balin. We rarely see him smile."

Katrina hummed thoughtfully. "How long ago was this?"

Bofur looked her square in the eye. "Twenty-nine years before Thror's murder," he answered before looking down. "Thorin was only twenty-four when Erebor was taken. He's the eldest of two siblings, and one of them is no more, killed in battle."

Another slight pause. "And the other?"

Bofur smiled. "She lives, and she's also the mother of Fili and Kili."

"That's unfortunate," Katrina muttered before clearing her throat. "What's her name?"

"Dis," he answered. "She's quite beautiful, too."

Bofur didn't know that the color had drained from Katrina's face when she asked: "And what of the other?"

Bofur was about to answer, but both of them looked up when Dwalin stomped in the room in order to make his presence known, his eyes burning with fire. "How dare you," he growled out. "How dare you speak of the King's history like as if it were some bedside story."

"She has a right to know. She is part of the company now," Bofur answered calmly.

Dwalin sneered at the both of them. "That gives you no right to share what the King would wish to be private."

"Your brother came to me and demanded to know every detail of my life and excused it as 'for the good of the company'. I merely am curious of our leader and why he would risk the lives of everyone here to go back," Katrina retorted, the frustration brewing in her chest. 

His eyes locked with her stormy ones. Her jaw locked, and his fists tightened in response. He pointed her way, practically spitting out his words with venom: "You have no right to know, no right to ask, no right to pry, nothing," he snarled. "What has to do with our kin is our own business, not some stranger—an outcast—like you."

Katrina would've lunged for him if Bofur hadn't have outstretched his arm and placed it on her knee. "Dwalin, before you say anything else that you might regret, I suggest you leave," he advised lowly. "For both our sakes."

Although that part came in a mere whisper, Katrina's sensitive ears caught that and her head snapped his way. His eyes wouldn't meet hers.

She rotated her jaw around before chuckling softly in pure bitterness. With one simple motion she was up, shoving past Dwalin to get into the main hall. She didn't bother to check if she was being followed or not, she just stormed out of the house and slammed the door shut. When she reached the front lawn, Katrina tugged at her hair and inhaled sharply while muttering to herself in order to calm down as the words of the company swirled around in her head. 

The mission hadn't even started yet and she could feel the mounting pressure take hold: the Dwarves, her "family", even herself. So many conceding opinions and expectations were starting to make a home in her mind and tug at the threadings that bloomed her thoughts. And the worst of it? She didn't know why she cared. (Yes she did.) Something didn't feel normal, like her missions normally felt. And she could feel herself start to combust from it all. 

I'm not a monster. I'm not a monster.

Yes you are, the other voice, her unwilling roommate, responded condescendingly. You know you are. All those years of murder and bloodshed, only for your vengeance to be unsatisfied. You loathe yourself, and you lock yourself up within the walls of self-pity and self-hatred. You're weak, Katrina, and you have only your foolishness to blame.

Shut up!

"This is all YOUR fault!"

Katrina screamed in anger, grabbing the nearest thing—which was a chair—and flinging it across the path and over a hill, wincing when it shattered in front of another Hobbit's yard, a female shriek heard from inside the house.

"Are you done with your temper tantrum yet?" Thorin asked from behind her.

She snarled and turned around, finding the Dwarf leaning on the doorframe of the Hobbit hole. His arms were crossed and a frown was on his face. She was too exhausted to mirror him so she just shrugged. "I don't know," she answered with an edge. "What the hell does my doing anything matter to you?"

Thorin sighed and looked to the floor, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Katrina, if we're going to be stuck on the same quest together for over thirteen months, you're going to have to get along with my company."

"Excuse me, but if I recall correctly, it was your nephews who instigated this whole mess, or do you lack the ability to recall such an incident? It is also your company who think that they have the right to judge my character when they have no idea who or what I am. They don't know where I came from, what I've gone through, or what I can do if provoked enough. So, no, Thorin Oakenshield, it is your company that is going to have to get along with me. Do you understand?"

With that, she passed Thorin as calmly as she could and walked back inside the Hobbit hole. Thorin blinked a few times before following her. "Then I suppose I have to ask you," he started, "what is it about you that makes up your character?"

That question made her stop in the middle of then hallway and spin around. "What?"

"Your character," Thorin responded, his arms still crossed. "We have no right to judge you, you are correct. But we cannot get to know who you are if we don't know your character."

She thought about it. In all honesty, she didn't even know. Her demon was right: she loathed herself, and in her self-hatred and wallowing, she had forgotten who she was and if that same girl from so long ago could ever come back.

"I'm selfish," she admitted. "The same as all of you Dwarves. But I am strong, and I will carry this mission on my shoulders to the end if I have to."

She didn't give a confused Thorin the opportunity to have her explain herself because she was already walking away. She would carry the weight of everything on this because she had to. Her survival was dependent on it. 

 Katrina found herself traveling with the Dwarves to the living room. She sat in front of the hearth, hugging her knees tightly to her chest in attempt to make herself feel better. The warmth she was feeling grew when another presence took it's arrival to her right. 

Bofur was awkwardly lighting his pipe. ""I want to apologize for early. If I antagonized you in any way possible, I did not mean to."

His genuineness made her shoulders sag and she breathed out a heavy sigh. "I know," was the only thing she was able to say. 

The whole of the Company had gathered into the living room. The excitement from the quest and the idea of new members was replaced with calmness and sincerity. The fire that was crackling and the smoke from everyone's pipe added to the ambiance, and she found herself able to relax her body for the first time thus far. Pretty soon, the Dwarves started to hum lowly.

Then, much to her surprise, Thorin began to sing. 

Far over the Misty Mountains Cold

To dungeons deep

And caverns old

Me must away

'Ere break of day

To find our long forgotten gold

Balin and Bofur started to sing now:

The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were moaning in the night

The fire was red

It flaming spread

The trees like torches blazed with light...

---

Katrina couldn't sleep. The light from the hearth had died out and the warmth was gone, but Katrina found herself staring and focusing intently on the faint flicker of light trying to show itself from under the numerous logs. The Dwarves were all soundly asleep, either in the living room or in some spare rooms Bilbo had, and their snores were the only source of noise in the house. Bofur had curled up into a ball to her right, using his hat as a pillow. He looked so tranquil and at peace, and she envied him. 

Her focus intensified when the fire finally smothered. Something felt wrong.

She didn't know what was wrong, but she knew that there was something there that was making her uncomfortable.

When she felt a slight breeze and a whisper of a childish noise to her left, she realized why she was so on edge.

"A will-o'-the-wisp."

The little blue light seemed to be dancing around in the air, its soft and almost innocent hum reaching her ears as the human-like wisp waved her over, almost tempting her to follow. 

Katrina, you know this is a bad idea.

Why? The wisp may be trying to show me something.

Something that you don't need a constant reminder of.

Katrina shook her head in a sheepish attempt to dispel those—true—thoughts. 

Katrina, you will-o'-the-wisps are not to be reckoned with. They can either lead you to your fate or remind you of what your destiny will or has caused. Usually, whenever you mess with them, you end up paying the price.

They're just ghosts.

No, they're much more than that. You know this.

Against her better judgement, Katrina abandoned her spot from in front of the hearth and took to carefully crawling over the bodies of other Dwarves to get closer to the ghost. She reached her hand out, the wisp disappearing when her fingers were centimeters away. 

Katrina cursed quietly. That always seemed to happen whenever she tried to reach out for it. She wasn't surprised when she saw multiple other wisps appear, only to lead her out of the Hobbit hole. The hybrid looked around, making sure no one else was awake before stepping out.

Once Katrina stepped outside, she was met with the fresh scent of flowers before she sneezed quietly. There were times where she forgot she was still human, and even she fell victim to the overbearing amount of pollen that springtime gave.

She shook her head slightly. Once she faced the front again, she wasn't surprised to see the wisp laughing at her. Katrina glared at the wisp, reaching forwards to try and snatch it. It gave a slight shriek in terror before disappearing. Katrina sighed and hopped down the steps, opening the gate and stepping out into the path.

To her right, she heard the wisp. Katrina turned that way, finding a whole line of wisps leading her to where she came from. Katrina blinked and frowned, looking back at the Hobbit hole before taking off, following the wisps.

Her feet carried her to Hobbiton square. Compared to hours earlier, the Green Dragon was silent. In addition, the wisps were gone. She was alone.

Katrina.

That wasn't her demon this time.

Slowly, she turned around. She gasped sharply and jumped backwards, her breathing coming in quick breaths. Two ghosts—wisps—were floating a few feet in front of her. They were both male Elves: one Elf was wearing a long-sleeved velvet shirt that looked like robes, his loose trousers also velvet; his brother was wearing something similar, but he was all in a light blue. The blue brother had light brown hair while the other the other ellon had jet-black dark hair. Their blue eyes seemed sad, both of them covered in heavy amounts blood, just like she had left them: the blue Elf had a hole in his throat where his Adam's apple was supposed to be, while the velvet one had a penetrating wound in his torso.

"Why? Why did you let us die?" Elladan's hollow voice asked.

"Traitor," Elrohir taunted. "Murderer."

"Shut up!" she shouted, eyes squeezed shut. "I had no other choice."

"You are a liar, a murderer, a killer," the brothers' hollow voices taunted, and she could feel the wisps circling around her.

"STOP IT!" she screamed. She drew her blade and spun around, causing the wisps to almost scream in a way as they dissolved. She drew in deep breaths, opening her eyes to see that not only was she facing the way to leave the Shire, but a woman that she oh so despised.

"You."

The Elven woman smiled. "What? You seem surprised to see me."

Katrina snarled viciously. "You, my dead queen, are a lying bitch."

The Queen of Mirkwood's breathy laugh made shivers run down her spine. Her wavy blonde hair was flowing in the wind, a tiara settled around her head. Hey icy blue eyes seemed to be piercing into her skull, her white gown almost flowing as she floated around the hybrid mockingly. Katrina growled lowly. "Oh, my dear, you mustn't take my visit too lightly," she purred.

"Be lucky that you're a wisp so I can't kill you ten times over," Katrina threatened.

"Oh, again with the threats," the Queen scoffed. "You were always so diligent with your words when it came to those."

"And I always delivered," Katrina retorted.

"Who's the bitch now?" the Queen demanded harshly. "You murdering fiend."

"You deserved your fate after what your carelessness to my family. The Greenwood swore to protect all of it's people within it's realm, and that included those who didn't live within its forests! Your death was punishment for your war that brought destruction to my family."

"And what about my daughter? Did she deserve such a fate?"

"I tried to save her!"

"You should have tried harder," the Queen growled. "And you know this. You know that you're useless and that you're nothing more than a pawn. You know that these Dwarves don't care for you like we used to, and that based on your actions, you will kill them all. You are not worthy for their friendship, especially the hatted one. What's his name? Bofur?"

Katrina had enough. She cried out and sliced at the wisp, the blue ghost dissolving into nothing, though the laughter of the Queen remained in her head.

Her ears picked up grass crunching beneath boots, and they were drawing closer and closer. Both hands were tightly gripping the handle of her sword as she instinctually—and clumsily—spun around on her toes and motioned to slash her weapon. Her eyes widened when her forearms were grabbed — not too tightly to wear she would be bruised, but firmly enough so she couldn't hurt anyone. 

"Thorin?!" she exclaimed. She allowed the tension to release in her arms as he slowly loosened his grip and lowered her forearms. "Don't sneak up on me. I could have killed you."

You probably should have.

"I saw you leave the Hobbit hole," Thorin responded. "I was concerned."

"Of course you were," Katrina huffed and sheathed her sword. She proceeded to walk past him, though she was stopped when he suddenly gripped her arm; this time the grip was harsh. "Thorin Oakenshield, let go of me."

"What made you leave?" he demanded.

"What does it matter to you?" she retorted. "My business is my own."

"You were screaming," Thorin pointed out. "I... I heard it." He narrowed his eyes. "Is something bothering you?"

"I'm fine," Katrina growled, shoving him off her. "I thought I saw ghosts. I might have. I don't know. Right now, I think everything would be better if we all slept."

As she left him there to walk back to the Hobbit hole, the Queen's words were swarming in her head:  You know that you're useless and that you're nothing more than a pawn. You know that these Dwarves don't care for you like we used to, and that based on your actions, you will kill them all. You are not worthy for their friendship, especially the hatted one.

And the worst part was that she was right.

Notes:

Inspiration for some of the magical elements have been taken from "Brave" and small elements from "Tangled", but in actuality, a Wikipedia definition defines will-o'-the-wisps to refer to a hope or a goal a person wants to attain. I will be shifting this meaning and using it in my own way as the story drives on.

Also, so much of this was word vomit. I'm trying to get myself back into this because, even though the fandom has died off and the love for Thorin is a thing of the past, this is something I've been trying to bring to life for years and I'm finally finding the inspiration to do so.

so, thanks :)

Chapter 6: Road Ahead

It was early morning when it was time to arise. Thorin had decided that it was in the Company's best interest to get an early start to their adventure and leave the Hobbit behind.

In that, Thorin and Katrina were in agreement. 

But due to Thorin's grogginess and brewing aggravation for having wasted his time here, he was in no mood to make this information known to everyone. That meant that Katrina, the one person everyone hated, was in charge of this. 

The first person she found herself approaching was Fili. She refrained from stomping and nudged his leg lightly as she could. "Get up."

The boy grumbled and waved her away. He was drooling, blond hair sprawled out everywhere, and he seemed to be cuddling with his Dwarven swords. Katrina's aggravation was brewing in the put of her stomach. "Get. Up." The girl crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "Unless you and your idiotic brother want a broken leg or any bruised ribs, I suggest you take this threat as a warning and get up now."

Kili—who was somewhat awake and listening—sat up quickly. Katrina expected him to be armed and threaten her back, but instead he quickly crawled to his brother and shook his shoulder violently. "Get up, brother!" he whispered harshly. 

Fili groaned and nodded. With the help of his brother, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "You know, you didn't have to use threats to get me up," he growled.

"You're right," Katrina mused before smiling devilishly. "But that isn't fun, now is it?"

She left the boys then, a look momentary shock melded with hatred on both their faces. The hybrid snickered softly to herself before hopping to the fireplace where she knelt, shaking Bofur softly on the shoulder. "Bofur," she whispered. "It's time to get up."

"Five more minutes," he moaned, waving her away.

Katrina rolled her dark eyes. She pursed her lips before her eyes slowly lolled his way when she had an idea. She shrugged and leaned down to kiss his cheek sweetly, satisfied when Bofur shot up. "I heard that there's an adventure to be had!" he exclaimed before Katrina harshly shushed him. He frowned suddenly. "Why so early?"

"Thorin thinks it best to leave now, before the Hobbit stirs and delays you all any further. Now, help me wake everyone before Thorin grows more angry with our diminishing progress."

Katrina watched Bofur pick himself up and trudge to his brother, shaking his shoulder a little bit before having Bifur help him haul the fat man up. She felt a pinch of sadness when she glanced at the trio, thoughts of her siblings overflowing her mind until she forced herself to shake those thoughts away.

Focus, Katrina.

It was soon enough that she was able to wake everyone up—though, it took all of her will power to not cut Dwalin up into little pieces—before she herself was able to exit the Hobbit hole, the fresh air hitting her face and actually bringing about a smile.

It grew when she heard Thorin's boots stomping at the ground as he grudgingly trudged to past the woman—who was amused by his gruff mood—and exited the gate in order to reach his pony. Katrina's lips turned into a knot as she slowly skipped down the steps to meet him. "You look very... rested," she commented, leaning her palms on the small gate. "Sleep well?"

She grinned again when Thorin responded with a low growl and gave her a dark look that signified he didn't want to be bothered, especially by her. "Oh, do come. I'm only trying to make conversation."

He grumbled something intelligible under his breath. 

She feigned hurt. "Aw, Thorin, you wound me." She swung open the gate door before dancing her way in front of him. "Besides," Katrina continued, "you even said that if I were to stay in the company, then I would have to get along with them." A sickly sweet but devilish smile arose as she took to stepping a bit closer as to test the waters. "So... what better way to do so than to converse?"

She saw the lump form in his throat as he looked her up and down, a clear sign that she was invading his space and that he was very uncomfortable. Their chests weren't exactly touching, but they were close enough to feel her breath tickle his nose. "Are you always this..."—he paused to think—"invading?"

"Is it bothering you?"

"Very much so."

The door of the Hobbit hole opening didn't avert her attention. If anything, her smile widened at his awkward facial expression as he glanced at his approaching kin. She allowed an amused breath to exit her nose before she winked at him, leaving his side to walk with Bofur to his own pony. She didn't miss the look of confusion on Thorin's face as she left. "You're going to need a horse!" he soon called.

"I don't need one," she responded whilst walking with the hatted-Dwarf. "I'm more than capable of keeping up on foot."

The King shook his head as he saddled up his horse, throwing a bag over it and tying it to his saddle. Bofur frowned as he loaded up his own horse. "You know, he is right," he said. "You should get yourself a horse. Should you lag behind, he won't wait for you."

Katrina rose a brow. "Worried?"

He laughed. "For you? Ever since last night, always."

There was a genuine look on her face after he said that; it felt good for someone to care about her. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Nonsense." He waved away her comment and tugged on the reigns. "Ride with me."

A brow rose. "Excuse me?"

"Come on lassie, there's no harm in doing so." He glanced behind him quickly. "Save yourself from the scoldin' at least."

She was still skeptical, even as Bofur held out a hand for her to take. She knew that she shouldn't take the hand; shouldn't keep growing the bond between her and this Dwarf that was bound to be broken, but...

"I guess a little company wouldn't be awful."

She would never forget the toothy grin that took overcame his features when she accepted his request. "Great!" he exclaimed as he hauled Katrina up in order for her to saddle up behind him and make herself comfortable.

She watched as the Dwarves filed their ponies in a line, finding that Thorin was staring at the both of them—mainly her—almost accusingly. She chose to ignore the glare and watch as the brothers—who were giving her an even worse glare—passed them before Bofur's horse fell into line next to Bifur.

"So..." Bofur started off awkwardly, looking between his cousin and Katrina. "To adventure?"

"More like imminent death."

Bifur jumped in a startled way.

"But yeah," Katrina said quickly in revision, "to adventure."

---

If only the ride felt like adventure.

Time passed slowly as the company dredged past the forest. She admitted that she was grateful for the light conversation Bofur and Bifur were having, even if she couldn't understand anything they were saying. Even still, she couldn't shake off the looks Thorin would occasionally send her, to which she would return.

It was only after the fourth glare the two had given each other did Bofur decide to say something. "Are you okay?" It was genuine, not judgmental. 

Katrina jumped slightly; she had been too focused on glaring at the backs of the Durin brothers and daydreaming about ways she would kill them and wasn't paying any attention.

"Yeah," she breathed. "You know, just a little bored, is all."

Bifur mumbled something to which Bofur hummed and nodded along to. "He suggests a game," he murmured humorously. "How about, 'I spy?'"

She didn't know why, but that comment elicited a small laugh from her lips. Bofur smiled triumphantly and raised a brow. "Whaddya know? She does smile!"

Katrina hummed and looked down in embarrassment. She soon frowned when she looked behind her, the Hobbit suddenly making its way into her mind. "Do you think he'll show?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The Hobbit."

"Ah, you mean Bilbo?" Bofur questioned. "He'll come."

She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief. "I think you have a bad habit in placing your faith in the wrong people, Bofur," she admonished. "He has given no indication to anyone that he is fit for the job. You saw his reaction when we mentioned the quest, and how he took to keeping to his boring, quiet little life. He will be the first to die once we encounter danger."

