A/N~ Hey guys, it's been a few years. I recently got back in to The Hobbit and found that I had about, 50,000 words of this fanfiction written but never posted. It's not finished just yet, but almost, and I have to say, this story could use a bit of work! My writing has really improved since I started this. I decided not to change too much of the story up until this point. I didn't want to alter the flow but I have posted all that I had so you'll notice the difference now. One day I may go back and edit, because there is a lot you miss out on by strictly following Katy's point of view, and it kind of ruins the story, I feel as if there are just gaping plot holes without all the good stuff.

Katy jerked awake, her eyes flying open, and nearly knocked Tommy and Delilah away from her. Luckily the children were heavy sleepers. She froze, looking up and away from the kids, finding the courtyard filled with the red robes of the Elven Army of the Woodland Realms. Their gold armor gleamed in the morning sun and made them look ethereal. She could not see beyond the first few rows of their ranks, as they were standing so close to them, but she knew without a doubt, that it they were there then so was their king.

Should she sneak away or stay and face whatever was awaiting her on the other side of the army? Her mind raced while she remained seated on the ground, hidden from view, and gnawed on a curled finger in thought. In comparison to the fresh army before her, she looked little more than a street rat. She still wore the splattered gold across her chest, it had burned into her skin, and cooled across her tunic in a mockery of the glorious armor the Mirkwood elves wore before her. She had given it little thought, in all the action, but now she vaguely wondered how she would get it off of her. It had severely burned her flesh, eaten away at it, and she was certain her skin had melded with the fibers of the tunic. The gold had already begun to cool by the time it had hit her, so she was left with a lumpy mass stuck to her like glue. She grimaced. It was her mark of royalty. A royal screw up, she thought darkly and sighed.

She shimmied out from between the two sleepy children and stood. While she absently tried to brush the dust from her pants she searched about before her eyes made contact with another woman's and she gestured to the children. The woman nodded and shuffled over to take her place as guardian.

On the other side of the courtyard Thranduil sat atop his great elk proudly, watching as the townspeople took the supplies and provisions he had brought to them, speaking with Bard. They seemed to be having a rather serious conversation if the heavy set brow Thranduil wore was anything to go by. She feared how he would treat her, knowing that she had turned her back on him, but finally seeing him again made her step forward. She wriggled through the crowds and struggled to push her way to the front, hissing when her burns were rubbed and her bruises bumped, but she managed.

"You mean to take the mountain?" she heard Bard ask.

"No," Thranduil responded, "But I too must claim something of mine from those dwarves." He looked up and his eyes were automatically drawn to her, like magnets, and she found she could not look away from him even as he dismounted and moved towards her with a cold look upon his face. It was like she was facing Smaug all over again. Here was a creature of great power bearing down on her, angered by her presence, and yet she found him breathtaking.

Elves. She snorted.

The King had stopped in front of her to stare down at her ragged form. He lifted his brows in that look of political disdain that so greatly irritated her.

"I see you have managed to add more burns to your collection," he drawled dryly, "and managed to steal a bit of gold for yourself as well." His brows lifted, mockingly impressed.

She floundered for something to say, her mouth opening and closing, but her brain provided her with no witty comebacks. His attitude towards her was not completely unexpected but it still hurt when he commented on her scars so blatantly. But she had a backbone herself, born from years working in the restaurant industry, and so her eyebrows crashed together and she lifted her chin to look at him just as coldly. She shoved her pain away, promising to nurse her aching heart later, and lifted a brow. Never did she think she would find herself having a stare down with an Eleven King a dozen times her age. But if you asked her, he was far pettier then she.

"It was worth it," she stated simply.

There were a million other things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to tell him of her adventure, what she had found in herself, and what Smaug had given her. The new future that was slowly blossoming into being and her discoveries. What she hoped would come to pass thanks to her struggles. And she wanted to warn him of the coming darkness. But she held her tongue. Now was not the time. He was angry with her and she did not know if he would ever forgive her but she would not plead with him. She would not back down. King he may be but he had also told her to bow to no one. She would not let him forget those words.

