I sat down close to the fire, sitting opposite Fili and Kili as the campfire crackled in its ring of stones. We had set up camp on nice wide ledge next to a short cliff that led down into the lower valleys of the lone lands. Trees surrounded us on all sides and there was a small Rocky overhang behind Fili and Kili which served as a back rest.

The company was mostly sleeping and I could hardly stand the snores. I probably would need to remedy this with a simple 'disturb-me-not' spell to help me sleep with ease.

At the moment I was holding my hand in the fire, fingers tracing the hot coals, but I felt nothing, save the texture of the rough stone and the burning bark against my skin. I had my white hair pulled to both sides of my head in braids, tied off and lying flat against my burgundy long sleeve night shirt. My dark grey night pants were quite loose and I had to tuck the hem under my shirt to keep them from sliding down my backside. It was harder to find clothes that fit me, seeing as they never seemed to have my size in clothes. I wasn't the tallest bean-pole, nor the shortest hobbit in the Shire. I was probably around five-six, taller than the dwarves and two feet taller than Mr Baggins, the only one I was shorter than was Gandalf who was taller than me by almost a whole foot taller.

"How does it feel?" Kili was asking in awe as they stared at my hand which was not blistering nor burning at all in the flames.

"Warm, comforting almost." I said and my brow creased with the effort but I smiled softly all the same – appreciative of the questions they asked. It had been almost eleven years since I had been asked a question like that. "It hurts my head; the concentration is exhausting." I added, quick to mention my limits. I withdrew my hand and let go of the enchantment, feeling my body relax. A few embers flickered and alighted on my hands, singing them for a moment before the energy caught on and I straightened up a little.

Kili began to clean his pipe and Fili took a few puffs from his own. The wisps of smoke fluttered through the air and disappeared with the embers that climbed through the sky and disappeared in the vast sky of velvet, alight with the glittering stars that filled the cosmos.

There was a huff and I turned my head over my shoulder, seeing Bilbo, standing up and walking towards the ponies, hands in his pocket, he looked around and his eyes passed over me, and I smiled at his attempt to be inconspicuous. Bilbo then began to stroke the nose of his pony and whisper to her before taking something from his jacket pocket and press it to her silky lips. There was a faint crunch and I realized it was an apple. He was feeding his pony, and smiling softly at her.

The tender moment was split down the middle as a cruel shriek shot through the air, tearing through the peaceful night like an arrow through flesh. My whole body seize instinctively and I shuddered, gripping my arms as I stared out into the dark valley that bled shadow and cloaked the various creatures that lurked in the unseen Valley below.

Bilbo followed my gaze and pointed out into the Valley, turning to face us. "What was that?" He asked, eyes shining nervously between the two brothers and me. I turned my body and sat with my left side to the fire, feeling the warmth wash over me as I looked out into the dark valley past Bilbo.

"Orcs..." Kili whispered, and Bilbo's eyes narrowed as he walked over to us, avoiding stepping on a dwarf with his wooly feet; tip-toeing around the sleeping bodies.

"Orcs?" He echoed a little louder than before, and through my peripheral vision I saw Thorin start awake, eyes flashing with brief shock as he sat forward – no longer propped up against the stone overhang – one hand on his knee as he leaned forward.

"Throat-cutters," Fili said casually and Bilbo's eyes widened a bit, looking at the two dwarves. "There'll be dozens of them out there; the lone lands are crawling with them." The way he spoke was relaxed, and I began to grow suspicious of their intentions.

"They attack in the small hours of the night – quick and quiet, no screams, just lots of blood." Kili added, lowering his voice to deliver the morbid message.

Bilbo's eyes were wide and he looked from the bots to the valley beyond, his hand was wringing in his pocket, and he scanned the night for the infamous creatures of blood and vicious carnage. I knew their shrieks and howls well, for I had heard them as a child. I went camping with my mother and gran when I was seven; bundled up between them. I had been awoken by a shrill howl, and mum had started, gripping me. I remember the way she shook gran as the underbrush yonder snapped and crackled with the weight of someone who walked carelessly about.

Mom had shaken gran awaken and informed her that something was nearby. I remembered the way she glowed as she held up her hands, drawing runes and muttering spells, the pale blue light floating around her. I remember mom tensing around me as a shadow said across the tent canvas and disappeared before being followed by a few others.

I remembered asking what we had seen that night when we returned to Gondor, and her answer had been simple – a single syllable – "orcs" my mother had said and stroked my hair.

I heard the soft and muffled chuckles of Fili and Kili behind me, and I felt my brow crease as I turned my head back a little over my shoulder to see the brothers stiffening their chuckles with tight lipped grins.

"You think that's funny?" I looked up to see Thorin, stepping up to Bilbo, looking at the brothers. "You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" He asked firmly, bitter tones clear along with his disapproving stare.

"We didn't mean anything by it." Kili said in a low whisper; eyes turned downcast as shame crossed his features.