"I think you're wrong." There was such confidence in his voice it took her by surprise. "I think, like all creatures, he will find his courage and become a worthy member of this company. Someone has to believe in the fellow, and I do not mind being the one to do so." He nodded his head in assurance. "He'll show," he said assertively. "He'll show."

And he did, five minutes later, screaming at the Company to halt and waving around the large contract when he reached everyone. "I signed it," he said proudly, holding the contract out for Balin to look at.

Katrina's eyes widened. No.

With eyeglasses in hand, the elder dwarf read over the contract, a small smile on his face as he did so. "Everything appears to be in order..." he murmured.

Oh, no.

"Welcome, Master Baggins..."

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

"...to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

Great.

Balin winked at the Hobbit, who smiled in glee. There seemed to be a mixed reaction from the Dwarves, with some happy he joined, and others uneasy and bothered with his presence. Thorin was not afraid to hide his animosity as he shook his head in disapproval while roughly grunting a singular command: "Give him a pony."

Whatever confidence Bilbo was filled with quickly washed away as he sputtered around in desperation. "No, no, no, no." He wagged his finger violently in desperate attempt to reason himself out of his unfortunate circumstance. "That won't be necessary, thank you."

Katrina rolled her eyes with a groan as the Hobbit kept rambling about keeping up on foot before he was hauled onto an extra pony, soon gripping onto the reigns and jumping every time the horse neighed. She found herself scowling at that. "Look at him," she whispered lowly to Bofur. "He's afraid of a pony. Imagine him in the face of a dragon."

"Don't be so negative," Bofur hushed. "Courage and faith, Katrina! That is what every company is built upon." A pouch of gold was soon being hurled his way. He grinned and tossed it around in his hands a few time. "Although, it is nice to have some friendly competition from time to time."

"You wagered on this?" She sighed in exasperation when Bofur nodded his head enthusiastically. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Oi, you seem to forget who you're dealin' with, lass," the hatted Dwarf said with a lopsided smile. "We're Dwarves! It's what we do."

Katrina followed a sack of money, raising a brow when she saw its receiver from behind them. "What about Wizards?"

"Ah. Well, whilst I can speak for the Company, I can't speak for Gandalf."

She allowed herself to gaze up at the front once more. "Thorin never wagered."

Bofur's smile faded. "Aye," he agreed. "A King never gambles on his associates. He claims it's not only immoral, but ill will to assign fate."

Interesting.

Bilbo soon sneezed, catching Katrina's attention. "Horse hair, having a reaction," he mumbled, searching his pockets before mumbling to himself again. "Wait, wait. Stop. Stop! We have to turn around."

Katrina groaned lowly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What ever the problem is, it better be a good one or I swear to the gods above Bilbo Baggins—!"

"Katrina, have some manners!" Gandalf scolded. "Now, I'm sure what ever the problem is, Bilbo Baggins is more than capable of figuring out—"

"I forgot my handkerchief."

Silence. 

"He forgot his handkerchief." Katrina gave the Wizard a sideways look. "More than capable of figuring out, you say?"

"Here," Bofur offered, tearing off a sweaty piece of cloth from his shirt. "Use this."

The blank expression Bilbo wore on his face earned a chuckle from everyone in company with the exception of two, the hybrid sighing once more and turning to face the front when Bofur's pony began moving again.

"You still believe in him?" Katrina asked.

"Oh, yes," Bofur answered truthfully. "I still believe in the lad."

Chapter 7: Slaughter

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield rode for many hours, going down many rocky hills and traveling across the lush terrain of Middle-earth until the sun touched the horizon and they deemed it was time to stop. The company perched itself on an outcrop that looked over terrain of what they had just traveled, Gloin wasting no time in striking a fire so Bombur could make stew for everyone.

Katrina stood alone on the edge, the light from the moon shining on the landscape spread open in front of her. She was soon accompanied by Bofur, the Dwarf perching himself behind her right shoulder. "Somethin's botherin' you." 

The expression she wore was focused. "Just thinking," she mused. "A lot on my mind, I guess."

"Like?"

"We're being followed." Katrina shifted from foot to foot. "Someone—something—is following us, I can sense it. It's something…” She shook her head in minor confusion. “It’s from the shadows. I… I don’t know."

Bofur frowned. "Maybe it's your mind playing tricks on you."

"It's not." Nervous certainty.

Bofur observed her: deep in thought, brows knit together, jaw set in place. Her blue eyes shone  gray in the moonlight, illuminating them — but behind those eyes there lay a certain emotion he couldn’t detect: stoicism? Sadness, maybe? Or perhaps fury, but directed at what, he did not know. "You want to be alone, lass?"

She nodded curtly. Bofur simply twisted his lips in a knot before inclining his head and taking his leave.

She wasn't lying when she told him her mind was heavy. So many thoughts were starting to uncover themselves from the folders of her mind and she was finding it hard to file them back into place. Shoulders that she prided carrying things on grew heavier with each passing hour, and nerves that had always been so settled were creating uncomfortable knots in her stomach. She had never been this stressed before, so why was her mind playing cruel games with her now?

You're being tracked.

Yazneg. Of course, that conniving worm would make her life more difficult. He always prided himself on being her father's right hand man, a narcissistic tool who took pleasure in berating and bullying her during every mission that he was overshadowed for. And if Katrina couldn't get what she needed to do, then he'd do the job for her.

And the consequences would fall down upon her heavily .

Perhaps it was that that was creating all this stress; how was she going to manage to pull off assassinating fourteen—fifteen, including the Wizard—individuals without herself getting killed in the process? She had managed to pull off bigger assignments like this before, but this certain assignment made her feel... unease. 

Perhaps it was the Wizard who was the cause of all this stress. Her powers were probably much weaker than his magic, with him being a Maia and her being... whatever she was. 

Katrina rubbed her eyes harshly. She was overthinking again. She could do this. She didn't have to kill everyone . It was one Dwarf out of thirteen. Once the king was dead, the other twelve Dwarves would be—

Katrina cursed again and trained her eyes to the floor. Dead, that's what they'd be. They'd be dead as well. 

No witnesses.

"Why did it have to be me?" she whispered helplessly into the air.

The hairs stood tall on her neck all of a sudden when she sensed danger. A touch on her shoulder made something in her brain clock instinctually. The intruder had no time to grasp what was going on before his arm was being twisted and his cheek was smudged in the dirt. Her knee was resting on his spine to restrict any movement, the cool of her blade resting on the back of his neck. 

"Kat! It's me!"

Bofur.

Katrina swallowed thickly in almost embarrassment, slowly removing her knife off of Bofur and standing, watching as the hatted Dwarf scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. "Got dirt on me hat," he mumbled, waving it around in the air.

Katrina looked at the group warily, relieved when she found that no one had seemed to notice. "Please, don't sneak up on me," she warned, tucking her knife away. "Not unless you want to be hurt."

The words had come out much harsher than intended, she knew this from the subtle widening of his eyes. If there was any hurt on his face, it was gone within seconds when he smiled warmly. “Bombur is finished.” He tilted his head toward the campfire. “Come.”

She hesitated, craning her head to peer over the outcrop once more.

Bofur sighed. “Lass, we’re perfectly safe.” Then he tried for a joke. “Come eat before Fili and Kili push you over.”

Out of gratitude, she mustered a—forced—laugh. “I would love to see them try.”

He grinned at this before turning to make his way back to the campfire. She followed him cautiously, still anxious over Yazneg but accepting of the situation at the moment. Bombur didn't look up when he handed her the bowl of what she assumed was soup, nor was she acknowledged when she chose to sit in between Bifur and Bofur. That was, until, Bifur spoke in an attempt to start a conversation.

“You do realize that I cannot understand you, yes?” She asked through a mouthful of her dinner.

"He said you're pretty," Bofur translated, nudging her from her left. Bifur continued. "And he likes your eyes."

Katrina looked down, exhaling through her nose. "Thanks," she offered.

A toothy grin appeared on his face as he glanced at his cousin and made a thumbs-up. Bofur only rubbed his temple while Katrina held back a snort.

As night fell and the moon arose, the group had gone to their own individual areas in order to sleep in their bed rolls. Bofur and Bifur had chosen to sleep near the log that Katrina was still sitting on, sharpening one of her many daggers. She chose to ignore the Halfling who was currently sneaking an apple over to his pony, choosing to instead stare at the resting king who was leaning against a rock.

How she was going to kill him, she hadn't quite figured out yet. Kill him in his sleep? No, others were sure to hear her, even if she attempted to flee into the night. Allow Yazneg to ambush them? Definitely not, her pride wouldn’t allow it. She could let nature take its toll, but Dwarves were too stubborn to die that way. 

Her thinking was cut short when the screech of a creature howled from afar. Bilbo was startled. "Wha— What was that?"

Kili looked around. "Orcs."

Damn you, Yazneg.

At that word, the King suddenly jumped awake. Katrina hid her ever growing smirk as Bilbo crept over near the fire that the Durin brothers had made. "Orcs?" he repeated in fear.

"Throat-cutters," Fili shrugged carelessly with a whiff of his pipe. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lone-lands are crawling with them."

Kili hid his amusement by adding on the next bit in a creepy voice: "They strike in the wee hours when everyone is asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

When the noise ceased and Bilbo looked around fearfully, the brothers exchanged looks and chuckled; even Katrina let herself laugh at the Hobbit's reaction.

"You think that's funny?" Thorin reprimanded harshly. "You think a night raided by Orcs is a joke?"

"Oh, not a raid, my good King. A slaughter ," Katrina chimed in thoughtfully. Bilbo's stunned expression . "Might I explain?"

“I do not think it necessary.”

“Oh, do come,” Katrina huffed with a pout. Thorin’s eyes were trained on her as she slowly veered to the Hobbit, placing a finger on his shoulder as she stalked around him like predator and prey. “I think it is only fair that our younger, more…. inexperienced members are well informed.”

Thorin’s teeth clenched together.  

“A night raided by Orcs is quick: casualties on both sides, creations of broken families, pieces that Mordor forces you to pick up. But a slaughter? Oh…” A hollow laugh. “ That is where their fun lies. It is uncalculated, sloppy, and deadly. Anywhere, anytime, it does not matter to them. They strike from the shadows, a terrifyingly smart move.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn. Katrine slowly stalked his way to put him on edge before circling around him. “My King, a slaughter is what leaves people broken. What leaves people shattered to their core. What causes a pain so deep it's indescribable. The smell of the dead lingers in the air not for hours, but for days on end. What shrubbery there used to become a coated shade of red deeper than the clouds at dusk. And the screams, oh the screams , it's like... music to their ears."

By the time her ruse was over, they were face-to-face, and she was pleased to see that he was angry beyond imagination. To his credit, he hid it well — it was the fire that was giving him away: his face was inflamed with anger, eyes full of hatred. The scowl he was wearing was nasty itself, but he was betrayed when his voice broke: 

“You know nothing of the world.”

Pain, anguish, longing. Feelings she knew all too well.

Unfortunately, compassion was not one of them. "If I know nothing like you so strongly believe, then why do my words wound you as such?"

Thorin only clenched his fists, setting his jaw before he stormed away to be alone on the outcrop.

"That's what I thought."

Balin appeared from wherever he was resting when Thorin went away. “Your words were not necessary,” he admonished pointedly. “Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs.”

“All of us here have very strong feelings about the enemy we know and hate.” Me most of all. “Why must I limit myself?”

"You do not understand his pain, Katrina," he explained. "It is far greater than anything anyone could ever imagine."

Katrina narrowed her eyes once more, crossing her arms across her chest. "Enlighten me."

Balin sighed. "After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had gotten there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler."

Every nerve bundle jumped and ran a track down her spine at the mention of her father.

"The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began..." The elder Dwarf swallowed thickly before saying, "by beheading the king.” A pause. “Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know." 

Katrina unraveled her arms and turned her head to stare at the back of the current crownless king, rubbing her ring finger tenderly.

Balin’s long sigh regained her attention. "We were leaderless, defeat and death were upon us. Until him. " The elder Dwarf nodded to Thorin’s direction with a proud smile.  "A young Dwarf prince facing down the pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the Line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated.

"But there was no feast, nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. The remaining prince of Erebor, Frerin, was nowhere to be found. We knew then that he had been lost to us."

Those same nerve bundles caught in her throat. She forced the bile down.

"But I thought to myself then, there is one I could follow. There is one I could call king."

By now, all the Dwarves had heard Balin’s story and were standing. Thorin turned to see his comrades looking at him with respect, awe, but most important was the look of hope etched onto everyone’s faces. 

Bilbo frowned and broke the silence from his spot on the floor. "And the pale Orc?" he questioned the elder Dwarf. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," Thorin answered gruffly, his arms behind him as he strode from his place on the cliff. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Katrina hid a condescending smirk and looked down to the floor.

---

The weight on her mind became heavier as the night dragged on. She didn’t know what it was, but as the night progressed and her watch continued, the sensation of ever present danger became stronger. 

Her eyes narrowed. Whatever Elvish was left in her spotted movement from the opposing outcrop.

Damn. How had he managed to catch up to her so quickly?

She was tempted to wake up Bifur and Bofur—both Dwarves being asleep at the log she was still sitting on—but quickly decided against it. Instead, she carefully stood from her place and ventured into the woods. 

Katrina shoved her hands into her pockets as she walked aimlessly. She stared at the sky. There are no speckled stars she can find comfort in. This night is black, endless, drenching everything in shadow. 

She keeps walking into the dark forest until the same shadow engulfs her.

Shadow travel was one of the first techniques she learned when she first gained her powers. The power to absorb into darkness and travel to wherever her mind ventured. Eventually she got so good that she was able to apparate others with her wherever it was needed. 

Of course, there were the occasional side effects. Her body usually took the toll. In the beginning, physical scars hadn't resulted from Azog, but from the failures: a fractured shoulder from apparating incorrectly, a muscle being torn from rushing the process and going too fast, and one time, it ripped an Orc apart.

But she was a child then. 

A child.

She’s on the other side now, emerging from the forest to stand on the outcrop opposite of the Dwarves. From what she can tell, no one has noticed her absence, the campfire is still burning lightly, and Bifur is still snoring.

A small detail. She doesn’t know why she takes note of that, but she does anyway.

Vibrations cause her to just barely look over her shoulder. Growls and paws rumbling on the floor grow closer and closer, causing her scowl to grow. Her arms find themselves folded across her chest once more, turning to face the intruders. 

Soon, she’s face-to-face with her teacher. He’s atop his Warg, along with two others she just barely recognized by the names of Fímbul and Narzûg with him. She eyed all of them before sighing deeply. "Yazneg," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

“Katrina.” Yazneg sat up straighter. Katrina rolled at this pathetic attempt to hide his wounded pride. "Master sent me."

"Azog knows better than to interfere with my missions," she responded darkly, revolving her wrists. "Why are you tracking me?"

Yazneg licked his lips, exchanging looks with the two other henchmen before resting his gaze on the faraway campfire. "The Dwarf..." he started, "he still lives."

Katrina narrowed her eyes at him. “He is,” she responded. "Azog will get his prize: the head of the Dwarf, and his heart, as I promised."

"He grows impatient."

"And I grow tired of your lack of trust, enough for you to come after me and slow me down," she growled, pointing an accusing finger at him before weaving past the three of them to return to the forest . "My father may lack patience, but I know he isn't daft. He wouldn't dare send you for me unless something was urgent. He knows I don't like distractions, and you've been quite the distraction for me." She looked over her shoulder one last time. "Don't follow me, Yazneg. And don't interfere. The consequences will be heavy if you dare defy me. This is your only warning. Thorin Oakenshield is mine ."

She sauntered off then, leaving the three Orcs alone in the middle of the night. Yazneg’s left eye was twitching with fury. Fímbul growled. "What now?"

Yazneg snarled and glared at the Dwarven camp. “Nothing changes,” he said. “Oakenshield will not escape us this time. Master will have his head, and that I will finally surpass that bitch and get the recognition I deserve.”

Katrina, unbeknownst to them, was listening. She only smiled and released a soft breath through her nose. The only recognition you'll receive, dear Yazneg, is the hand of Morgoth when I deliver you to him.

And with that thought, she disappeared into the shadows once more.

Chapter 8: Roast Mutton

Notes:

Black Speech is a BITCH to try and translate. With the resources I had available, I was able to combine actual Black Speech words and phrases, a translator (which was OKAY???), as well as make up words by using Hausa, which is considered to have more of a "rough" sound to it.

forgive me :(

translations at the end

It was midday when the rain started, the clouds darkening before thunder rumbled and the downpour started. The Dwarves were all miserable in their own way, all of them grumbling and complaining like a child would when their toy was taken from them.

Katrina hadn’t minded the rain. It was nothing short of home: Dol Guldur was always humid, sticky, with fog unending. Rain was often welcome whereas sunlight was shunned. Misery unending, but it soon became normal.

Not for the Dwarves, however. Especially for Thorin, he of who seemed to be grouchy in his own right.

Nothing new.

“Here, Mister Gandalf,” Dori complained after a long silence, “can't you do something about this deluge?”

“It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done,” Gandalf responded casually. “If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another Wizard.”

Bilbo—who, with no cloak to cover him, was drenched from head to toe—scrunched his nose with curiosity.  “Are there any?”

Gandalf seemed startled. “Huh?”

“Other Wizards.”

“Ah. There are five of us,” the Wizard explained to him. “The greatest of our order is Saruman the White.”

Katrina felt her chest seize. 

Burzum Zot, ba ta da murya
Shal avhe mubullat avhiuk ni liwo
Ba ta Orka da Burzum
Agh shal sunanka ukhe leaveuk lav-li shon

Bofur looked over his shoulder when he heard the mumbling. He frowned in concern when he met the blank yet oddly pale face of the girl seated behind him. “Katrina?”

Bilbo and Gandalf were oblivious to it all. “Then there are the two Blue Wizards…” Gandalf frowned and twisted his lips as he tried to think. “You know, I've quite forgotten their names.”

Burguul ta zama jagora
Daukar ta prok
Dauki wannan Frum
Sa duniya ta Dru 

Bofur swallowed, glancing at Bifur. “Katrina, lass?”

Bilbo hummed to himself thoughtfully. “And who is the fifth?”

“Well, that would be Radagast the Brown.”

Marr yarinya da muka ba ku
Da’awar ta Frum
Ushk U
Dauki ranta

Bofur was becoming increasingly worried. Even Bifur was frowning. “Katrina, what's gotten into you?”

The Hobbit nodded his head to Gandalf’s statement. “Is he a great Wizard?” he questioned. “Or is he more like you?”

The Wizard sputtered in surprise. “I think he is a great Wizard, in his own way,” he mused thoughtfully as he turned to Bilbo. “He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the east. And a good thing too. For always evil will look to find a foothold in this world.”

Burzum Zot Sauron
Lugat Frum
Ukhe dorzogan ranta

“Katrina!”

Katrina gasped sharply at Bofur’s hiss. Her body was violently shaking as she gulped large breaths to recuperate. To anyone else it could have looked like she was having an intense reaction to the cold.

She supposed no one did  know what a traumatic response to an invocation would look like.

Dramatic and weak as always.

“Are you alright?”

Bofur’s kindness was the strength she needed. She nodded lazily, allowing her chin to rest on his shoulder. “Yeah,” she breathed lightly. “I’m sorry. I dozed off.”

“You were mumblin’ gibberish,” he countered. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Katrina looked past the rest to stare at Thorin’s back. Somehow, it looked like the rain had made him shrink in size. This caused a wide grin to spread on her face.  “Never better.”

---

It was well past midday and near into evening when they finally made camp. Somehow through it all, the ponies had managed to trudge their way to a lush, small area where a broken down farmhouse resided on a slope so the Company could rest.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” the King ordered. “Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them.”