"Oh?" he questioned lightly.

Something about his response set her off. Her eyes narrowed, glinting in the rising sun, and she turned her gaze away from him to Bard. The man was standing off to the side behind Thranduil watching in curious concern. The tension between them was palpable and the man did not know quite how to react to the obvious anger that brewed between them

"I believe you have a dwarf to speak to," she said coldly, setting her shoulders against the wide-eyed stare she knew Thranduil was giving her. He had never been brushed off in such a manner, or at least not in a very long time. It raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Bard straightened, a bit embarrassed at being caught staring, but nodded curtly nonetheless. He sent a look to Thranduil who turned to the human blankly. The King of The Woodland Realms nodded once.

"Go, speak with the dwarf, if you will, and report back to me," he instructed.

Bard turned and disappeared among the crowd, his shoulder's set and head held high, and thought no more on the two elves and their obvious dispute. He was determined to make Thorin see the errors of his ways and prevent the oncoming war that he had no doubt Thranduil was ready to unleash upon the mountain if he did not get his way. But even as he struggled to put the elves from his mind he threw a worried glance over his shoulder towards Katy. Thranduil was a formidable ally and even more so, an enemy, and he wondered how in the world Katy had managed to get on his bad side.

"Come," Thranduil said, turning away from her and descending the few steps into the courtyard. Ahead the woodland elves had set up a large tent for their King, primarily used for counsel and less for actual resting. But it stood proudly in the dying light of the day, gleaming as all things elven did, and garnered the attention of the people of Lake Town as they idly passed through. Many were too busy to sit still for long, as there were wounded to tend to and provisions to collect and distribute, but all were determined to catch site of the elven army and their king.

Katy scowled at his back but followed nonetheless, she was a political figure now, not his friend. The realization both hurt and angered her further. She grew weary of the stubbornness of dwarves and elves and their need to claim dominance over each other. Her irritation at Thranduil's pig headedness drove her mad. In fact, everything was driving her mad in that moment. The only one who had not truly pushed her to her limits on that adventure was Bilbo himself and she was sorely missing his presence then. She was ready to snap. She could feel the tension in her muscles and bones, feel the slithering rage within slowly working its way to the surface, and a witty but kind comment from the hobbit would have done well to soothe her anger then.

She glided through the courtyard in prideful ire and ignored the strange looks sent her way. They made quite the image: Thranduil in his grand elegance and her in her scruffy and dirty anger.

Thranduil brushed aside the tent flaps and continued without waiting for her. Clearly, he was so angered by her actions that he refused to even treat her with decent manners. While she had never been one to demand chivalry from the other sex, now in her livid mood, she found the lack of it utterly appalling. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to growl, and pushed her way into the tent.

Stupid elves.

Thranduil stood at a table, pouring himself a goblet of what she assumed to be wine, and did not bother to glance in her direction as she entered. She took in the plush furniture and rugs derisively. The King clearly needed comfortable padding for his royal behind at all times. There was even a four-poster bed in the far back, hidden behind a thin screen, but she could see it! She doubted he even planned on taking a nap during this excursion and had brought the furniture for appearances sake only.

"Tell me," he began flippantly, "What have you gained from your little venture?" He set the carafe of wine down against the wooden table with a gentle thud and turned to face her, his armor shifting ever so slightly, but enough to prick her ears.

"Plenty, but nothing that you would appreciate I am sure," she muttered resignedly. She moved to place her bag on the floor gently. She had refused to let go of it and its precious cargo since she had left Lake Town but it weighed heavily on her achy shoulders. At the last second, she thought better of it, and sat it in a chair where it would not be trampled accidentally. Or purposefully. She glance at the high elf suspiciously.

He lifted his gaze to the heaven above before taking a sip of the red wine. "I assume you received those burns from that dragon," he stated and turned to face her for the first time since she had entered the tent.

"Yes," she answered shortly.

"You have not been ill?" he said, lifting his brows curiously.