"No, you didn't." Thorin said in a sharp, yet hushed voice. "You know nothing of the world." He hissed and turned his back on us, walking over to the Cliffside, and folding his hands behind his back as he looked down into the Valley, the firelight barely illuminating his features from behind as the veil of darkness reached its shaded tendrils around his body, adorning him with the cloak of the velvet sky, bereft of the stars that littered overhead; smothered by the firelight that sent plumes of smoke high in the sky.

"Don't mind him laddie," I looked up to see Balin, standing not two feet away from me looking down at Fili and Kili, evidently, they were feeling rather guilty, judging by their worried and shamed expression. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs..."

My gaze followed Thorin until Balin continued to speak, drawing me in with the reason to Thorin's bitter behavior. "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." Balin said heavily, and drew in a breath. I could almost see the battle shining in his eyes – the ghost of the past weighing down upon his shoulders – the death he had seen branded into his brain by the weapons of the enemy and his own clashing together in a violent scramble for survival and the bittersweet taste of victory.

"Moria had been taken by legions of orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the defiler..." The name seemed to strike the match of some kind of bitter resentment sat within him – a stalemate of his ragging emotions of anger and peace – anger for that creature he called Azog.

"The giant Gundabad orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin." Bilbo looked over his shoulder at Thorin, looking out next to the ponies that were innocently unaware of his dark past that fostered in the crevasses of his heart and head, renewing the battle within his mind. I somehow knew he was aware of the story, and no doubt living it once more within the confines of his head.

"He began..." Balin spoke, voice fighting against the quiver that stuck in his throat, "by beheading the king." The despair flooded through his eyes and I saw tears, either from a mix of the memory and the smoke, or just the fact that he grieved for his friend in sympathy. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing; – taken prisoner or killed – we did not know." Balin hesitated only a moment, trying to right himself.

"We were leaderless; defeat... and death were upon us." Then something alighted on Balin's face that I did not expect. Balin then smiled softly, eyes squinting and wrinkling at the edge, "That is when I saw him," Balin looked past us towards Thorin, smiling still. "a young dwarf prince, facing down the pale orc... his armor rent, welding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield." A small wave of pride in his friend's next advancement washed over his face as he continued to speak, "Azog the defiler learned that day... that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

No one spoke for a moment, and Balin drove us back into the fray of the memory, no sparring a second to prolong the intensity of the tale. "Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated." A look of anguish then settled on his face, and he closed his eyes a moment, not darling to speak without at least a second to compose himself.

"But there was no feast – nor song that night – for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived." He strained against the water in his eyes, "And I thought to myself then, there was one who I could follow – there was one I could call king –." I turned to look at Thorin and found that most of the company was standing staring at him. Thorin slowly turned to us and the silence seemed to swell as emotions were conveyed between them that would never be spoken – a form of unutterable fear and anguish – and the emotion swelled in the silence that crept into my bones, and struck out at my heart with emotions I was unfamiliar with.

Thorin began to walk back towards us when Bilbo spoke. "And the pale orc? What happened to him?" For a brief moment, no one could offer an answer.

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin spat bitterly, and I followed him with my eyes as he went back to his spot leaning against the stone. I felt something strange then, a feeling that smothered me, something dark and unspoken. I turned to look at Gandalf but found his gaze was connected with Balin's and the two of them looked slightly unnerved. Gandalf didn't notice my stare and took a deep breath, tapping the stem of his wooden pipe to his lips.

I waited for the others to drop off to sleep, and when I seemed to be the only other one awake, I approached Thorin. I didn't bother to dust the ash from my trousers and instead I looked down at him as he looked out at the valley. As soon as he realized that I was walking towards him he turned to face me with a small nod. I nodded back once and jutted my chin out at the valley that was bloated with mist, sucking the moisture into the cool clouds that drifted throughout the valley on the breeze.

"I can take the watch." I said, not meeting his eyes until he spoke.

"You should get some sleep while you can." He replied, his voice cool and deep, but I could tell he was tired.

"No, I don't sleep well anyway, the noise is too much for me." I spoke bluntly but quietly, my amber eyes following the outlines of the hills and mounds that rose around us,

"Noise?" Thorin echoed. The air was full of noise, the sound of leaves brushing against one another, the nocturnal creatures scuttling about. "Is that one of your abilities?" He asked with a smirk playing on his lips. This made me irritated, but I didn't say anything born of bitterness or anger.

"I've been alone since I was nine, and the sound of the woods is not unfamiliar to my simple ears." I said, and sat down, looking out over the valley, eyes flicking to anything that moved in the dark. "I will stand watch." I spoke again, a note of finality in my tone. Thorin didn't speak, and only stared at me a moment before he exhaled heavily and stood up, and until the clunk of his boots vanished and the rumpling of blankets stopped did, I relax my posture, and let my eyes become distracted by the swirling mist...