Katrina cupped her hand to whisper to Bofur. “The arses get to watch their relatives.”

Bofur held back a snort as they both dismounted. Katrina watched with satisfaction as the brothers almost pouted their way to the forest, each taking two at a time. Then she noticed the Wizard wandering almost ghostly to the dilapidated farmhouse, running his fingers along the bark. Curiosity peaked her interest and she soon found her feet carrying her toward him.

“A farmer and his family used to live here,” he murmured softly, almost fearfully.

Katrina frowned. “And that insinuates to what?”

“We are in danger.”

Good.

“Oin, Gloin.” Thorin's voice caught her attention. “Get a fire going.”

“Right you are!”

“I think it would be wiser to move on,” the Wizard admonished when the Dwarf arrived. "We could make for the Hidden Valley.”

Thorin only gave him a pointed glare, walking past the hollow entrance to stand near what used to be the fireplace. “I've told you already: I will not go near that place.”

“Why not? The Elves can help us! We can get food, rest, advice—”

“—and an endless barrage of meddling that we do not have time for," Katrina cut in, looking at the ceiling in annoyance. “The Elves will not help us, old man. They will slow us down, try to dissuade us of our—your, their, whoever planned this—idiotic mission.”

“We have a map that we cannot read,” Gandalf remarked. “Lord Elrond could help us.”

“Help?” The word rolled off Thorin's tongue bitterly, unconvinced. “A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls. The Elves looked on and did nothing.” Thorin lowered his voice as he spat out the next part. “You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather. Who betrayed my father.”

“You are neither of them.” The Wizard huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past.”

"I did not know they were yours to keep.”

Katrina decided to drive the final nail in the coffin. “We're not going to the damn Elves, Wizard. So take it or leave it.”

Gandalf stood there in stunned silence. His eyes darted between the two of them before he turned sharply on his heel, muttering little nothings as he stomped down the hill. 

“Everything alright?” Bilbo asked as Gandalf passed by him angrily. “Gandalf, where are you going?”

“To seek the company of the only one who's got any sense,” the Wizard answered with a grumble.

“And who's that?”

“Myself, Mr. Baggins!” he snapped. “I've had enough of Dwarves for one day.”

Katrina leaned on one of the wooden beams, arms and legs crossed as she watched the Wizard and his pony storm away from the camp. Thorin was unfazed by all of this. "Come on, Bombur, we're hungry."

The Dwarf stumbled and jiggled around as he tried to get all of his belongings together, something Katrina caught herself shaking her head at. Though, that was before she caught the lingering stare of the Dwarf King. "What?" she questioned roughly.

“You agreed with me.” He sounded surprised.

“I agreed with your decision , not with your logic,” she corrected. “The Elves of Imladris have never harmed me in any sense. My quarrel is set with another group.”

This caused a brow to raise. “Quarrel?” he repeated. “In what meaning?”

She smirked at him. “Vengeance is a funny thing, Master Dwarf,” she mused. “It takes form in many ways, whether it be an emotion or a physical embodiment, or a mere sect of justice. But sometimes, it's evil.” She puffed out her lips as she shrugged off the beam. “That is my quarrel with the Elves from afar.”

She left him there in his confused state of mind and allowed him to lull over her words. She could feel his eyes boring a hole into her skull as she congregated with Bifur and Bofur, but she never turned to acknowledge him. 

This cat and mouse game of theirs… it was fun . The idea of keeping him on his toes, the tension of it all. His subtle acknowledgment of her peculiarity and the itch to know more, the wariness of the dangers. She enjoyed being able to manipulate the situation as she pleased, so long as she was able to make him squirm.

You are a child.

Her mood soured.

The sun had nestled behind the trees by the time Bombur was finished with his preparations, many, many hours after Gandalf’s departure. Bilbo, of course, was allowing his nerves to be on full display of the company. “He’s been gone a long time.”

“He’s a Wizard! He comes and goes as he pleases,” Bofur exclaimed nonchalantly, unbothered as he poured two bowls of soup for the Hobbit to take. “Do us a favor and take that to the lads. Oi!” Bofur smacked Bombur's hands away. “Stop it. You've had plenty.”

Katrina, from her log, hadn’t been paying attention. Her attention was too focused on the flames of the fire as they danced before her eyes. Her knee bobbed up and down as she stared, eyes soon narrowing when a figure started to take shape in the flames. The figure had her back turned to her, and when it turned, her nerves took shelter beneath her skin. 

The slits of his eyes glowed red, his armor seemingly rusted as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Katrina's palms began to sweat as the chants made their way to her head once again.

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,
ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.

“You're doin' it again.”

Katrina mentally berated herself when she jumped at the sound of Bofur’s voice, her bowl of stew in his hands. She took it from him, not looking at him as she blew the steam away, not wanting to confront his concern. She found herself lightly tensing when he sat next to her with a large sigh. “You’re dozin, again ,” he grunted. “Without the mumblin’ this time ‘round.”

“I have lots on my mind.” A curt, cold response.

Bofur did not react. He leaned forward on his knee, head tilted, hat drooping. “Those words…” he started slowly, careful not to overstep but curious nonetheless, “What were they?”

Katrina swallowed her spoonful, knee still bouncing. “Something I remember hearing as a little girl,” she whispered truthfully. “My father… he used to stay up late at night and recount spells from the Second Age. Dark spells. We never knew why. Spells about succumbing one to shadow, turning them into darkness, surrendering their souls to the Dark Lord…” She trailed off, unable to continue.

Bofur's brow creased. “Why are you suddenly rememberin' this all now?”

Katrina sighed and shrugged. “I don't know,” she managed to say.

Bofur didn’t press after that. He only blinked, sighed thoughtfully, and stared at the fire with her. No other words were said, and for that she was grateful. 

Thorin’s eyes burning a hole in the back of her skull was starting to make her uncomfortable. 

“Trolls!”

Everyone was on alert when they heard the cry. Even Katrina’s head perked toward the sound of rustling grass as someone ran frantically to find the group. “Trolls!”

A panicked Fili emerged over the hill. He started to stutter, pointing back behind him with his finger as he tried to formulate a sentence. Dwalin grew impatient. “Spit it out, boy!”

Fili took a deep breath. “We—We were watching the ponies, like Uncle assigned us to. Then we noticed that Daisy and Bungo were missin', until Kili, Bilbo and I saw this huge monster pluck and take away Minty and Myrtle."

“Aw, the arses couldn't keep up with their relatives.” Katrina trailed a finger down her cheek. “How sad.”

“Now is not the time for jokes!" he yelled angrily. “They have Bilbo!”

It was a flurry of limbs after that. Everyone was quickly on their feet, grabbing their weapons before following the princeling to the forest. Katrina was watching them with one brow raised, sputtering. “And just like that, we’re going to charge into battle for a Hobbit? ” 

“Like it or not, he’s part of the company,” Thorin snapped as he strode past her. “We protect our own. If it were you in this predicament, we’d do the same.”

Katrina narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

Thorin stopped mid-stride, sighed heavily, and turned his cheek. “I know you don’t.” 

Then he left.

Katrina was left alone to pace around the campfire, running her nails along her scalp and chewing her cheek. Idiots, they were idiots. 

Dead idiots.

Katrina paused. That was a good point.

No, Dwarves are too stubborn.

That counterpoint was beginning to get redundant, but nonetheless, it remained true. She could just let the Trolls kill the entire company and flee into the night, but somewhere in her heart she knew how unlikely that scenario was. 

Besides, Dwarves aren’t the only ones who are stubborn. She is too. Her pride would never allow creatures as lowly as Trolls to steal kills that were rightfully hers. 

At least that’s what she was trying to believe.

So, by some unconscious effort, her feet lead her to where she believed the company  was. It wasn’t too hard, the boisterous battlecries of the Dwarves was clue enough to where the whole scene was taking place. 

And, oh, what a scene it was. 

It was a mess of jumping Dwarves and frantic Trolls, three of them to be exact. She squinted in order to get a view of things, surprising herself when a stroke of fear surged through her body when she saw poor little Ori get grabbed, writhing around. That was until Thorin leaped off the back of Dori, cutting the hand of the Troll.

From her spot in the bushes, she searched for Bofur, wincing when she watched him fly through the air and land hard on his back.

Conveniently, right in front of her. 

So when he stood up to regain himself, Katrina quickly grabbed him and dragged him into the bushes, being sure to cover his mouth to keep him from screaming.

“Bofur, stop!” she hissed at the writhing Dwarf. “It's me. It's Katrina.”

The Dwarf stopped writhing when he heard her voice. She let him go and was met with widened eyes. “Kat?!” he exclaimed. “What are you doin’ here? We thought you were back at camp!”

“I was.” A smirk. “But you boys clearly needed me.”

“Then why’re we cowerin’ back here? Let’s go!”

“No!” Katrina pulled him back by the arm. “Your weapons are no match for their thick skin. They won’t leave so much as a scratch.” She swallowed hard. “Oh, no.”

Bofur followed her gaze, gulping when he saw that two of the trolls had a grasp on Bilbo’s arms and legs. The smaller Troll was sneering at the group of Dwarves, holding up a filleting knife to the Hobbit’s belly. “Lay down your arms,” the older Troll ordered, “or we’ll rip his off.”

Katrina’s grip tightened on Bofur’s arm to restrain him. She watched Thorin carefully, gauging his reaction, a curious brow lifting when he jammed his weapon into the ground. Soon enough, the rest of the Dwarves were following his lead. 

A blink of an eye later, the Dwarves were being prepared for supper. Thorin, Bilbo, Balin, Kili, Oin, Gloin, and Bombur were all in sacks, the remaining few spinning on the spit. Bofur was restless next to a stupid calm Katrina. “What do we do?” he hissed. 

“I don’t know,” she replied. “We’ll figure it out. Just wait.”

The smaller Troll, Tom, seemed to be dancing around. “Don't bother cookin' 'em,” he exclaimed giddily. “Let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly!”

“Ooh,” Tom hummed. “That does sound quite nice.”

Bofur's eyes were trained on his struggling brother, the fat Dwarf writhing around in the uncomfortable entrapment. “Untie me, mister!” he commanded.

Katrina, noticing Bofur's apprehension, found herself reaching over to grab Bofur's hand and give it a squeeze.

Emotional mess.

Katrina bit her cheek again, drawing blood.

William was getting impatient. “Never mind the seasoning, we ain't got all night,” he grumbled. “Dawn ain't far away. Let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone.”

Katrina breathed a soft laugh. “Those stupid fools just gave us the answer,” she said. “Dawn. We have to wait them out until dawn.”

“How?”

Before she could answer, Bilbo was hopping around in his sack. “Wait!” he cried, struggling to stand up. “You are making a terrible mistake.”

Katrina gestured to the Hobbit. “That’s one way.”

“You can’t reason with them!” Dori shouted from the spit. “They’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits?” Dwalin repeated from under his legs. “What does that make us?”

Bilbo tried his best to hop in front of the sacked Dwarves. “I meant with the, uh... with the seasoning.”

Bert seemed offended, turning his focus from the spit to the Hobbit. “What about the seasoning?”

“Well, have you smelt them?” Bilbo asked with a crinkle of his nose. “You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up.”

Chaos. The Dwarves were screaming obscenities at the poor Hobbit, cursing, deeming him traitors and cruel. Even Bofur was stirred, preparing to charge and smash Bilbo with his hammer. It was Katrina’s firm grip on his arm that kept him at bay. 

William turned the spit with a frown. “What do you know about cooking Dwarf?”

Bert waved away his brother. “Shut up,” he spat, crouching in front of the smaller being. “Let the, uh... flurgaburburhobbit talk.”

Bilbo flashed a quick smile and nodded his head. “The, uh, secret to cooking Dwarf is, um…” The Hobbit frowned and twisted his lips in a knot. “To, uh…”

“Yes? Come on!" Bert pushed. "Tell us the secret!"

“Yes, yes, I'm telling you,” Bilbo seethed through gritted teeth. “The secret is…” The Hobbit lolled his head to the side and let his eyes roll, “ toooooo skin them first!”

The screaming increased. Katrina had to contain her laughter as Thorin, the mighty Dwarven King, squirmed in his bag uncomfortably with fear. 

“Tom, get me fileting knife.”

William was unconvinced. “What a load of rubbish. I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff ‘em all I say, boots ‘n all.”

“He's right,” Tom mused with sneer, going over to pick up one of the sacked Dwarves. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw Dwarf.”

Katrina was unable to hold back Bofur. The Dwarf screamed a mighty battle cry as he emerged from their hiding place. “Don’t touch them, ugly bastards!” he cried as he slammed his hammer down on Bert's foot, causing the Troll to howl.

All the Dwarves cheered. Katrina only hung her head. Idiot .

His victory was short-lived. Tom swept up Bofur by the legs, causing the Dwarf to lose his hammer as he dangled upside down, quite literally staring at the mouth of Tom as he was hovering over his head. “Nice and crunchy!”

Bilbo started to stutter. “No, no! Not that one! H-He's infected!” he sputtered out. Katrina raised a brow at his quick thinking.

Tom hesitated. William frowned. “You what?”

“Yeah! He’s got… worms… in his… tubes.” Bilbo frowned at his own words. 

Tom tilted his head and examined Bofur. The Dwarf was too busy swinging his fists. “He doesn’t look infected.”

Bilbo nodded quickly. “In-in fact! They all have! They’re infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.”

The Dwarves on the ground were restless. “Parasites?” Oin exclaimed. “Oi, did he say ‘parasites’?”

“Yeah, we don’t have parasites, YOU have parasites!” Kili shouted angrily. 

Bilbo’s shoulders sagged in defeat as the Dwarves shouted all types of objections and obscenities. Even Bofur was swearing until he met Katrina’s stare, watching as she revolved her wrist in a say something motion. 

Thorin suddenly kicking Kili shut everyone up. 

“I’ve… got parasites as large as me leg,” Bofur tried. 

Oin swallowed before saying, “Mine are as big as my arm.”

“Mine are the biggest parasites!” Kili now. “I’ve got huge parasites!”

More shouting from the Dwarves, this time joined by those on the spit.

William scowled and stomped toward the Hobbit. “What would you have us do, then?” he asked. “Let them all go?”

“Well…” Bilbo shrugged.

William shoved the small Hobbit with his finger. “You think I don't know what you're up to?” he accused. “This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

Katrina signed in frustration and defeat. Morons, they were morons. With no other options and her cover already being blown, she cupped her hand around her mouth and did her best Bert impression. “The only fool here is you. You think the Dwarves would be better un seasoned? Bah!”

It worked. William turned around in a flurry, wearing an offended look. “Pardon?”

Bert looked confused. “I didn't say nothin'.”

Katrina smiled, clearing her throat before making a voice to sound like Tom. “All you ever cook is mutton and smelly things. Maybe I should be the cook!”

“Oi!” Bert shouted at the smaller Troll. Tom turned to look at the chef, waving Bofur everywhere; he looked like he was going to be sick. “At least I don't leave no floaters lyin' 'round in the supper!”

“You's hearin' things” Tom shouted. “And at least my floa’er will've increased the flavor of your sageless mutton!”

“Oi!” William cried. “I had the idea of no sage!"”

“You's cracked in the head!”

“No, you's cracked in the head!”

“The dawn will take you all!”

Katrina and the Trolls cast their eyes on Gandalf, the wizard standing on a high cliff above the clearing.

William frowned. “Who's that?”

Bert shrugged. “No idea.”

Tom grinned and pointed at the old man. “Can we eat him too?”

Katrina shielded her eyes from the harsh glare of the rising sun, now revealed thanks to Gandalf. The Trolls cried out as the sun's harsh rays were cast down upon them, and in a matter of seconds, their bodies were pure stone.

Bilbo was dumbstruck with disbelief. The Dwarves were cheering high praises. Even Thorin, the Dwarf notorious for never showing an ounce of happiness, smiled.

And, for some reason unknown to her, she did too.

Notes:

Darkness my lord, give her a voice
In the darkness this one will be
Give her the power of darkness
And in your name she leaves her mark

Shadow is her guide
Vengeance is her touch
Take this spirit
Make the world fear of her

Take this girl we gave you
Claim her spirit
Feed your hunger
Take her soul

My dark lord Sauron
Phantom spirit
She surrenders her soul

Chapter 9: Companion Conflict

Notes:

translations at the end

“KATRINA!”

Katrina scurried out of the bushes, hopping over Dwarves still in sacks and accidentally barreling over Bilbo until she was under Bofur. He writhed around in a desperate attempt to flee the stone-grip of Tom, but to no avail. “Help?!”

“Uh…” she swallowed and looked around. “I don’t… Just hang on!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?!”

Katrina bit her lower lip anxiously. A soft ahem from her right suddenly grabbed her attention, surprised to see Bifur standing there. He—innocently—blinked a few times before offering one of his axes, practically shoving it in her hands. “Hrestvog knurl.”

Katrina was dumbfounded. “What?”

Bifur exchanged glances with her, the axe, and Bofur. “Hrestvog knurl. Hrestvog gaml.” When she still didn’t understand, he sighed dramatically. Then he made several obnoxious swinging motions before pointing at the Troll. 

Destroy stone. Destroy hand.

“Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

Bifur’s eye violently twitched. 

Scaling the Troll was awkward with one hand carrying an axe, but the next thing she knew she was almost straddling Tom’s arm. Bofur held his breath, only releasing it when he asked, “What now?”

Katrina settled the axe into her hands, sparing a glance at Bifur. The cousin only gave a firm nod and a thumbs up. 

“Be very still.”

Bofur swallowed in response.

Katrina hooked her legs around Tom’s axe to brace herself before swinging. Bofur squealed when the weapon made contact with Tom’s fingers, stone chipping away. Katrina seemed impressed. “Dwarven steel really can cut through anything,” she mused lightly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded quickly. The color of Bofur’s face was becoming redder by the second.

Katrina swung the axe again with a little more force, satisfied when the chipped pieces of stone fell to the floor and revealed a part of Bofur's leg. She tried her best to scoot closer to him, perching herself on Tom's wrist.

Bofur moaned. “Kat, now would be a good time as ever.”

With one last swing of the axe, the stone fingers of Tom were crumbled, Bofur finally free.

And falling.

“Uh... Katri— AGH!”

Katrina lunged to try and grab his foot, just barely missing him.

“Bofur!”

He didn’t splat and break his neck like she was expecting. Bombur, Bifur, and Dwalin all seemed to be ready for Bofur, the three of them catching their friend with ease. 

Katrina’s heart almost broke free from her chest. 

Bofur shook his head, disoriented. He wobbled as the three Dwarves placed him on his feet once more before he stabilized himself, picking up his silly hat and placing it back on his head where it belonged. “I’m alive!”

He should not be. You deny us.

Dwalin’s brows raised when Katrina slid from the arm easily landed on her two feet, seemingly watching as she handed the axe back to a muttering Bifur. Their eyes met for a brief second before the attention was focused back onto Bofur. “Are you alright?”

“Lightheaded,” he admitted, “but in one piece. Thank you.”

“You are lucky the Hobbit was witty enough to save your life, otherwise yourself and your friends would have been roast mutton,” she mused, jamming her finger into his shoulder. He winced at the force behind the action. “Listen to me next time.”

She felt a pair of eyes watching her. When she turned, Thorin’s attention was quickly turning to address the Wizard. 

Naturally, she traveled that way.

“Where did you go, if I may ask?” Thorin inquired. 

Gandalf’s answer was plain as his eyes wandered. “To look ahead.”

“What brought you back?” Katrina’s presence made Thorin jump.

The wrinkles on the Wizard’s face creased as he smiled. “Looking behind.” The answer and Thorin’s sheepish smile made Katrina roll her eyes. “Nasty business. Still, you’re all in one piece.”