She paused, thinking it over in her mind, and dropped her gaze to the ornate rug beneath her. "No," she said. She lifted her arms to take in the raw and blistering skin thoughtfully. "He was changed," she said quietly. His fire had been less sickeningly sticky and cloying but more dry and true. Honest fire. He had been aware of the madness he had dwelled within, she realized, for he had even mentioned that he was tempted to watch it take hold of Thorin.

He picked up on her use of the past tense and said, "Yes, I had heard from the ravens that the beast had been killed." He watched her wearily, still as they spoke, and dared not move. He had begun to sense the growing turmoil that consumed her mind. The anger that seethed beneath her skin.

She dropped her arms to her side and stared at him in defeat and sadness. He had been scarred by a dragon too, she recalled, and so his anger was not misplaced . . .but she felt nothing but despair from hearing those words in that tone of disgust. She had thought that an elf, of all beings, would show compassion for the magnificent creature. But no, she realized, dragons were monsters to the people of Middle Earth. They were no better than orcs and far more terrifying.

What was she doing?

She was fighting a losing battle. She could not change the world like she so wanted to. She could not bring peace and happiness to the creatures of Middle Earth. Her job was to insure magic survived in the future, not to dabble in the politics and war of the past. She was going about it all wrong. She had allowed herself to get caught up in befriending all she met and offering them aid when needed. That was not why she was there.

Thranduil watched the range of emotions that crossed her scarred face, knowing that he had pushed her too far, and glanced down at the ground thoughtfully.

"Yup."

He lifted his eyes to her face, concerned, and sighed through his nose.

"Dragon's dead, the dwarves have the mountain, you all are going to war, none of it is really my problem at this point so I might as well head out" she rambled carelessly. She waved her hand about in the air and moved over to the chair where her bag sat. "I can probably go home now," she finished simply. She had gotten a dragon egg, surely that would do to bring a bit of magic back to her time.

Thranduil's eyed her as she spoke and opened his mouth to speak while she pulled her bag over her shoulders and adjusted the straps. She reached back as if to pull her hair out from under the bag before she remembered she had cut it all off which caused her face to flush with embarrassment, and she threw them up in the air in frustration instead.

Bard chose that moment to burst into the tent, breathing heavily, and throwing his eyes about the space before settling on Thranduil. "Thorin," he began struggling to catch his breath, "he will have war." His entrance was timed perfectly, though he did not know it.

Katy lifted her hands up in a shrug, "See?" she said with a satisfied smirk, laced with rage, and chuckled.

Thranduil glanced between the two, cocking his head to the side, and settled on gazing at her reverently.

"I'm done here," she stated and moved towards the entrance. "Good job Bard, you'll do great as the new Master," she patted him on the shoulder as she passed. She was done with this quest. She had fought tooth and nail against every person she had met along the way it seemed and she had nothing left to give. Selfish it may have been but she did not care at that point. She had dealt with angry, mistrustful, and traitorous dwarves. Spiteful and prideful elves. Greedy and moody men. Goblins, spiders, and bears. Orcs. And to top it all off, a pigheaded and vengeful dragon that had nearly killed her twice. She had run far too long and taken far too many blows for one adventure. She was ready for a good long weeks' worth of sleep.

Bard watched her in blatant confusion before turning to Thranduil for an explanation helplessly. His eyes begged the king for some form of explanation despite his attempts at remaining polite and not to pry.

"Katelyn Jones!"

She turned back to the entrance in surprise, "Yes?" she snapped and threw up her arms at the sight of Gandalf standing just within the tent, leaning on his staff, glaring at her disapprovingly. He was covered in dust and still somewhat bruised and beaten from being held within Dul Guldur. A bit of guilt and shame seeped into her bones then and she huffed in frustration at it all.

"Never have I thought you would be so thick as to divulge such pertinent and dangerous information," he cried.

"I never thought I would have to deal with so many thickheaded people and their politics!" she cried in exasperation. She had dropped her bag back onto the chair but could not bring herself to meet Gandalf's eyes

"Be silent!" Gandalf exclaimed.