“No thanks to your burglar.” Thorin seemed to struggle with these next words. “And you.”

Katrina’s brows jumped to her forehead. “I’m sorry, me? ”

“They had the knack to play for time,” Gandalf observed, a sly smile playing on his lips. “None of you thought of that.”

“Yeah, I saved your life.” Katrina straightened herself, deciding to push his buttons. “Makes you want to treat me with more respect, doesn’t it?”

Thorin’s jaw set, refusing to meet her eyes. “The credit is shared with the Halfling.”

“But it is still credit.”

His angry huff made her smirk.

Gandalf hid his amusement behind a cough as he turned his attention to the Trolls. “They must have come down from the Ettenmoors.”

Thorin joined in observation. “Since when do Mountain Trolls venture this far south?”

“Not for an age.” Gandalf’s voice turned low. “Not since a darker power rules these lands.”

His power.

Her skin crawled. She willed any excitement down.

The Wizard frowned. “They could not have moved in daylight.”

Thorin looked around. “There must be a cave nearby.”

Sure enough, a few feet from where they were standing, Nori, Dwalin, Gloin, Bofur, Katrina, Thorin, and Gandalf found it. The thief of the group gagged. “What is that stench?”

“It’s a Troll hoard,” Katrina grimaced. “What else would you expect?”

Gandalf nodded at her words. “Be careful what you touch.”

The Dwarves continued gagging as they continued their trek into the cave, the stench fouler than Katrina had ever experienced before. But all of that was soon forgotten when everyone a mesmerizing pile of gold revealed itself. 

Bofur seemed to be salivating. “Seems a shame to leave it lyin’ around,” he murmured to no one in particular. “Anyone could take it.”

“Who?” Katrina asked in amusement. “You?”

He flashed a wicked grin and blinked. She only rolled her eyes. 

“Nori,” Gloin ordered, that same grin on his face, “get a shovel!”

Katrina ventured past them, not interested in entertaining their childish greed. Thorin’s torch hovering over swords of many kinds caught her attention, and she found herself itching to take them. Her fingers tore through the spider webs and she observed them. “These were not made by mere Trolls,” she murmured, paying no mind to Thorin as he handed Gandalf a sheathed blade.

Gandalf inspected it carefully. “Nor were they made by any smith among Men,” he agreed. “These were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves of the First Age.”

Thorin made a move to put the weapon away before Gandalf admonished him harshly. With a scowl, Thorin unsheathed the sword, revealing the most beautiful blade she had ever seen. Elven steel engraved in runes, a curved blade supported by a dragon tooth for a hilt. Steady, strong, balanced.

Thorin.

“Gorgeous.” 

There were stars in her eyes as she observed the blade. 

Thorin noticed. He said nothing. 

Katrina peered deeper into the collection of swords. Her hand found the crook of Thorin’s elbow as he made a move to exit the cave. “There’s more.”

The blade she grabbed was smaller than Thorin’s, but it felt so perfect in her hands. Katrina blinked as she took off the sheathe halfway, reading the engravings that detailed the spine.

“ Mahtar Angaitya, ” she blurted before she could stop herself, turning to the side to look at Gandalf. "Warrior's Torment."

“You can read High Elvish?” There was curiosity and disgust in Thorin’s voice.

Katrina refrained from laughing at his ignorance. Of course the Dwarves were too selfish to know that the Elves would have different dialects — Khuzdûl was not the only language that was special. Quenya was older than Sindarin, more refined, more proper. Her mother made sure to teach her everything as soon as she could speak.

Her roommate also seemed to have a special interest in Quenya as well. 

I am the Warrior's Torment. I strike torment unto those who torment me. I instill fear into the hearts of all those who oppose me. Suffer. As I have.

“Small chunks,” was the lie that came out instead. 

Thorin scrunched his nose. “Let’s get out of this foul place,” he grumbled as he stomped away. “Come on, let’s go!”

Bofur, who had just finished burying whatever was left of the gold, approached the lingering assassin from the right. “We just made a long term investment,” he said proudly, making Katrina jump in surprise and quickly sheathe her blade, frowning at her glare. “What?”

“Stop doing that.”

He smiled apologetically before gesturing to her new sword. “What’s that?”

Mahtar Angaitya was at her side quickly to hide it from view. “Let’s get out of here.”

She did her best to ignore Bofur’s confused stare as she moved to scramble out of the cave. The Dwarf was not too far behind her, and when they exited, everyone seemed to be in a frenzy. 

“Oi,” Bofur asked, “what’s all the ruckus?”

Thorin placed his axes on his back before joining the group. “Something is coming.”

Again?

Everyone gathered in front of the rumbling bushes, weapons out and ready. Katrina's hand was resting on the hilt of her new sword that was at her side, rolling her eyes at the Dwarves' apprehension.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

Okay, now she was apprehensive.

She was startled when a raggedy man in torn and heavy clothing bounded out from the forest, operating a sled that was being pulled by—

Bunnies?

“Radagast! Radagast the Brown,” Gandalf exclaimed. The Dwarves all sighed in relief and sheathed their weapons. 

The Brown Wizard was odd, to say the least, and his disheveled appearance was doing him no favors. Katrina narrowed his eyes as she observed his frantic behavior. “I was looking for you Gandalf,” he sputtered. “Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.”

Gandalf nodded along in apprehension. “...Yes?”

Radagast looked as if he was going to speak before pausing, then went to speak, only to pause again. “Just give me a minute.” He tapped his beard. “Oh. I had a thought and now I've lost it. It was right there on the tip of my tongue.” A small gasp. “Oh,” he mumbled. “It's not a thought at all. It's a silly old... stick insect.”

Katrina and the rest of the company grimaced when Gandalf pulled the insect out of Radagast's mouth and dropped it in his hands.

Katrina watched Gandalf take his old friend into a clearing, close enough to the Company to regroup but far enough away so their conversation could not be heard. (Not like it mattered to her.) She perched herself on a rock, back facing them, straining an ear to listen.

She was interrupted when Thorin decided to join her side. She glanced at him briefly — he was pensive, on guard, and looked as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to go about it. 

She decided to give him an inch. “What?”

“How do you know High Elvish?”

And then she regretted it, rolling her eyes to focus her attention back on the two Wizards. “The same way everyone learns a language: I was taught as a babe by my mother. But that was years ago. I am not as fluent as I maybe once was.”

“You read the runes on your sword perfectly—”

“I read the name, ” she corrected sharply. “The runes on my sword are unknown to me, much like yours.”

Thorin shifted, leaning on the boulder she was perched on. Now both their backs were to the Wizards, eyes trained on the Company. 

The game was getting tiring. The closeness was now making her uncomfortable. 

“You are infuriating,” he said. “I do not understand why Bofor took to befriending you so quick.”

You and me both. She said nothing.

“You cause trouble with my company. You constantly push me. You have no respect for anyone but yourself, and worst of all, you are unpredictable.” 

Insults to mend his damaged pride. She remained silent. 

He sighed hard, as if he were dreading the next part. “But you helped save all of us,” he murmured. “I am sorry for how we treat you.” Their eyes met. “Thank you.”

Oh.

A howl in the distance did not allow her to speak. A violent chill ran down her spine as she and Thorin regrouped. Different emotions clouded her mind, but the most prominent feeling was pure terror. 

Bilbo, oblivious, frowned. “Was that a wolf?”

Bofur gulped, standing and gripping his hammer. "Wolves?" he repeated wearily. "No, that is not a wolf."

Katrina scoured the hills surrounding them, taking slow steps back when she saw the rogue Warg stalking the area. A twig snapping beneath her feet propelled the Warg into action, barreling at the group with extreme speed before it was pouncing on Gloin. Katrina watched Thorin lodge his new sword into the neck of the animal with ease before her neck was snapping to the second Warg. A well-placed arrow from Kili found its way in between the Warg’s eyes, causing it to flip over itself. Dwalin side-stepped as the Warg plopped next to him, slamming his hammer into its skull with a satisfied grunt.

Katrina was paralyzed through it all, eyes looming over the dead Wargs. The Wizards soon appeared, the Brown one alarmed while the Grey seemed furious. 

“Warg Scouts!” Thorin determined with a heavy grunt, dislodging his sword from the Warg. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo repeated in disbelief.

“Who did you tell about your quest? Beyond your kin?” Gandalf interrogated.

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one! I swear.” The King looked around, gripping his sword tightly. “What in Durin's name is going on?”

“You are being hunted.”

Fucking Yazneg.

Dwalin's demeanor was one of anger and calmness. “We have to get out of here.”

“We can't!” Everyone turned around to see Ori and Bifur coming from up on the hill. “We have no ponies. They bolted.”

Katrina’s world was two seconds from flipping underneath her. 

“I’ll draw them off.”

Radagast’s statement brought her back to life. “You cannot, old man,” she managed to get out. “These are Gundabad Wargs.” My kin. “They will outrun and kill you.” And then all of us.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits,” he replied slyly. “I’d like to see them try.”

He was gone before anyone had time to protest. 

Bofur gripped her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “We’ll be fine,” he promised. “He’s a Wizard! Surely that means something.”

Katrina tried to weakly smile. 

“What now?” little Ori asked nervously. 

“We run, and we pray my old friend manages to ride away those who hunt us,” Gandalf answered, scurrying to the forest. “Quickly, now!”

They positioned themselves on the edge of the forest, waiting until Radagast had led the pack far enough before revealing themselves. It was Gandalf who was leading the company, ushering everyone with a quick, “Come on.”

Thirteen Dwarves, one Hobbit, a Wizard and a woman were obvious standouts in an open clearing with barely any coverage to hide, but Radagast seemed to be doing an excellent job bearing this in mind. It felt twisted that, once more, her life was in the hands of beings much more powerful than she was, and it was doing uncomfortable things to her stomach. 

Yazneg and the pack suddenly appeared in front of them. Katrina held her breath. Gandalf shuffled around. “Stay together.”

“Move!” Thorin barked this order out, the company bolting at full speed as far away from the Wargs as they possibly could. Thorin and Gandalf were at the head, leading everyone around a rather large boulder, Thorin grabbing Ori by the collar when Radagast and the Orc pack emerged again .

Once they were gone, Gandalf ushered them all to run. One by one the Dwarves emerged from behind the boulder, running once more. Katrina twitched uncomfortably, the feeling in her stomach worsening. Something wasn't right.

Even Thorin was anxious. "Where are you leading us?"

Gandalf didn't answer, just gave him a look and started running. Thorin had no choice but to follow.

Katrina was running on pure adrenaline — anxiety, annoyance, anger, but it was fear that was eating her alive. It was funny: Azog and the rest of her pack had taught her to never show fear, to squander that feeling as soon as it arrived, but here they were, caused by that same pack. The irony. 

She allowed herself a brief moment to survey the scene: Radagast, to his credit, was drawing the pack off as best as he could, riding in circles in an attempt to lure them all away from the company. She could see Yazneg atop his Warg, fangs bared and sneering with glee — he looked so immature, leaned forward on his steed and waving his sword around in an attempt to look superior to his prey. 

It was all so stupid. He looked so stupid .

An Orc and his steed broke away from the pact. Survivor’s instinct took over and she found herself leading the group behind a boulder, ushering everyone to press themselves up against the rock as much as they could. Then she held her breath.

If not known for their bone-crushing teeth that could rip flesh and muscle, then perhaps what Wargs were better off being known for was their sense of smell. And all of the Wargs in Dol Guldur knew her scent, lest Azog ever send out a party to find his dearly departed daughter gone from a mission for too long. 

She closed her eyes. The heartbeats of the Dwarves were racing in her ears, but it was nothing compared to her own heart. The Warg was stalking the boulder, sniffing the air deeply. Its rider growled slowly and pulled a rusty blade from his belt.

Movement to her right caused her eyes to open. Kili was loading his bow, no doubt at the command of his uncle, breathing heavily like an anxious teenager desperate to impress than a composed adult. Then he was revealing himself and shooting at the Warg.

The arrow landed in the creature’s thigh rather than its jugular, the Warg screeching and yelping in pain as it and its rider—now adorned with an arrow to the ribcage—took a tumble down the boulder. Katrina watched the Orc quickly stand and brandish his sword, charging at the company. It was Dwalin who released a battle cry for the ages and knocked the Orc to his stomach, followed up only by Bifur’s repeated jabs to the skull with his spear. The Warg went to perhaps avenge his rider, only to be met by Thorin’s new sword cutting a hole into its stomach. 

Katrina stared into the yellow eyes of the Warg as life left its body.

Not mine. Still safe.

A momentary victory — fleeting, as now all of the Orc pack had their location. Soon the plains were filled with howls and commands from Yazneg to avenge their fallen brethren and kill those that they hunt.

Thorin’s heartbeat was now synced with hers in her ears: thrumming, loud, and anxious.

“Move.” The command came out as a croak before she found her voice. “RUN!”

Radagast was long gone now, no longer available to distract the pack as the company sprinted into the open fields. The Wargs descended on them from every angle, traversing over yellow hills, paws drumming on the dirt. Soon enough they were surrounded. 

The Dwarves had managed to circle together. Katrina was alone.

Yazneg and another captain were atop a hill maybe a mile or so from her position. His beady eyes were filled with cruel pleasure as he watched her, her fingers wiggling in panic as she watched the Wargs surround her. Katrina looked behind her left shoulder. They hadn’t completely encased her, she could still sprint to the Dwarves if she were fast enough.

A snarl from her left disrupted her train of thought. A Warg was barreling at her now, teeth bared and snot flying before it was pouncing. Katrina—not with her own strength—threw the animal overhead, the Warg rolling over itself and skidding a few paces away. Another Warg, this one mounted, charged. Katrina longed to wield her knife but opted against it. Instead, right when the pair was in view, she grabbed hold of the rider’s collar and slammed him hard to the floor — a punch to the jaw was added just because, the Orc falling limp in her grasp.

All the while, Yazneg was smiling. Katrina growled. A game: that’s all this was to him. Defend yourself from the pack in the eyes of the Dwarves, but spill no blood that was kin in the rule of the Orcs. A rule she couldn’t break while Yazneg was free to bend so long as it was “within reason” — whatever that fucking meant. 

It also meant that he could claim her prize. And her punishment?

She didn’t really want to think about that.

Her lack of focus created an opening. She barely registered the one-hundred and ten pound Warg pouncing until its shadow covered her frame. She fell to her back with a grunt, gripping the Warg’s snout to keep it from snapping at her. The Warg wasn’t really trying to bite her, at least that’s not what it looked like: it was more so just shaking its head playfully, ears wiggling and tongue lolled to the side.

Wait.

“Felix?”

Thumping from side-to-side indicated a tail wagging. Katrina sighed in relief and untensed her neck.

“KATRINA!”

Katrina strained from her position on the grass to look behind her, the world flipping upside down as her head dug into the dirt. The Dwarf had broken away from the company, whirling his hammer around in an attempt to ward off any incoming enemies that dared to step in his path. 

He was getting closer to where she was. Then he passed a small hill. A Warg was there, crouched in the small shadows available. He remained oblivious to it.

“No, no, no, no,” she murmured, roughly pushing Felix away from her. The Warg, probably thinking she was playing, simply shoved his snout further into her face. “Stop. Bofur! Bofur, STOP!”

Too late. 

Four paces from Bofur equated to one jump from the Warg. Bofur only turned to look when his shadow was being covered. Then he was screaming.

“BOFUR!”

The Warg's jaws were crunching down on Bofur by the right shoulder, shaking its head so violently she thought Bofur would develop whiplash. The Warg began to drag its prey away only when the Dwarf stilled.

Katrina had been able to get Felix off her by now, tripping over herself once or twice before she was on her feet and sprinting. The mix of her adrenaline and powers had allowed her to cross the field in what looked like seconds, fixing to lunge at the Warg until she was forced to dive to the floor. Felix had sprinted after her and was now propelling himself toward the Warg that had Bofur in its jaws. The opposing Warg dropped Bofur before Felix was crashing into him, the two animals taking a slight tumble down the hill.

Katrina crawled pathetically toward the Dwarf. “Bofur?” she whimpered. “Bofur!” 

She grunted as she flipped him on his back, palm accidentally pressing into his shoulder in the process. She stared at her bloody hands as they shook violently, the point of her skull developing a tingling sensation as if its weight was increasing. Maybe the sudden off-balance in bodily equilibrium was what was making her vision so hazy, drifting from blurry to clear to red to black to clear again.

“What did you do?” she murmured to no one in particular before she was glowering darkly at Yazneg. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

Katrina.

A violent chill ran down her spine. 

Give him to me.

Absolutely not.

Let me save him.

“Liar.”

Katrina closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. The blood was fresh, tickling an itch in her brain that the other one wanted to scratch so badly. She fought against the urge to give in, licking her lips and gritting her teeth as she placed both palms over the gash. 

Bofur was doing terribly. His blood was pouring from his shoulder and painting the dead, yellow grass into a vibrant sea of red. The layers of clothing had protected him slightly against the potential for broken bones, but there was no denying that the Warg’s teeth had reached muscle. She stared at his face, watched his skin turn pale from the loss of blood and his lips turn blue, and thought. 

Her head felt heavier, and the world started to morph as a result. She could let him die. Probably should, as it was in her best interest. She didn’t save people. She killed people. She wasn’t a good person. Not in the slightest. She was horrible. Terrible. Unworthy of redemption. 

Humanity and empathy. What a ridiculous emotional mess.

Who did Gandalf think she was, playing protector? 

Fingers twitching against her knee almost caused her to break into sobs. He didn’t deserve this.

One. She could be allowed one. That much she felt she was owed.

Katrina—

“Fuck you.”

Yazneg chased down his hill.

She rubbed her arm violently against her reddening eyes to fight off the tears and the overstimulation. Steeling her resolve and gritting her teeth, she hoisted Bofur over her right shoulder. “Kili!” she shouted, taking off into a sprint. “Shoot them!” 

The only Dwarves that were left now were the three Durins. Katrina knew where the rest of the Dwarves were, hidden underground in a cave disguised by a boulder. 

Three Dwarves. Durin's-folk. What were supposed to be three victims were now going to be three survivors. 

Another day, she supposed. 

She paid no mind to Kili as she passed him, the boy loading arrow after arrow at the growing pack that was following after them. Instead, she focused her attention on Thorin, whose heartbeat she couldn’t get out of her ears. He was running toward her and his nephew, his new sword gripped tightly in his hands. 

Idiot. Why run toward your death?

Katrina’s peripheral saw the Warg from before racing up the hill with a crazed look in its eye. Her heart seized when it pounced with a loud roar. 

She didn't even think. Like a mother protecting her newborn, she maneuvered Bofur from her shoulder to her chest, right hand cradling the back of his head as she buried his face in her shoulder, turned her back to the Warg, and braced for impact. 

It never came.

She dared to look over the shoulder Bofur was pressed into, eyes widening at the scene. The Warg’s stomach had caught the blade of Thorin’s sword, resembling meat on a skewer. The king grunted as he retracted his blade, kicking the carcass of the animal down the hill. 

They locked eyes for a brief moment before he glanced behind her. No words were exchanged when he pulled her up by the elbow and damn near pushed her to keep running. By now, it was only the two of them left in the field. 

With Bofur now being carried like a child clinging to its mother, the jump inside the cave was a little more manageable than it would have been, save the pebbles scraping into her back. She stumbled when she touched the floor, tripping on her feet and just barely catching herself—and Bofur—by the forearm, still clutching onto the Dwarf tightly.

She only laid him on the floor when she heard a horn. She wobbled to her feet, reluctantly leaning on Thorin’s arm, and listened. Hooves pounded against the earth, shrieks and screams and spears squelching into flesh soon filling the area. She couldn’t help the sadistic smile that spread across her face when she caught the sound of Yazneg’s miserable scream. 

She only hoped Felix had made it out alive.

The Dwarves that had been huddled around the entrance took a step back when an Orc’s body came tumbling in. Thorin stomped hard on the body to cease its momentum, plucking an arrow of the dead creature before immediately throwing it to the floor. “Elves!”

Katrina sighed hard. Thoring glared at a smirking Gandalf.

“Katrina, help!”

The broken cry of Bombur prompted both her and the Dwarf-king to turn. She swallowed hard as she approached, gently moving Bifur and Bombur out of the way before kneeling next to Bofur. She spared a glance to Gloin, removing a stray piece of hair from her face before asking, “Well?”

The old medic sighed. “His blood loss is too severe. It is a wonder he is still alive. I do not know how deep his wounds go, nor if his arm is even still attached to his body.” He shook his head. “He needs binding. And Kingsfoil. None of which I have.”

“We will not find what he requires here, nor have we the time,” she mumbled, moving to hoist him over her shoulders again. She held his head on her right shoulder and allowed his legs to dangle over her left, taking special care to ensure his hat was not lost to the floor below.

“I cannot see where the pathway leads,” Dwalin called from afar. “Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it, of course!” Dori exclaimed, the rest of the Dwarves piling after him.

Gandalf's smirk grew. “I think that would be wise.”

Katrina followed the others through the cave. She looked up. The sun was revealing itself through the cracks of the fissure, revealing a substance-like particle in the air that was throwing her off-center. She cracked her neck at this uncomfortable feeling.

Elven magic. She felt a rumble in her chest that she interpreted as sardonic laughter, if such a thing were possible. Of course, they would seek to weaken me here.

Katrina rolled her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Thorin appeared from her left, eyeing her strangely. She cleared her throat and readjusted Bofur on her shoulders. “I'm fine.”

His eyes were narrowed, as if he were on the fence about something. For the second time, she offered an avenue. “Spit it out.”

“How did you do all of that?” he asked. “Your training… I’ve never seen someone fight like that. You didn’t kill them, you… you played with them, almost. And your strength — you’ve been carrying Bofur all this time and you’ve never once faltered. And then—”

“Oh, for Valinor's sake!” she hissed, stopping in the middle of the cave. “Bofur is halfway to the Halls of Mandos, and you want to stop and ask me questions?”

“It was you who caused this.”

“ Me? ” she challenged. It was unnecessary for her to be as upset as she was, but she refused to let this selfish imbecile get away with whatever he was trying to do. “Who was it that ordered Kili to reveal our location and shoot the scout? Who was it that beat the hell out of a Warg, making its cries lead the pack right to us? Who was it that decided to bring Bofur to this damn quest in the first place?”

“You cannot pin this on me.”

“I can and I will.” Both were angry, brows furrowed and voices low. “This is your company. Your people. If you cannot take responsibility for one member of your crew, then don't bother leading any of them.”

There was a broken look in Thorin’s eyes after that.

Gloin was giddy from up in the front. "There's light ahead," he called.

Katrina brushed by the king and followed the company outside the cave. The sight before her made her heart lurch.

Perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on. The sun gleamed off the brick and marble of the building, reflecting back as bronze that could have blinded her. Hills and waterfalls coated every corner, greenery and shrubbery lining the hills and beyond.

The company was in awe. Thorin was not. Katrina was uncomfortable. 

I shouldn’t be here.

No. We should not.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf mused. “In the common tongue, it is known by another name.”

There was a whisper of a smile on Bilbo's lips. “Rivendell.”

Gandalf straightened with a nod. “Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea.”

Thorin angrily stepped up to the Wizard. “This was your plan all along,” he growled in a low voice. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf scolded harshly. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

“You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin asked sardonically. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will,” Gandalf chimed in a playful tone. “But we have questions that need answering.”

Thorin looked behind Gandalf to Katrina, as if he were asking for help. She shifted foot to foot. “I get it,” she sighed. “I don't want to be here either.” A pause. “But Bofur needs help that we can't provide him.”

Thorin deflated in defeat, blinking several times before looking to the ground. Gandalf seemed pleased with himself. “Now, if we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm.”

Katrina rolled her eyes.

“Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

No one dared to argue with him. Instead, the company followed the Wizard down the rocky path that led to the entrance of Rivendell. Katrina was up front with Thorin, Gandalf, Kili and Dwalin, constantly checking on the Dwarf on her shoulders. 

“Will he make it?” the big Dwarf asked from behind as they walked along a pathway, entering past two Elven statues.

She swallowed, her voice low. “I don't know.”

Everyone was teetering on the edge. Dwalin and Thorin took to grumbling and complaining in low, hushed voices. Katrina was trying her hardest to be patient, the subtle glances from Bifur and Bombur not helping the feeling in her stomach.

“Mithrandir.”

An Elf in purple robes was gliding down the steps with ease. The Wizard smiled warmly. “Ah, Lindir.”

“ Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen, ” Lindir greeted with a bow of his head.

Gandalf straightened himself. “I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

Lindir turned his head a fraction of an inch. “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

“Not here?” Gandalf didn't seem convinced. “Where is he?”

Katrina took a slow breath when she heard the sound of an Elvish horn, turning to the sound of neighing. Horses were entering the Valley, and when Thorin spotted them, his axe was already in his hands.

“ Ifridi bekar! Close ranks!”

Katrina found herself being forced in the middle of the tight circle the Dwarves were making, squished next to a confused Bilbo. She eyed all the warriors on their horses, but there was one in particular that was capturing her attention.

The horses finally stopped into place, their leader wearing a surprised smile on his face. “Gandalf!”

“Lord Elrond,” Gandalf breathed in relief and awe. “ Mellonnen! Mo evínedh?”  

“ Farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad. Dagannem rim na Iant Vedui, ” Lord Elrond responded in Sindarin, getting off his horse in order to embrace the Wizard. “Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders,” he said. “Something—or someone— has drawn them near."

“That may have been us,” the Wizard responded sheepishly.

Katrina watched Thorin swallow his pride and step up from behind Dwalin. The Lord of Imladris took note of his presence, dipping his chin in respect. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

“I do not believe we have met,” he gruffed deeply, slowly meeting the eyes of the Elf.

"You have your grandfather's bearing," Elrond explained smoothly.  "I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.” Icy words that were spat with venom. Elrond simply smiled.

Katrina’s eye twitched. “I don’t have time for this. Move.” She didn’t wait for the Dwarves to make space, roughly pushing past everyone until she was next to Thorin. “ Te harn. Dhen iallon, natho den. ”

Elrond's eyes widened with shock, looking from the Wizard to Thorin until his eyes were trained on her again. “Katrina," he managed to stutter. “How is this pos—”

“Please, my lord,” she begged. “ Mhe nathathodh? ”

Elrond nodded quickly, gesturing to Lindir to lead her. Katrina just meekly thanked him and followed the other Elf. 

She dared to look back at the family members of Bofur. They looked worried sick, the crease in Bifur's axed head making the feeling in her stomach worsen. She turned away again.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered. To whom, she didn’t know. “It’ll all be fine.”

---

To Azog, everything was not fine.

The report that Yazneg had given left him fuming. The Dwarf-king, out of his grasp for the upteenth time. It was starting to tick him off.

But the words about his daughter…

She had followed the rules of combat, despite Yazneg’s goading. He expected her to play her role as a member of the company, but to throw herself at those disgusting creatures and use her body as a shield…either she was playing up her role, or there was something deeper at work.

No matter. The fault was largely on the pathetic cretin on his metallic hand, crying and pleading for his life, apologizing for the insults toward his favorite child and promising to never interfere again. Azog simply laughed at this and whistled. Felix was now at his side, his daughter’s favorite friend, and his eyes were gleaming with bloodlust.

Azog used his free hand to scratch behind the Warg’s ears. Felix’s nostrils flared just a little bit. Then, Azog was throwing Yazneg overhead into a pit. Felix leapt after it, joining his companions for dinner. 

Azog turned toward the ledge of Weathertop once more, allowing himself to think. Katrina. He knew the risks of allowing her to partake in this mission, but there were limits he wanted to test. And so far, he was getting answers. But not the ones he wanted.

He recalled telling her once that feeling human emotions was normal for her race. But she wasn’t human anymore. She was one of the Orc — at least, she was supposed to be. He thought he got that taken care of a long time ago. But she wasn’t doing her job well enough anymore.

Incorporeal bitch. Not even binded to him. But still a nuisance all the same. 

Azog growled. Perhaps it was time to tighten the reins. Allow his daughter this last pleasantry of freedom before her heart would fully belong to him. Make that bitch of a curse finally stick, lest she wanted sustenance. 

“The Dwarf-scum will show themselves soon enough.”

Azog’s large white Gundabad Warg huffed softly. The Pale Orc glanced over his shoulder to see his kin mounting their steeds.

Fine. He knew Katrina—and company included—loved playing games. Why not play along and increase the difficulty a smidge?

“Send out word,” he ordered, “there is a price on their heads. But none touch my daughter.”

Then he screamed into the sky.

Notes:

mo evínedh? — where have you been?
lastannem i athrannedh i vruinen — we heard you had crossed into the valley
farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad. dagannem rim na Iant vedui — we have been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the south. we slew a number near the hidden pass
Te harn. Dhen iallon, natho den — He is hurt. Please, help him.
Mhe nathathodh? — Can you help him?

Chapter 10: Graveyard Drearies

Katrina’s leg bobbed up and down with anxiety as she watched Bofur sleep, cheeks in her palms and elbows on the mattress. 

How long had he been unconscious for? Twenty minutes, more? Was it close to an hour? No more than two, surely, as the Dwarves were still situating themselves and dinner had not been called. 

Katrina angrily raked her nails through her scalp with a huff. Fucking Yazneg. This could have been avoided had he heeded her warning and not gotten involved, or maybe even placed his pride aside and worked with her rather than against her. 

This could have been avoided had you done your job.

Katrina ignored the goading. There was an uncomfortable, overwhelming feeling of guilt that was gnawing at her stomach. 

The way that Bombur and Bifur looked at their brother reminded her too much of her own siblings before she never saw them again

A low moan from the bed ceased her train of thought. She picked her head up from her palms and positioned herself on the edge of the bed, watching as Bofur struggled to open his eyes. “Is it mornin’ yet?”

Katrina sighed out a breath of relief through her nose; yeah, he was okay. “How are you feeling?”

Bofur blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Like I’ve just glugged three barrels of ale down me throat,” he groaned. “What happened?”

“Nothing we ever have to worry about again.” It was the first lie that came out of her mouth. How was she supposed to sugarcoat the fact that he almost died and it was all her fault?

Bofur tried sitting up, wincing and making a noise when he moved his shoulder. He moved to grab it, hand hovering before Katrina was grabbing his wrist. “I wouldn’t," she advised. “The Elves tried their best to numb it when you were unconscious, but the effect of the Athelas might be fading.”

He frowned. “Elves?”

She nodded. “Gandalf led us to the Valley of Imladris. Rivendell, to be bland. They're allowing us refuge for a few days before we leave for the mountain.” A pause. “Move your fingers, then your arm. Refresh your muscles.”

He did so, wiggling his fingers before bending his elbow back and forth. He rubbed his collarbone tenderly, wincing once more. Then he caught sight of the tear on his shirt and the pointed marks where the Warg's teeth had sunk into. Katrina gauged his reaction carefully. “The bit marks will fade over time,” she promised gently. “They always do.”

“You speak like you have experience,” he mumbled quietly.

“Some,” she admitted. “Though not to this extent.”

Bofur nodded slowly. Katrina pursed her lips and reached over to grab him a clean shirt and a bandage, telling him to discard his old one before tenderly applying ointment and wrapping his wound. She had to fight not to squirm under his gaze. “You seem shook.”

She raised a brow and dared to glance at him. “Shook?” she repeated with a scoff. “You almost died, silly Dwarf. Death by mauling. And to top that, I’m covered in your blood.” She referred to her shirt and her hands. “See?”

“Somethin’s botherin’ ya.” Bofur’s tone was more serious than she would have liked it to be. “You’ve been wearin’ the same solemn look since we left the Shire and escaped the Trolls.” His voice became softer. “What’s wrong, lass?”

He knows. He KNOWS. Heknowsheknowsheknowsheknowsheknowsheknows—

Katrina finished wrapping his shoulder before standing. “Get changed and find the others,” she ordered, tossing him the spare shirt. “The Elves will summon us when they've finished preparing dinner.”

“You didn't answer the question, Kat,” Bofur called as she moved to leave. “You can trust me. I won’t make fun of ya.”

Katrina took a shaky breath, holding onto the doorframe. “I’m just happy you're alive,” she forced through a thin smile, not allowing any more words to be said as she left the room.

---

Dinner could not come sooner.

Katrina had chosen to sit with the group of Dwarves at a rounded table rather than with The Wizard, the Dwarf-king, and the Lord of Imladris himself. “Come sit with us,” Elrond had tried. “I’d like to… catch up. Discuss things.”

“Perhaps another time,” she had responded carefully, ignoring the way Thorn was watching her. Quizzical and observant, that Dwarf was. “Besides, someone needs to watch the company, lest you want broken vases and ruined tapestry.”

Elrond only gave a thin lipped smile in response.

Now, here she was, surrounded by Dwarves who were picking their salads like children. 

“Go on,” Dori coaxed little Ori, nudging his shoulder. “Try it, just a mouthful.”

Ori had a lettuce leaf between his fingers, staring at it blankly. “I don’t like green food.” Then he looked around the table innocently. “Have they got any chips?”

Dwalin, who was sitting across from her and Bofur, was digging through his salad with his hand. “Where’s the meat?” he huffed. 

“Elves are particularly careful when it comes to consuming meat,” Katrina found herself explaining. “They don’t believe in hunting for sport or wastefully consuming them.”

Dwalin only grumbled in response before focusing his attention on Kili, the younger Dwarf seated two seats from her and next to Bofur. He was admiring an Elf maiden playing the harp, brown eyes soft and full of wonder as he watched. Then he was grinning and sending her a wink.

Dwalin’s not-so-obvious cough forced Kili to turn his attention away, squirming under the stare before making a quick recovery by masking his emotions with a shrug. “Can’t say I fancy Elf maids myself,” he casually mentioned. “Too thin.”

The big Dwarf raised a brow.

Kili continued. “They’re all high cheek bones and creamy skin.” He glanced at Bofur, probably for some sort of encouragement. Bofur only smiled and nodded for the boy to continue. Kili straightened himself and said, “Not enough facial hair for me.”

Katrina could not help but roll her eyes at the irony of that comment.

“ Although ”—he bobbed his head to another Elf in green robes who was also playing a string instrument—“that one there isn’t bad.”

Dwalin exchanged a look with Bofur and leaned forward on the table. “That’s not an Elf maid.”

Kili frowned before adorning a look of horror at the sight of the male Elf turning around. Dwalin only winked at his expression, prompting the Dwarves to erupt in fitfuls of laughter. Kili shrunk in his seat. “That’s funny, very funny.”

Katrina wasn’t paying attention. Past Dwalin, the three individuals she had declined were sat away from the main table, too far away for her to listen in on their conversation. Her eyes narrowed as Elrond observed Thorin’s blade, fingers delicately handling the cool metal she so desperately wanted in her own hands. She saw the way Thorin inclined his head at something the Lord of Imladris had said, surprised at his respect. The moment didn’t last, however — merely thirty seconds later, Thorin’s shoulders were tensing and he was abandoning his seat with the two immortals, crossing her own table to stand on the side. 

Katrina’s eyes narrowed, watching him carefully. Then she was abandoning her own seat and moving toward his position. The Dwarf had both his forearms on the railing, palms clasped together as he watched the setting sun, observing how the colors of pink and blue morphed in harmony with the splashes of violet and orange. 

For the third time, Katrina broke the ice. “Dinner not to your liking?”

Thorin was twiddling his thumbs. “My sword’s name is Orcrist. Goblin Cleaver, ” he said. Katrina raised a brow at this. He was so willing to share this information, why? “High Elvish.” He turned his head to meet her eyes, tilting his chin down. “But you knew that already.” Was that a whisper of a smile on his lips?

Katrina couldn’t hide the small grin that tugged on her mouth, leaning her right elbow on the railing to half-match his posture. Back to the games. “I did,” she agreed. “But not the sword’s name.” A pause. A glance at the sword on his belt. “It’s gorgeous.”

He was observing her carefully. She didn’t squirm under it, not like she has been. Was this growth? “Would you like to hold it?”

Her breath hitched. So he had noticed her affinity for it — not that she had done a good job hiding it. In truth, she didn’t know why it was his sword specifically that piqued her interest, just that it did. 

(It wasn’t her that was interested, rather influenced by—)

Alas. “It’s yours.” She glanced at Elrond and the Wizard. “What of Mithrandir?”

“Glamdring, the Foe-hammer.”

“The sword of Gondolin’s king?” She blushed and stammered slightly when Thorin raised a curious brow. “I grew up around those who had a… historical affinity for the First and Second Age.” A half-truth, half-lie. There were only two people in her life who cared so much about the past: one of them was dead, the other one was somewhere in between (and lived inside her). “I imagine Lord Elrond had questions as to how we procured our blades.”

“He did,” Thorin answered, all humor gone from his face. “I did not answer.”

“You’re going to have to if we are to have his help with the map.” Katrina sighed deeply, observing the setting sun with him. “Elrond is too kind. It is what makes him untrusting. But his kindness is not a façade, not like so many others.” She nodded slightly, biting her lip. “Trust him.”

She watched Thorin’s eyes scan her face. In the sunlight, they shined a royal azure color that sparkled and gleamed like the great lakes. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to ask her a question, but Nori’s loud moan cut him off. “Turn that off, will you?” he complained. “I feel like I’m at a funeral.”

Oin, with a napkin stuck in his hearing trumpet, frowned and leaned over the table. “Did somebody die?”

“Alright, lads, there’s only one thing for it!” Bofur was grinning ear to ear, no signs of discomfort or unhappiness or even embarrassment as he scraped his chair on the floor to clamber on top of the dining table. Then he was—

There’s aaaannnnnnnnn

Katrina’s eyes widened. Oh, no.

Inn, there's an inn
There's a merry old inn
Beneath an old gray hill...

Katrina looked around as the Dwarves stomped along and sang with him, the tempo picking up as Bofur danced in his spot.

And there they brew a beer so brown
The Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill

Bifur started to tap his spoon against a wine goblet to keep tempo, Dwalin throwing fists in the air as Kili took to starting a food fight.

Oh, the ostler has a tipsy cat
That plays a five-stringed fiddle...
And up and down he saws his bow
Now squeaking high, now purring low
Now sawing in the middle

“Is this normal?”

“Oh, very much so. In Erebor, it was a common occurence.”

So the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle
A drink that'll wake the dead
He squeaked and he sawed and he quickened the tune
And the landlord shook the Man in the Moon
“It's after three!” he said

Roars of laughter and glee came from the Dwarves, howls erupting when a pie smashed next to the face of an unamused Lindir. She shook her head, about to comment before her mouth closed when she saw Thorin. He was now facing his company, elbows and back now learned against the railing to show that he was present but still lax. What caught her off guard were his teeth, ever present in the form of a wide, gleaming, beautiful smile.

He can be happy .

Not for long.

Katrina only looked to the floor.

---

It was quieter that evening. The Dwarves had all gone off to wherever the Elves had set them up and left only Bilbo, Thorin, Balin, and Gandalf alone with a quizzical Elrond. He was cordial when he asked the Wizard and Thorin once more of their reasoning for being on the Great East road, but that didn’t stop Thorin from releasing a bitter: “Our business is no concern of Elves.”

Katrina, who was standing next to Bilbo, snorted in amusement. “You truly are a moron.”

“It is the legacy of my people,” Thorin retorted as calmly as he could, his arms across his body. “It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.”

Balin resembled that of a proud father, chin high with a smirk as he switched his gaze from Elrond to Gandalf, he of who looked upset. “Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves,” the Wizard muttered. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in front of one of the few on Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond.”

Thorin didn't budge, instead only slowly turning his body to the assassin. “First you refuse to seek refuge from the Elves, now you're desperate for their help.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I was desperate for Bofur,” she corrected, matching his gaze. “If getting out of this place means showing the map to Elrond, then so be it.”

“You said you had no quarrel with these people,” the king continued. “Why show reluctance to a place that offers you peace?”

“Graveyards tend to be a quick turn off for me,” she answered perhaps too easily, not missing the way Elrond turned away. “Besides, these people did nothing to you yet you're also reluctant to share with them.” A smirk as she crossed her arms and shifted her weight on her left leg. “Doesn't that make you a bit of a hypocrite?”

Thorin didn't answer, only grit his teeth. She was right, he knew that. So did everyone else.

Reluctantly, he dug inside his vest and pulled the map out. Balin made a move to stop his friend, even vocalized his disagreement, but Thorin merely blocked his advance and handed the map to Elrond. The Elf unfolded it before his eyes were quickly darting to the Dwarf. “Erebor?” he demanded. “What is your interest in this map?”

Before Thorin could potentially compromise everything, Gandalf spoke. “It's mainly academic,” he tried for a lie. “As you know, these artifacts sometimes contain hidden texts.” That last part came off more as a question

Elrond didn’t look convinced at the Wizard’s play, twisting his lips in a knot before turning away to observe the map. Gandalf gave Thorin a pointed stare, to which the King only sighed heavily. “You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” he asked.

Elrond didn't answer. He held the map flat, murmuring to himself as he let the light of the moon decode the map. “Cirith Ithil.”

Katrina raised her chin. “Moon runes.”

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded his head towards a confused Bilbo. “An easy thing to miss.”

Katrina rolled her eyes.

“Well, in this case, that is true,” Elrond added, still looking at the map strangely. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

Thorin looked almost hopeful and a little desperate when the Elf Lord turned to face them. “Can you read them?”

Elrond led the party to a different area of Rivendell, away from the mess hall. They stood before the edge of a large cave, one of many waterfalls aligning the cliffs to reveal a river from down below. The white light shone through and revealed a large crystal table to which Elrond placed the map.

“These runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago,” he explained, straightening the thin parchment of paper out. “It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

Katrina took her place on Thorin's right, both of them standing to the right of Elrond. All of them watched as the clouds blew away and revealed a crescent moon, the rays causing the hidden blue runes on the map to suddenly appear. Katrina and Thorin stole a glance at each other before taking a closer look.

“ ‘Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole’," Elrond translated before picking the map up in his hands and frowning.

This left Bilbo confused. “Durin's Day?”

Katrina found herself answering for him. “It is the start of the Dwarves' new year. It's when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together.” A shrug. “An eclipse, if you will.”

Thorin was tense. “This is ill news,” he murmured as he rubbed a hand on his chin. “Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us.”

Balin was as confident as ever. “We still have time.”

“Time? For what?” asked Bilbo again.

“To find the entrance.” Balin's voice was echoing through the cave as he punctuated his words. “We have to be standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

“So this is your purpose, to enter the mountain?” Elrond asked with a raised eyebrow.

Katrina licked her chapped lips. “Good job, Balin.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “What of it?”

“There are some who would not deem it wise,” answered Elrond, handing over the map. The Dwarf almost snatched it back, a look of anger on his face.

Katrina grew concerned. “What do you mean?”

Elrond glanced at her before addressing Gandalf. “You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth.”

The Maiar.

Katrina found her jaw clenching. “They have no jurisdiction here.”

“They have jurisdiction wherever they deem necessary, as it is the duty of Mithrandir and I to enforce it.” Now he was addressing both Gandalf and her. “You both would do well to remember that.”

---

Katrina was finally alone.

She stood before two tombstones, both containing beautiful marble statues of the fallen sons. The pale moonlight made the marble seem smooth, however it highlighted the various twigs and leaves that had fallen from the trees. Katrina frowned at this, mentally scolded the Elves of Imladris for not caring for their dead, and wiped off the debris before sighing and reading the Sindarin text. 

Here lies Elladan, greatest Bowman of Rivendell, Hero of the Hidden Valley, elder brother of the Evenstar, and Son to the Lord and Lady of Imladris.

Here lies Elrohir, greatest Swordsman of Rivendell, Hero of the Hidden Valley, elder brother of the Evenstar, and Son to the Lord and Lady of Imladris.

“So this is what you meant,” a male voice said from the steps behind her. “When you said graveyards throw you off.”

“An abridged version of my words,” Katrina replied, arms folded as she kept her attention trained on the statues in front of her. “But, yes, you're right.”

Thorin released a breath from his nose, his steps heavy as he traveled down the small set of stairs to stand next to her, gesturing his chin at the statues. “What were their names?”

Katrina gestured to the one on the left. “That's Elladan,” she answered. “The other is Elrohir. They were twins, Elrohir being born only two minutes before Elladan.”

Thorin hummed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Were you close to them?”

“Maybe not close to heart, but close to mind? Definitely,” she answered.  “They were good kids.”

“Aren't you much younger than them?”

“Aren't we both?” she rebuked with a small smirk. “They might've been almost twenty-five hundred years old, but they are—were—still boys in my heart.”

It was silent for a few moments, save the sound of the insects chattering and the flora bustling in the wind. Katrina sighed softly, an almost solemn look on her face as she stared at the statues. Thorin noticed, asking this next question hesitantly. “How did you know them?”

A shrug. “They found me.”

“Found you?”

“When my village was attacked, I was separated from my family. For all I know, they’re dead. From then on, I became a wanderer,” she began, the lie she had gotten so used to telling slipping out of her mouth easily. “That same plain where we were attacked, I had traversed once before a long, long, long time ago when I was only a girl.”

“And how old are you now?”

The corner of her mouth curved. “How old do I look?”

Now it was Thorin's turn to shrug. “Not much older than forty, really.”

Katrina's smirk grew into a smile. “I'm one-hundred eighty-three years old.”

“One— what?” The surprise on his face was amusing to her. “That's not possible.”

“It's very possible.”

His attention turned back to the statues. “So that means they've been dead—”

“For over a hundred years,” she whispered. “Maybe more. I’ve lost count of the years. It’s merely a blink in time for me.”

Thorin swallowed the lump in his throat. “How... how did they die?”

“Ambush. A hunting party gone wrong,” Katrina answered, allowing some truth to flow from her lips. “After saving their mother, Celebrían, so many years before I got here, she slowly began to lose happiness in Middle-Earth and became paranoid that Sauron would come for her again due to the fear and torment his Orcs had instilled within her. So she left. And every year, the boys would hunt and have a great feast in her honor.

“It was around the three-hundredth and twenty-year mark when I arrived. They were insistent on taking me with them, despite my continued refusal. ‘Take Glorfindel’, I told them. ‘We don’t want him, and he’s on patrol,’ they told me. So I went with them. Outside of Imladris. Into the forests where game was rich and the trees thick enough to hide. The Orcs knew that, too. That’s why it was so easy for them to fire an arrow into Elrohir’s throat. And then the Gundabad horde came and there were too many to deal with. Elladan told me to run, so I did. He never stood a chance.”

The guilt-free lying came naturally for her. It had been her to lure them outside of Imladris, convincing them that there would be more bounty outside the city walls rather than from within — managed to get them away from Glorfindel’s watchful eyes and preyed on their ignorance. Bolg was always a good shot, much better than her, and his laugh had rattled the leaves when his Morgul arrow found its target. And what chance did a bowman like Elladan have against a master assassin like her?

“You ran? ” Thorin repeated in shock. “Didn’t ever return, not even for their burial?”

“Did you stay for your grandfather's burial when they buried his headless body into the ground of Azanulbizar, as well as the bodies of all the other Dwarves that had died in his name?”

Thorin turned his head, jaw setting.

“I thought not.”

Silence for a brief moment until Katrina decided to speak again. “It’s funny,” she scoffed. “My father was murdered, my mother probably suffered a worse fate. Elladan and Elrohir were killed for nothing. I’ve watched Gondorian Rangers get cut down. And now Bofur.” She turned her upper body to face him. He matched her posture. “What will happen to you, I wonder?”

Thorin lifted his chin. A power move? No. “Whatever it is, I will not allow it.” False confidence.

“Fate does not go by allowance, nor does it follow any rules,” she responded. “Everyone who has walked with me has died some sort of gruesome death.  If not by those who hunt us, then sooner or later, Mandos will have his choosing. For every life spared, the God of Death demands another.”

“I don't believe in fate nor luck," the king responded easily, despite the slight edge in his voice. Katrina could tell he was struggling on how to best digest her words — she wondered why she was even feeding them to him. “We've survived bad weather, Trolls, and scouts thus far.”

“Thus far,” Katrina repeated. “Something is coming, Thorin. I don't know what, but it’s threatening to reveal itself. So might I offer some advice?”

He inclined his head.

“Don't be an idiot and lead your company straight to it. Go back home, where everyone is safe. You have a future ahead of you. Don't waste it by chasing a dream you don’t even know is attainable by leading yourself and the others straight into the den of a dragon.”

“That 'den' is my home,” Thorin countered, “not the Blue Mountains. I will kill the dragon, and I will reclaim it. And if Fate doesn't like it, it will have to kill me."

Katrina sighed slowly, just barely shaking her head. “Be careful what you wish for.”

She left him alone to ponder over her words at the tombs of the boys she had murdered so long ago.

Chapter 11: Foresight

Notes:

pov starts to get weird toward the end. #Lol.

Imladris was quiet the next morning — no sound of Dwarves bustling to move on, not even the steps of Elves as they scurried throughout the city. The only sound was the birdsong that lulled her awake from the few hours of sleep she had gotten.

 

Last night was… interesting. 

Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield.

I don't believe in fate nor luck.

How peaceful it must be to be so ignorant about the world — about life. Her whole life, even before Azog, she had been taught to never tempt Fate, to never speak ill of what could be, carefully question but never doubt the plans that had yet to be revealed. But that was an Elvish belief. Thorin was not an Elf, he was a Dwarf: brash, haughty, prideful, stuck up in his own right.

(Kind. Majestic. Open when he wanted to be.)

She let herself wander around Imladris, feet carrying her to no particular destination. She stopped on a small bridge that separated two buildings, tilted her head to the sun, closed her eyes, and inhaled. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face, the breeze of the cool spring air tickling her nose and wafting through her hair. She exhaled, listening to the stream of the river below and the sound of the leaves dancing with the wind.

Her feet carried her farther into the city, finding herself in the main hall.

Her nose crinkled. She wasn’t alone.

Slowly, she ascended up the marble steps, admiring the plethora of paintings that lined the walls. When she reached the top, she found herself unsurprised to see the Hobbit standing there, admiring a mural with his mouth slightly agape. 

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Bilbo bumped in surprise. “What?”

Katrina raised her eyebrows at the painting. The screams of commands and metal clanging rang around in her head. “The painting,” she repeated. “It’s interesting.”

The Hobbit made the O shape with his mouth as he swung back and forth on his feet innocently, his lips twisted in a knot as he frowned at the painting. Katrina noticed. “What?”

“The painting,” he asked almost nervously. “What is it?”

“Ah.” She crossed her arms across her chest before moving to stand next to him. “It's a part of our history. The Last Alliance of Elves and Men.”

Bilbo rose a brow.

“A long time ago, when Middle-earth was in peril, two races decided to put away their enmities for the sake of the greater good of the world to fight Sauron—the creature wielding the giant mace—and keep him from driving Middle-earth into ruin.” She pointed to the yellow painted piece of jewelry on his finger. “That is the One Ring of Power, something that provided him with the ability to torment and bend people to his will. It’s how he enslaved the Nazgûl. In Quenya, they are known as the Úlairi.

“The man on the ground wielding the broken sword is Isildur. When his father, Elendil, was killed, Isildur made his last stand by using the blade Narsil to destroy Sauron. But instead of destroying the Ring, he kept it for himself. Then he was murdered. Rumor has it he became one of the Black Riders. Now the Ring is gone.”

Bilbo nodded to himself, glancing at the statue behind them that contained the said broken blade before looking at the painting again. “And what happens if he finds it again?” he asked worriedly, daring to look her way for a short period of time.

She shrugged honestly. “History will repeat itself, I guess,” she murmured. “But it's been almost two and a half thousand years of peace. I wouldn't worry about it.”

Liar.

The Hobbit blinked a couple times before humming quietly. Katrina looked him up and down with twisted lips. “You're not with the others,” she observed. “Why?”

“Well, neither are you.” His statement was a small mumble, like he was afraid to speak out of turn.

She scoffed softly. “They don't miss me.”

“Nor they I.” He sighed to himself. “They don't believe I should be here, and neither do you.” He shrugged at her shocked expression. “It’s okay, really. I’m still having some trouble believing in myself.”

Katrina looked away from him, scolding herself when she felt a twang of pity. “You've proved your resilience,” she found herself admitting softly before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe you have proved yourself as one of them.”

Bilbo breathed out of his nose. “Maybe,” he whispered. “Just maybe.”

---

Her feet carried her to the same place for the second night in a row.

She didn't know why she was going this way. Maybe it was because they were a constant reminder of what she had inflicted upon people; maybe it was because they were a constant reminder of what she was capable of; maybe it was a reminder of what she would do to Thorin in the near future.

Katrina's steps were quiet as she walked along the corridor, keeping her head low and hands shoved in her pockets. Imladris was beautiful tonight, lighter than it was the night before. Perhaps that was thanks to the moon — she was showing half of herself now, bathing whatever she touched in a pale light that was alluring in a way that was beautiful. Katrina stayed in the shadows as much as possible.

When she reached the steps to the graveyard, she was shocked to see that there were already people there. One of them was Thorin, and the other was someone who made her skin crawl. 

The woman is perhaps the most beautiful on the planet. A foot taller than Thorin and Katrina, her dark, wavy hair tumbling nicely down her back and flowing almost naturally with the breeze. Her skin is creamy and pale — like alabaster, not sickly grey. Her eyes shine a bright blue, emphasized by the moon. 

Anyone could have mistaken her for Lúthien Tinúviel, the fairest of all beings. 

But she was dead.

Her and Thorin spoke in low voices, too low to be heard by Katrina. Then Thorin inclined his head, a sign of respect to the elleth before he was turning away. Katrina blinked in confusion, not hiding her expression. Thorin’s steps were quiet as he ascended the staircase, briefly placing his hand on her shoulder before walking away.

“It has been quite some time.”

Katrina tore her attention away from Thorin’s disappearing frame to the back of the elleth in front of the statues. Katrina took a shaky breath, raising her chin a fraction of an inch.

“Arwen.”

The feet of Arwen’s purple nightgown twisted when she turned her upper body to face Katrina, a thin smile on her lips despite the sad eyes that were looking the other woman up and down. “You look different.”

“I grew up.”

Arwen gave her a pointed look, sardonic and with humor. She straightened, nodding to the hallways. “Your companion is quite the interesting one.”

“He's naïve,” Katrina commented plainly, her head back to where Thorin had retreated. “They all are.”

“And you are not?”

Katrina scoffed through her nose and faced the Evenstar again. “I’m not so gullible as to believe that Erebor can be so easily reclaimed and a dragon can be so easily killed,” she said. “I'm smarter than that.”

“Then why join them?”

“The Wizard believes I can be of… assistance. ” Katrina crossed her arms and leaned against the gateway frame. “He believes I can protect them.” She scoffed again. “As if I can protect them from dragon fire. Stupid old man.”

A sad smile crept on to Arwen's face as she turned to face the statues of her brothers once more. Katrina hesitated before leaning off the frame, slowly descending down the steps to stand next to the elleth, arms still crossed as she observed the tombs.

Arwen spoke first. “You cleaned them.”

Katrina didn’t dignify her with a response.

Arwen tilted her head. “Do you remember their faces?” she asked. “Men talk about how memories of loved ones fade over time. They say that the first to disappear is the color of their eyes, followed by the sound of their voice, until they can remember nothing at all.”

Katrina ran her teeth over her bottom lip and nodded. “I see them in my dreams,” she admitted. “I can still hear Elrohir’s laughter when Elladan misses a target. I can feel Elrohir’s pulse as if it’s mine while he rides his horse.” A pause. “I can hear Elrohir’s blood squelching from his throat as he struggles to hold onto life. Elladan’s scream for me to run before the sword pieces his chest.” Their eyes met. “I remember them well.”

Arwen seemed to be blinking back tears, taking in shaky breaths to try and keep calm. Katrina watched her carefully as the Evenstar looked her up and down, mouth slightly agape. “You’ve changed,” she whispered, mainly to herself.

Katrina shrugged helplessly. “I had to,” she whispered back. “The things I’ve seen… I had to grow. Had to change. ” She shook her head. “I had no choice.”

Arwen’s mouth was closed, brows furrowed as she studied Katrina. Her facial expression didn't change, not even as Arwen turned her whole body. Katrina did the same, the two half-Elves facing one another. Katrina did, though, tilt her chin to the right. “What?”

Arwen didn't say anything. Instead, she raised both hands and hovered them next to the opposing woman’s face. Katrina frowned for a second, staring into the eyes of Arwen. “...What are you doing?”

Now it was Katrina not getting a response. Arwen, wordlessly, placed both palms on Katrina’s face. Then her eyes were rolling to the back of her head and she was thrust into what seemed like a vision. 

Wherever she was, it was freezing. It shocked her that she could feel the cold as much as she was feeling — with her condition, she wasn’t supposed to feel effects of extreme weather like this, and wasn’t happy about how the bitter wind was making her teeth chatter. She gripped her shoulders and rubbed them in a fool’s attempt to stay warm and observe her surroundings. She seemed to be somewhere on a mountain surrounded by snow and stone. A dark hallway was in front of her, a set of stone stairs to her left. She tried to ignore the amount of armored Orc corpses that lay at her feet.

The sound of a loud drum made her turn around. Her nervous system flared and a violent chill ran down her spine when she came face-to-face with him, the Hobbit close by — the buff Dwarf looked on his way to sprint somewhere.

He looked terrible. Beaten, broken, azure eyes gone gray, his raven hair a frizzy mess. Dirt and a number of earthly things stained both his face and his war attire (a blue leather vest and a black long-sleeve underneath, scruffy black pants, and combat boots), black blood covering what was supposed to be a steel Dwarven sword. 

“...Thorin?”

He didn’t answer, too paralyzed in his own fear and shock to even recognize her presence — if he could even see her. He turned slowly, throat bobbing as he swallowed and strained an ear to listen. Bilbo looked terrified, eyes screaming his palpable fear and desire to abandon wherever they were. Katrina frowned and took a few steps forward when she saw orange lights glowing in certain hallways from the structure across the frozen lake, the sounds of shrill laughter inviting unease. 

That unease turned to dread when multiple members of her pack appeared at the very stop of the structure, the clearing smoke making them easily identifiable. The most identifiable was—

A whimper released from Thorin’s lips as he jogged to the edge of their own rocky structure. Bilbo, Katrina, and a bloody Dwalin lagged behind. 

Her father was dragging a beaten Fili by the collar of his own vest, his smile widening with each pathetic noise Fili made as he struggled to stand. Katrina noted the absence of his claw, replaced by a rusty blade that was sticking out of his nub. Her breath caught her throat when Azog dangled Fili over the edge. 

And whilst in the past she had told herself that the terrified noises of Fili were like music to her ears in the past, now it was only horror.

“This one dies first,” the Pale Orc declared loudly. “Then the brother. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last.”

Thorin’s heart was racing in her ears, hammering so violently against his chest she thought it was going to burst into pieces. The speed quickened when his nephew released a few struggling noises when his back was pressed against Azog’s chest.

“Go,” Fili croaked, almost begging.

Thorin shook his head.

Ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump—

“Run!”

Katrina’s audible gasp surprised herself when Azog rammed his blade through Fili’s back, palms covering her mouth. Fili cried out before his heart was pierced and he fell limp. Thorin opened his mouth but no sound came out, almost losing his footing. Kili was simply looking up in horror from below the structure. 

“Here ends your filthy bloodline!”

Azog tossed Fili’s body to the floor carelessly. Katrina looked away and squeezed her eyes shut when the crack! of Fili’s neck hit the floor next to his enraged little brother. Azog seemed pleased with himself, glaring at Thorin as if challenging him.

Kili—the brash and bold idiot Durin he was—fell for the bait, screaming and charging up the stairs with vigor as he sprinted to confront his brother’s killer. Thorin mumbled his dead nephew's name before screaming at the other one and turning to follow, leaving Bilbo and Katrina stunned and alone on the edge.

“...no!” 

Katrina whirled around when she heard a female voice scream out. The terrain had changed, no longer a snowy outcrop but now a muddy battlefield, the bodies of Orcs and Men alike littering the ground. An explosion made her jump and focus straight ahead, eyes widening at the sight of the Black Gate swung wide open. She was surrounded by both Men of Gondor and the Rohirrim, all too busy staring at the exploding volcano to even notice her.

What is this? 

The voices were coming from the front. She pushed her way past the throng of men, only to suddenly wish she hadn’t. 

There was a girl—probably around fifty-something—with tied up brown hair dressed in black leather armor. Her hazel eyes were bright with worry for the boy she was cradling in her arms, glancing sideways to a Gondorian man with big blue eyes and brown shoulder-length hair.

The boy was pale and looked a little bit older than the girl, his build strong with part of his long black hair up in a bun whilst the rest was slicked back to just above his shoulders. His Dwarvish made chest-plate over a black vest and brown long sleeved shirt was not only stained with black blood, but seemed to be becoming drenched with his own.

Siblings. And one was dying.

“I-I don’t understand,” the girl stuttered. “What is happening? Why is this happening?!”

“It’s over,” a Man said from Katrina’s left. “Sauron’s magic is gone. And with it, his curse breaks.”

Katrina’s eyes widened when she laid eyes on the man. Tall, shoulder-length brown hair, untrimmed stubble, dull blue eyes. A Gondorian, as if the red and silver armor were not telling enough — a Ranger, actually. 

She hadn’t seen him since he was a child. 

A woman suddenly appeared by the Ranger's side, hand coming to cover her mouth when she saw the boy in the girl's arms. Her elbow-length black hair was caked in dirt, eyes that seemed cold and ruthless looked scared and hollow.

Another Ranger that contained a large bruise running diagonally across his face and blood trailing down his lip suddenly arrived next to Katrina, pale blue eyes becoming sad when he saw the siblings. Besides him was a Dwarf with fiery red hair and a familiar Sindarin Elf with golden hair, their faces also falling.

The girl was confused, making a face as she thought. It looked like her head was spinning, eyes blinking rapidly. “But... but that's not possible,” she murmured softly before glaring at the Ranger. “How is it that your curse breaks and you live, but he dies?!”

“It’s not his fault.” Brown eyes met hazel. “You know the rules. For every life spared, the God of Death demands another.”

Katrina went alarmingly pale.

The girl seemed horrified at those words. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don't believe that.”

The boy allowed tears to fall from his eyes. “The will of the Valar is often unkind,” he tried. “That is why you have to tell Amad it isn’t her fault. And I need you to know it isn’t yours either.”

Katrina would've heard more of the conversation had she not jumped from a second explosion from Mount Doom. Barad-dûr was gone, now a dilapidated pile of rubble engulfed in lava. 

What is going on?

The boy’s labored breathing regained her attention. The rise and fall of his chest was slowing down, left hand clasped in the grip of the Gonodorian man that was knelt beside him. His lower lip trembled. “I love you,” he whispered. “ Na lû e-govaned vîn. ”

The soft sobs that left the woman’s mouth made Katrina glance at her. The Ranger had his arms wrapped around her, one hand on her back and the other on her hair as he allowed her to bury her face in his chest, body shaking as she cried; the Ranger himself seemed to be tearing up, eyes soon squeezing shut and nose hiding in her hair.

The girl didn’t hide her violent sob. “Don't—” Her voice broke, the boy’s name too muffled for Katrina’s ears.

Her vision began to blur as she squinted, the sobbing girl and the dying boy becoming nothing more than splotches before her vision returned to normal. Arwen was still standing in front of her, eyes returning to a normal color as she lowered her arms to her side. Katrina blinked and took a step back, looking around to see that she was out of the vision and was now—somehow—standing in Arwen's room.

“How… What…?” For the first time in a long time, Katrina was at a loss for words.

The Evenstar took a deep breath from her nose. “I know what you saw,” she confirmed softly, watching Katrina's reaction carefully.

Katrina’s knees were wobbling like a newborn fawn, the shaking so bad she could no longer hold herself up. Her hands shook violently as she sunk on the small rectangular sofa, eyes glistening with angry, confused tears as she attempted to process what she just saw. Arwen hesitated before sitting as well and placing a gentle arm around her shoulder. To her own surprise, Katrina didn't flinch. Instead, she slowly turned her head to face the elleth.

“Why did you show me that?” she whispered.

A pause. “Your time will come,” Arwen finally said. “You will face the same evil, and you will defeat it.”

“But what if I harness that evil? What if I can't defeat it?”

“Then your friends will help you.”

At this Katrina scoffed and shot up from the sofa, pacing around the room. “They’re not my friends,” she corrected bitterly. “They’re baggage. They’re slowing me down from what I need to do!” She shouted the last part out, her anger causing her to unintentionally swing her hand and throw a vase halfway across the room, the marble shattering against the wall. 

Arwen never moved. 

Katrina took large gulps of air as she struggled to compose herself, fingers raking through her scalp — any harder and she would draw blood. “We can’t stay here,” she managed to whisper. “We have to leave.”

“You’ve only just arrived.”

“Which is already too long.” Katrina was beginning to stutter, the vision replaying over and over again in her mind and not allowing her to think straight. “I need to find Thorin so we can leave —”

“Katrina—”

“You can't talk me out of this” She jabbed an accusing finger at Arwen. “You... that... it wasn't real ,” she stammered. “You're tricking me. It’s mind-games, all of it. A will-o’-the-wisp trick. This was a petty and rather vicious attempt to try and get in my head and distract me.”

Arwen sat up straighter. “You're afraid.”

“I’m not afraid! They should be afraid!” Katrina damn-near screamed this out, harshly rubbing her eyes when hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Those images are not real. The line of Durin does not perish by the hand of the Defiler, they will perish at the hands of something far worse. Those children are figments of my imagination that you put in my head to remind me of what I lost so long ago. You’re cruel. ” She croaked that last part out.

“I have the gift of foresight,” Arwen stated smoothly, still in her same seated position. “I saw the element of death plague your future.” She stood, slowly gliding Katrina's way. Katrina backed away wearily. “But there is also life.”

Katrina narrowed her eyes. “I don't believe you.”

Arwen's chin was high in confidence. “The sight of Galadriel does not often offer solace and ease,” she started slowly, “but that does not mean it cannot offer the idea of hope.”

“Hope?” Katrina shook her head, pursing her lips as she took backward steps towards the door. “Hope abandoned me the day Fate intervened and took my family.” Her hand found the knob. “Hope will not save me in the future.”

The assassin then fled the room and scurried down the hall. Her legs carried her at a pace that varied between running and walking, too focused on rubbing the tears out of her eyes to care where she was going.

She rounded the corner, inhaling sharply in surprise when she collided into someone’s chest. She looked up.

Thorin. 

Of all people.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey,” he exclaimed when they collided, instinctively grabbing her (though not roughly) by the shoulders. Then he was frowning. “Are you alright?”

Her mouth was agape, no words coming to her until she finally cleared her throat and shook him off. “Fine,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact.

His frown deepened when he grabbed her chin to make her look at him. She felt surprised when she noticed a change in his expression, eyes narrowed as he observed her face. “Have... have you been—?”

"It's nothing," she interrupted, pushing his hand away. "Bad dream."

“I wasn’t aware you could do that.”

She didn’t respond to that, simply grunted and maneuvered around him while trying to keep the shakiness out of her breath. The sound of him calling her name made her stop and halfway turn her body. “What?”

A pause. “You were right in saying that Bofur’s condition was my fault. He is a part of my company, and blood or not, he is still my kin,” he admitted. “Had it not been for you, he would have been devoured by the beast that almost killed him in the first place.” He inclined his head. “So thank you.”

Katrina took a couple of minutes to process his words before nodding slowly, not exactly meeting his eyes. “We protect our own,” she found herself reminiscing. “If it were me in his predicament, you would have done the same.” Their eyes locked, and she threw her hands out to the side as if to shrug. "We're a company."

For the second time since their stay in Imladris, Katrina saw Thorin Oakenshield smile. “Yes,” he agreed, “we are.”

The corner of her lip raised slightly as she inclined her head in acknowledgement before turning to leave. And as she kept on walking, her heart grew heavier and heavier.

It wasn’t until she reached her room when that grief turned to anger, marching to the bathroom to finally confront it.

It , of course, was waiting for her, wearing her face in the mirror. The color of its eyes had been drained to a silky black with no sparkle to be found, not even with the moon shining through the windows. It smiled — all lips, no teeth nor emotion behind it. “Welcome back.”

Katrina ignored the goading, splashing her face with water from the washstand. She didn’t bother to dry her face, letting the drops stick to her face before they rolled down her cheeks to slash on the floor. “Everything happens for a reason — that Fate guides our lives in a particular direction. That’s what my mother taught me.” She slammed her palm on the vanity and glared at the mirror. “Why the fuck did Fate have to lead me to you? ”

The mirage on the other side wore no expression. “What is it that the Dwarf said?” it asked. “No belief in Fate, no belief in luck.” It inclined its head. “What are you about to do?”

“I can’t kill him.” 

(She was now marked for death.)

“You are fucking pathetic,” the mirage laughed. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I can’t do it!”

 It was… oddly freeing, admitting this out loud. This exposure to weakness. The inability to be… perfect . The strength to admit vulnerability.  

The strength to be human.

(There is a saying with Men: To err is human. But she was not. Not anymore. Not even if she wished it one thousand times.

Fate had caused this. Caused this loss of humanity. She had the choice of choosing between mortality and immortality — she chose immortality, what half-Elf wouldn’t want to live forever?

She didn’t have the choice to inherit a roommate, forcing bodily co-habitation. And if she wanted to continue living forever, it meant cohabitating forever.

Forever… it’s a long time.) 

“I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I just… I can’t. I can’t .” 

There was a long pause. “So you assign him to me.”

She closed her eyes.

“The Dwarf believes that it is ill will to assign fate to others.”

“The Dwarf is a stupid fool.”

“But you cannot kill him.”

Crinkles on her peripherals as she squeezed her eyes shut now, as if not having to look the mirage in the eye meant anything. 

“You would seal your fate? For him?

At this she opened her eyes and laughed — hollow, empty, and sad. “My fate was sealed the day I met you,” she responded. “You leave me, I die. You choose to eat my soul, I die. You merge with me any further, I cease to exist and my body becomes your sanctuary — your fëa, my hröa.” Katrina stared at the washstand. “Every person I kill keeps you fed. That is our arrangement. But I’m so tired. The simple truth is that I don’t want to die, but I’m tired — I’m selfish like that. Selfish enough to deny my father the head of the Dwarf and you his soul. So you’ll do my dirty work for me. It’s the least I can do with this dirty hand Fate has given me.” 

(do not speak ill of Fate, as it is the will of the Valar.

do not think ill of Fate, as it is the will of the Valar.

do not wish ill of Fate, as it is the will of the Valar.

Innocence? What of it?)

Katrina blinked and found the courage to finally meet the eyes of the mirage. “You'll kill him. Quickly. But you'll leave his soul to Mahal. In exchange…” A shaky sigh. “You can have mine. The Law of the Dead will be fulfilled: one life for another. Azog will be happy. Suspect nothing. And we'll both be free.”

“And this is what you want?”

No. It wasn’t what she wanted. “I’m tired,” she repeated. “Do we have a deal?” She watched the mirage carefully. 

The mirage never responded, simply lifted its chin. 

Yeah, they had a deal.

---

Katrina slept soundly for the first time in years. 

Notes:

I love the concept of the Fëa and Hröa — the spirit and soul and the body. one cannot live without the other, but i'm freaky and so are spirits!

And Fate is just reference to Eru Ilúvatar. the guy that makes things happen. (and casually watches the Noldor fucking curse themselves then punishes them instead of lifting their curse and is like "well that's fate for you" LOLOLOLOL).

Chapter 12: Down, Down, Down

In the wee hours of the morning, the company of Thorin Oakenshield leaves Imladris. 

Before the dawn breaks, she visits the graveyard one final time. Thoroughly cleans the twigs off of every nook and crevice, traces the Sindarin text with her fingers, and stands there for hours just staring at their faces until Thorin finds her.

He doesn’t ask questions. She’s grateful.

Arwen greets them in the middle of the corridor. “I am the Evenstar, I will see you off,” is the excuse. 

Thorin’s hand finds Katrina’s shoulder. It’s a small sign of support, a backing, maybe. She accepts the small gesture with guilty appreciation as they walk. 

When they reach the Dwarves in the courtyard, Arwen requests the two women to be alone.

“It’s alright.” Katrina can see the apprehension in his shoulders. “It’ll be just a moment.”

Thorin leaves them.

Before Katrina can think of saying anything, Arwen is pulling her into a hug. Her fingers are soothing against Katrina’s scalp, and Katrina dares to inhale the sweet scent of the other elleth — doing this makes her melt into Arwen’s embrace even further.

It’s the Evenstar who breaks the embrace. She cups Katrina’s face. “We will never see one another again.” Her fingers swipe under Katrina’s eyelids, catching any tears before they fall. “Námarië.” 

The company left soon after.

All of their things had been packed the night before, only carrying the necessary provisions needed to keep them going for however long they needed. Katrina carried nothing more than a small sling-bag filled with snacks and extra clothing compared to Bofur’s large backpack full of whatever was inside.

“Be on your guard,” Thorin admonished as they reached the Hidden Path. “We’re about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths. Lead on.”

“Aye.”

Katrina stopped in her tracks and stepped to the side. She turned and admired Imladris one final time: how the golden rays of sunshine gleamed and bounced off the marble and how the colors of the morning made Imladris almost glow; the rush of the waterfalls in her ears and how they lulled her into calm; the serenity; the—

“Master Baggins”—Thorin’s voice was gruff, like he was annoyed—“I suggest you keep up.”

Katrina glanced to her right to find that the Hobbit had also stopped to admire the Hidden Valley for perhaps the final time. Soon he was scurrying off, not daring to be left behind or forgotten. She, however, stayed in place.

Thorin’s fingers graze her tricep. “Katrina”—his voice is softer now—“it’s time to go.”

“I’m never seeing this place again.”

Silence, save for the sound of the wind and the water and the birds. There’s no response until, “Yes, you will.”

She turned her head to look at him. They were the only ones left in the Elven land. He continued. “Time will tell when, but you will see the Hidden Valley again. I promise.”

He didn’t believe in fate, but he believed in promises? How peculiar. 

Not that it was going to matter. In reality, neither of them would see Imladris again.

She smiled thinly. “I suppose it will.”

---

Time did not tell the deluge that met them in the late evening. 

Several hours traversing overhill and through grasslands and hills and under waterfalls, the company soon found themselves taking on the task of crossing through a stone mountain.

It was not going in their favor.

The wind howled as the Valar cracked their lightning whips, streaking the night sky in sparks of white and yellow. Rain splashed into her eyes and seeped into her clothes, her hair blinding poor Bilbo behind her. Then he slipped and kicked rocks over the ledge, where he himself would have followed if it weren’t for Dwalin practically flinging him and slamming him back against the stone wall.

“Hold on!” Thorin’s voice shouted from the front of the line. “We must find shelter!”

Dwalin’s voice was full of alarm. “Look out!”

Katrina’s widening eyes just barely caught the stone being hurled toward their mountain, a shout escaping her lips as she and the other members of the company pressed themselves up against the wall in an attempt to shield themselves from the stones that were cascading down the cliff.

Balin’s beard was flying in his face. “This is no thunderstorm,” he observed. “It’s a thunder-battle! Look!” 

Everyone looked to where Balin was pointing. Katrina cursed. A silhouette of a humungous figure was seen tearing out a large chunk of stone, getting ready to hurl it.

Bofur did the exact opposite of pressing himself up against the wall, instead taking a few steps to stand on the edge of the cliff and peer out. “Well, bless me, the legends are true,” he spoke in awe. “Giants! Stone-Giants!”

The Giant roared loudly after the declaration in what seemed like challenge, letting the stone fly from his grasp. Katrina watched as the stone ran into another incoming giant, the other creature making a squealing sound when the stone connected with his neck.

“Bofur! Come back, you’ll get hurt, you idiot!” she cried, grabbing the Dwarf roughly by the shoulders and shoving him next to her, the stones of the opposing giant falling down the mountain.

Her grip on him tightened when she felt the mountain begin to shake, a crack splitting in between Fili and Kili. The brothers tried reaching for each other but were unsuccessful when the third Giant—their Giant—appeared from the mountain.

The Company was split, Katrina and eight others on one knee whilst Thorin and the other five clung onto the other. Everyone clamored in alarm as their Giant stood from their place in the mountain, only to soon be head-butted hard by the second Giant. The creature roared and stones flew everywhere, the Giant's left knee containing Thorin and the others banging hard against the rest of the mountain path.

Thorin ushered his portion of Dwarves off. “Go!” he commanded. “Move!”

Katrina’s group did not share the same luck. Her back was pressed up against the stone wall, attempting to ignore the sharp edges of rock digging into her shirt. The second Giant pathetically missed a punch being thrown to her Giant, who retaliated by attacking with a stone of its own to drive its opponent back.Though, as soon as her Giant turned around, its head was being taken off.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no!”

The Stone-Giant started to lean back slowly, flailing its arms about in a fool’s attempt to stabilize itself. Her group swung past Thorin's group, their eyes briefly connecting before the Giant's knee made way to crash straight into the mountain wall.

“Jump!” the King cried desperately.

Katrina's hand found Bofur's. “On three,” she said. "One, two—!”

“THREE!”

Everyone cried out as they jumped as stone collided into stone, diving for the floor and covering their heads with their hands. Everyone groaned, but it was Bofur who laughed. “That could have gone better.”

Katrina allowed herself to chuckle at the situation, wincing at the stones digging in her palms and her knees and she picked herself up from the floor. “Let us be thankful it did not worsen.”

Her head turned to the left when she heard  Thorin crying out for Fili, armor clunking as he ran. When he rounded the corner and his eyes befell that of his company, she watched the tension in his shoulders immediately dissipate as he allowed himself to breathe and smile briefly in relief. Then his smile was vanishing. Katrina frowned and followed his eyes, surprised to see them staring at a frantic Bofur.

“Where’s Bilbo?”

Now everyone was staring at Bofur.

“Where’s the Hobbit?!”

Ori gasped, eyes widened. “There!”

Bilbo Baggins was dangling from the cliff, grunting in effort as he fought to keep grip of the soaking stones. Katrina listened to his heart, the beating so quick she thought his immeasurable fear would cause it to rupture. 

“Get him!”

Ori and Bofur dove on Thorin’s order. Ori’s hand touching Bilbo’s caused him to slip, losing grip of the ledge before latching onto a wedge. He cried out at this, kicking his legs desperately as he attempted to reach for the two Dwarves.

Katrina didn’t even register what she was doing until she was actually shoving the two Dwarves out of the way to swing over the cliff, extending a hand to Bilbo. He stared at it dumbly.

“Don’t look at it, take it!”

Bilbo blinked, swinging his left arm before finally taking hold of her hand. She held onto it tightly, nails almost digging into his skin. “Bofur!” she called. “Grab him!”

She held her breath as she called on whatever power she had to pull him up slowly, giving slight thanks to the Valar that he was as light as he appeared, feeling suddenly lighter when Ori caught hold of him, then Bofur as they hauled him over the cliff.

Now it was her turn.

Katrina reached for the overhead ledge, about to pull herself up before a stone underneath her foot cracked and gave away. She cursed before she was screaming when her grip on the ledge failed her, about to go free falling into the stones below until her right arm was grabbed.

Worse. Things just got very much worse.

“Don't look down!” That was Thorin's voice.

“Telling me not to is going to give me more of an incentive to look there!” she retorted, eyes traveling below. “Oh.”

Darkness. Pure, unadulterated darkness. The only thing that greeted her were the jagged spears of stone. She imagined those spears skewering through her spine, or perhaps through her neck, like Elrohir; how when she would eventually fall, with no time to react, the Company would look smaller and smaller, until they were no more.

Fear. Real fear.  It made her palms sweaty and her legs go numb and her pulse go erratic and her breath go labored and—

“Katrina.”

His voice was so soft, so soothing, so gentle that it coaxed her to look up. His eyes were a calm blue, and the lightning made that azure color pop and shine so beautifully.

“Take my hand.”

She stared at the hand he was reaching down with, full of hesitancy. Thorin must have seen this. “I will not drop you,” he promised. “You have my word. The company protects our own, you remember this?” She nodded. “Give me your hand.”

So she did, clasping palms and squeezing. He pulled her up effortlessly, not letting go until her legs touched stone. 

He saved me.

“Kat!” 

Bofur pulled her away from the edge and into his warm embrace. She stiffened for a moment before she was sinking into it, eyes closing as she allowed her heart to slow and calm itself. Her arms never came up to encircle him.

Dwalin breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I thought we lost our burglar.” His eyes flickered to Katrina. “And the woman.”

Katrina felt Bofur’s arms tighten.

Thorin was angry. “He has been lost ever since he left home,” he growled; the Hobbit’s eyes lowered in response. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”

An awkward silence followed. Thorin called Dwalin to inspect a nearby cave, hollering at the rest of the company to follow suit. Katrina’s legs wobbled as she sandwiched herself between Bofur and Bombur, and she prayed everyone took her shivering as a reaction to the weather rather than fear of death.

Coward.

Gloin dropped several logs to the floor. “Right,” he grumbled, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get a fire going.”

“No.” Thorin’s interjection was sharp as he maneuvered around everyone. “No fires. Not in this place. Get some sleep, we start at first light.”

Katrina sunk onto a stone resembling a bench near the entrance. Whatever conversation Thorin was having with his Company was muffled. She was too busy staring at her trembling hand that was eye-level with her face, foot tapping at a rapid pace as she frowned. 

“First time seein’ your hand tremble?”

Katrina moved to practically sit on her hand. Bofur chuckled at this. “Don’t worry, lass,” he comforted. “It happens to the best of us.”

“You should be sleeping.”

“The King assigned me first watch,” he grunted as he moved to sit next to her. “So now you got me!”

Katrina signed hard. “He saved my life,” she said softly. “I owe him.”

“You don’t—”

“I do.” She twiddled her thumbs. “For every life spared—”

“—the God of Death demands another. Yeah, yeah.” Bofur offered a sheepish smile at her raised brows. “He may have shared a few details with me.”

“But he does not know what it means, nor its impact,” she explained. “When you spare a life, you must repay your theft from Mandos. If not with your own life, then someone else’s. A trade, and then some. He now owes Mandos a life. My debt to Thorin is helping him pay that debt.” Her eyes scanned the bodies of the sleeping Dwarves. “I owe Mandos lots of lives.”

Now it was Bofur who frowned. “You owe lives for savin’ us?”

“From the trolls. You from the Warg pack. Bilbo from the ledge.” She gave a short shake of her head and her eyes scanned the sleeping Dwarves. “I’ve lost count of all that debt.”

Bofur whistled lowly with a chuckle. “Good luck with that.”

Katrina’s eyes slowly blinked his way, brows rising in challenge. She watched as Bofur went from chuckling to poorly disgusting it as a cough, tapping his chest for the extra effect. There were a few moments of silence until he said, “You’re alright, lass. Not nearly as terrible as they thought.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

“I would!” Bofur’s grin, however lopsided it was, was genuine and reached his eyes. “You heard their whispers in the Shire. Their words. Their mistrust of you. But you — you proved them all wrong.” His hand rested on her knee. “I’m glad I met you, and I’m glad you’re on this quest.”

Guilt washes over her like a flood, filled with shame and remorse and gratitude and sadness and grief. Her heart caved as if it had been run through with a blade. 

It is in the human heart to feel the weight of guilt after the loss of life, Katrina, she remembered Azog saying to her once. But we are not human. We feel no guilt.

She forced a smile. “Thanks.”

The silence of the cave, the soft snores of the Dwarves, and a lullaby hummed by Bofur eventually lulled her to sleep, head propped against the wall and chin pointed toward the sky with his hand on her knee. 

“Where do you think you’re goin’?”

The hissed question startled her awake, but it was the sternness that shocked her. She turned her head to the entrance to find Bilbo’s back staring at the two of them.

After a moment, Bilbo turned to him. “Back to Rivendell.”

Bofur shot up from his seat; Katrina rose calmly. “No, no. Y–You can’t turn back now,” he attempted to reason. “You’re part of the company. You’re one of us!”

“But I’m not though, am I?” Bilbo asked in what sounded like defeat, his shoulders slumping up and down. He nodded his head toward the assassin. “You and Thorin said I should never have come. You both were right. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins.” He laughed bitterly to himself. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I should never have ran out my door.”

“You’re homesick. I understand—”

“No! No, you don’t understand!” Bilbo's voice began to raise in frustration, teeth grinding together as he struggled to contain his octave level. “None of you do. You’re Dwarves. You’re used to — to this life. Living on the road, never settling in one place, never belonging anywhere.”

Bofur's face fell, his shoulders—along with his hat—sagging as Bilbo's words sunk in; even Katrina, who was rarely ever surprised, couldn’t help but be shocked. 

She turned and found Thorin’s back facing them. He was entirely rigid, too rigid to be asleep.

Listening, then. 

The Hobbit realized his mistake and sighed. “I’m— I’m sorry. I didn’t—” He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking to the floor.

In the end, it was Bofur’s kindness that prevailed. “You’re right," he murmured in agreement, looking back at all his friends. “We don't belong anywhere.” His smile was sad but genuine as he placed a kind hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder. “I wish you all the luck in the world.” A squeeze. “I really do.”

Bilbo tried matching his smile, lightly patting Bofur's hand before turning to leave. Katrina's eyes narrowed. Bofur mirrored her look. “What's that?”

A baby blue was emanating through the sheathe of Bilbo’s tiny blade. The Hobbit frowned and pulled it out just a fraction before his eyes were widening in confusion. 

The hissing of sand made her eyes travel to the floor. Cracks were beginning to appear, too calm to signal an earthquake but quickly enough to determine that trouble was approaching. She caught Thorin sitting up, shouting at his company to—

The ground gave away as the trap doors opened, swallowing everyone up as they disappeared. Everyone screamed as they slid on various slides through the tunnels, Bofur gripping Katrina as if she were a lifeline. Everyone landed in a wooden crate, stacking themselves on top of one another. They all shared a loud groan when Bombur landed and rolled all over them.

“Lay off the snacks, Bombur!” Katrina shouted in annoyance as she struggled to escape the Dwarven heap, sliding down the mountain of their bodies before she looked around.

She cursed. 

Underground. Alone. Surrounded by—

“GOBLINS!”

Nori’s squeal forced her attention to the front. The small, wart covered, oily cretins were charging straight for them in large clumps, jumping and crawling over them before they were being passed down from Goblin to Goblin.

Katrina growled. She knew a losing battle when she saw one, so she relaxed her body and allowed herself to be handled from Goblin to Goblin — she did, however, make sure to meet the eye of every creature who touched her, smirking at how they shriveled under her glare. 

She was forced to blow some hair out of the way when she felt something being pressed down on her head. She craned her neck to see that Bofur was now without his hat.

“So you can blend in,” he offered with a wink; she smiled lightly in return.

The company was passed all the way into the square, where hundreds upon hundreds of Goblins were beginning to crowd. Katrina allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, glancing over the wooden bridges to peer at the pit of darkness beneath them, lips twisting in a knot. She allowed her eyes to wander the cave, watching as Goblins took their positions on neighboring bridges and forced their way into cramped cavern chambers.

There was a guttural laugh from the front that caught her attention. The Great Goblin was coming into view now, looking more disgusting than when they last met. He was larger in size, his goiter covered in more warts than usual. Oil reflected off of his pink skin, so slick that his small crown threatened to tip over. He was gripping his mace that contained a large skull of an animal, humming as he seemed to flop about in his chair.

"I feel a song coming on," he said, cueing the goblins to start banging drums, banging drums, smashing bowls or blowing on horns; the noise was so much, poor Bifur had to cover his ears. Katrina smirked and closed her eyes as he started to sing:

Clap, snap
The black crack
Grip, grab
Pinch and nab

Batter and beat
Make 'em stammer and squeak

Pound, pound
Far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin-town
(Down, down, down in Goblin-town)

With a swish and a smack
And a whip and a crack
Everybody talks when they're on my rack

Pound, pound
Far underground

Down, down, down to Goblin-town
(Down, down, down to Goblin-town)

Hammer and tongs
Get out your knockers and gongs
You won't last long on the end of my prong

As if to prove his point, he stabbed a random Goblin and waved his mace around before it flew off. Katrina felt her smirk grow as opened her eyes to see the Goblin free-fall before focusing her attention on the lunatic once more.

Clash, crash
Crush and smash
Bang, break
Shiver and shake

You can yammer and yell
But there ain't no help

Pound, pound
Far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin-town

He slowed down on the last few verses, standing on his toes as he twirled; the company and their captures were forced to duck, Katrina’s brow lifting as he danced out the last final bit of the acoustics before it was silent. The Great Goblin, bored now, turned to slouch on his chair again, squishing one of his stepping stones and causing the Goblin to squeal.

“Catchy, isn’t it?” he drawled. “It’s one of my own compositions.”

Katrina was amused. The company was not. “That’s not a song,” Balin replied, disgusted. “It’s an abomination!” 

“Abominations. Mutations. Deviations. That's all you're going to find down here,” the Great Goblin responded proudly. The rest of the hoard cried out in agreement.

The Goblins threw their weapons in a large pile. Katrina gripped the hilt of hers like a vice — if they knew what was best for them, none would dare approach. 

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?” the Great Goblin demanded. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?!”

Well...

“Dwarves, your Malevolence,” a smaller Goblin answered.

“Dwarves?’

“Found them on the front porch.”

“Well, don't just stand there. Search them!” he screeched in command. “Every crack! Every crevice!”

Once more, the Goblins surrounded them all. Their hands rummaged through the Dwarves’ pockets, throwing any and all belongings into the same pile their weapons were in. When a Goblin approached the girl, she sent an evil sneer his way. “Touch me, and you'll never see that hand again.”

Katrina watched as the Goblin she threatened sauntered away just as another Goblin dumped out a large sack, one too many trinkets such as silverware, goblets, plates, and candle holders falling out into the pile. That same Goblin handed its king a candle holder. “It is my belief, your great Protuberance, that they are in league with Elves!”

The Goblin King hummed and looked at the label underneath the candle holder. “Hm. ‘'Made in Rivendell.’” A roll of the eyes as he threw it carelessly. “Second Age. Couldn't give it away.”

Dwalin and Dori both glared at Nori. “Just a couple of keepsakes," he offered shyly.

Katrina rubbed her face with her palm. Kleptomaniac. 

“What are you doing in these parts?” the Great Goblin demanded once more.

Movement from her left. Her fingers wrapped around the forearm of the Dwarf King as she pulled him back to her, allowing Oin to step up and answer instead. “Don’t move,” she warned in a low voice. “Unless you want us dead, you will not move. Do not even dare to entertain his questions.”

“They're Goblins.”

“And?” She raised a brow at him. “Most Goblins are stupid, I agree. But this one here has more brains than a pack of Orcs. He’s ruthless. He'll kill all of us in a heartbeat if he wants to. And besides, you’re a king. The king. What do you think will happen once they figure out who you are?”

Thorin swallowed and nodded slowly, both of them watching as Oin stood in front of everyone. The Great Goblin was eying him warily. “No tricks,” he said. “I want the truth, warts and all.”

“You're going to have to speak up,” Oin said, holding up his ear trumpet. “Your boys flattened my trumpet.” The old Dwarf was smirking. 

“I’ll flatten more than just your trumpet!” The Great Goblin threatened, marching over to the small group and smashing bits of the railing that was attached to the bridge.

Katrina's head gestured to him, making a sideways glance to Thorin. “Do you understand me now?”

Bofur went to the elderly Dwarf’s aid. “If there's more information you want, I'm the one you should speak to,” he stammered, releasing a breath when the Great Goblin calmed down slightly. Bofur had to think for a few seconds. “We were on the road.” A frown. “Well, it’s not so much a road as a path. Actually, it’s not even that, come to think of it. More like a track.”

Katrina was watching the Great Goblin carefully. “He's getting angry,” she whispered to the Dwarf King. They both observed the creature, he of whom was shaking his head and mumbling incoherently to himself. “Someone needs to make Bofur stop.”

No one did. And, Bofur, oblivious to all this, kept going. “Anyways, the point is, we were on this road, like a path, like a track. And then we weren’t, which is a problem, because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday!”

“Visiting distant relations.” This was Dori.

Bofur nodded quickly. “Some inbreds on me mother's side.”

“Shut up!” The Great Goblin screamed, his voice resonating throughout the underground den. “If they will not talk, then we will make them squawk!” His grin turned evil. “Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bone Breaker. Start”—he pointed the end of his mace to terrified little Ori—“with the youngest!”

Katrina felt Thorin's arm slip from her grasp. “No. No, Thorin—”

Too late. 

“Wait!”

Katrina watched as Thorin shoved his way through his friends, jaw set as he stared up at the chuckling Goblin King. She looked down to the ground and cursed, head spinning as she tried to think.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is! Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror. King Under the Mountain.” He bowed low in mockery before picking his head back up. “Oh, but I'm forgetting. You don't have a mountain. And you're not a king. So that makes you... nobody, really.” A smirk. “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just a head, nothing attached.”

Katrina's head rose, brows furrowing. Price? she thought as the Dwarves mumbled amongst one another. What price?

“Perhaps you know of whom I speak," the Great Goblin continued. “An old enemy of yours. A pale Orc astride a white Warg.”

Panic settled in Katrina’s chest as Thorin’s face contorted with anger, spitting out his words with venom. “Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” he growled in what seemed like fear, almost like he was trying to convince himself. “He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?”

Katrina’s head spun. So, it turns out Yazneg was right… to a degree. Azog was intent on betraying her, okay with trading her life so long as he got his precious Dwarf head. 

But why? She had dedicated her life to him — for him. Pushed down every crumb of humanity and buried it in the deepest pit just for him. Loved him. Loved him so much that she killed his enemies for him — she killed a child for him. Allowed herself to become a vessel and hate herself for years. All for him. Her father. 

All so he could sell her out.

(So much for love.)

An evil chuckle from the Goblin King snapped her to reality. "Send word to the Pale Orc,” he said to a dinky little Goblin holding a slate on a swing-set attached to a pulley system. “Tell him that I have his prize."

“Send the messenger, and I will send you his head in return.”

Katrina was acting in anger when she took Bofur’s hat off, shoving her way to the front. The corner of her mouth rose when the cave was filled with shrieks and shrill screams of fear; even the Great Goblin himself was shook. “It's the assassin!” he cried. “The Shadow Killer!”

She took this time to gloat, spreading her arms wide and spinning. “That’s right,” she boasted. “You remember me. You all remember me! Forty years is nothing compared to the lifelong agony I swear unto you. Unto you all!”

“You all…” The Goblin’s King warty finger trembled as he looked at his constituents before him. “You all knew she was here, and said NOTHING?!”

Katrina’s smile turned sickly sweet. “It’s been a while.”

“You killed my son, you little witch!”

“You did not uphold your end of the bargain, my king. Your son was a reminder to pay your dues. And if you don't watch yourself, you'll join him.”

The Great Goblin looked like he was trying to make himself seem taller, prompting his belly to go outwards more. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, I shouldn’t. But alas! Here I am. Like my colleague here was trying to tell you: bad weather, last minute change of plans, your trap. But now I see that you're going to sell me out for a second time!” Her laugh was fake, throwing her hands out to the side with a shrug. “You truly are one of the marvels of the world.” 

The Great Goblin eyed her warily. “You failed him.”

“Excuse me?”

The Goblin King began to cackle, pointing an oily finger her way. “You're in trouble now,” he sang. “What better way to assert my revenge than to bring back the head of a traitor and his nemesis? A failed assassination, a grave consequence. Seems fitting for the likes of you.”

The Dwarves behind her began to stir, mumbling to one another in rushed, hurried voices. They quieted voices when Katrina slightly lifted her hand as if to tell them to calm down. Thorin was confused. “Assassination?”  he repeated. “What’s he talking about?”

“He’s not talking, he’s blabbing,” she corrected. “And we’re leaving. He’s not going to strike us if he knows what's good for him, lest he wants my wrath to rain down upon him like fire.” She smirked at the scared chittering of the colony. “Come on.”

When she turned her body around, she frowned to see that Thorin was frozen in place, eyes far away. “Thorin?”

He didn’t answer.

“Thorin, we're leaving,” She approached him and pulled on his elbow. “Let’s go.”

He ignored her, not quite shaking off her grip but not submitting to it all the same. Katrina watched him as he walked past her before suddenly wishing she hadn't.

There, at the edge of the stage where they were all standing, was a little blue hue.

A will-o’-the-wisp.

The Great Goblin chuckled and cleared his throat, singing a song as Thorin cautiously approached the ghost.

O wisps of blue how fair they glow
A ghost of Shadow's light
A song of past, the pain of now
A future made of strife

The rest of the cave started to join in.

Touch if you dare! But don't be shocked
When the wisp conveys your worries
For all that knowledge has a cost
When the wisp relays your story!

“Thorin,” Katrina called, croaking his name out. He stopped and turned half of his body. She shook her head slowly. “Don’t.”

Thorin hesitated, focusing his attention to the wisp again. It seemed to be luring him over with its soft whispers, fluttering around in its spot. Their eyes met again. “I have to.”

He reached his hand out to the little ghost, slowly inching towards it. The wisp hummed, tilting its head to the side before its tiny hands grabbed hold of Thorin's fingers, glowing a violent shade of baby blue, until it engulfed the whole cave.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of REVENGE