"I will not!" she shot back, struggling against tears of anger, mortified that they would fall. "This may not be my time, or my people, or my war…" she muttered, "But I've traveled all this way and I have a right to speak too," she was not yelling, struggling to control her emotions, and working to make sure that she enunciated each word clearly.

Thranduil stared at her wide eyed before moving forward. There was a quiet calm about him but it was reminisce of a predator circling its prey. "Are you running away?" he asked coldly. "Did you expect everything to fall into your lap and you would return victorious with minimal effort?"

"I expected it would be dangerous," she shot back, "I just didn't expect to have to deal with so many . . ." she struggled to find the words, her hands circling before her in an effort to catch them as they flitted in and out of existence in her mind, "people?" She sighed and rubbed at her face. "I thought I'd be more of an observer," she admitted tiredly, "that I would step back and wait for the moment to take action to fix things. I didn't think I would literally be taking part in all of this and that I would nearly die a million times. "She growled in frustration as her anger mounted again, she sounded pathetic even to her own ears. "I've been running to catch up this entire time, fighting, nearly dying. And for what?" she exclaimed, "for everyone to turn the other cheek?" She rested a hand against the back of the chair where he bag sat, her only accomplishment nestled away within it, and felt her body yearn for an opportunity to rest. "I have been betrayed, left to die, ignored, and belittled," she shot Thranduil a look from the corner of her eye, "throughout my entire time here. But I'm the only one who knows how this all plays out. I have the script memorized and yet my words and actions mean nothing to anyone!"

The ring grew hot against her finger as if it too was angered by her behavior but she ignored it, refusing to take her eyes away from the men in front of her. Yes, men, she decided, because that's all they were. Different races; human, dwarves, elves, orcs, wizards, necromancers – they were all the same- all driven by their lust for power and greed, their want to survive, to conquer the world.

Thranduil watched her, a dawning realization blossoming in his heart, and his anger deflated into sadness. He had done this to her. He had shattered her view, her reverence, for the magic of Middle Earth by turning his back on her simply for doing what she knew needed to be done. She was only a young little thing, struggling to change the world, and he had allowed his bitterness to wound her. He had taken his magic from her in an act of petty revenge, something that he knew would hurt her both physically and emotionally. He realized he was not the only one to cause her frustration but he was also very much aware how much she valued their friendship. And now she stood before him, a warrior of anger and betrayal, of destroyed dreams, and disgust. They were supposed to be her heroes, the beings of a different time when honor and magic ran through their veins, she had looked up to them all – even Bard – and it had been ruined. It would be a lie, to say that it was not how they had always been, there had always been war and petty squabbles. But someone had shown up in their realm, determined to change things for the better, and they had refused cooperate. He of all, who knew of her existence and task, should have known better.

"I am sorry," he said quietly.

"What?" she exclaimed, so taken off guard by his apology, for what she was not even sure. Her brows crashed together and she stared at him questioningly. This was not the reaction she was expecting from him. If she was honest she would not have been surprised if he smacked her.

"I am sorry," he repeated just as quietly and turned away from her, lifting his goblet absently and swirling its contents about. "You are right, of course." He looked down at his wrist where, beneath the chain-mail and wrist gauntlet, he wore a small woven bracelet of red.

Katy lifted her hand to her face, covering her eyes, and let out a long and exhausted sigh. "It's fine," she answered calmly. It was a fools hope, to think that her quest would not cause much strife. She had come into the world starry eyed and been spoiled by the piece of Rivendell, to think that all would go her way, that the people of Middle Earth would cooperate with little resistance. They were all different, with their own goals, most of them just as worthy as hers.

Bard looked to Gandalf, hoping the new arrival would be able to shed some light on what was happening between them, but the wizard looked just as lost as he did. Which was rare. He did not know all that had transpired between Katy and the elven king. Elrond had divulged to him his worries, of how she had been drawn to the darkness of Mirkwood, of the days they spent together, the letters they wrote, but he did not know of the past few months events. He had been a bit preoccupied at the time and he could only imagine what kind of trouble she had gotten into in his absence. She had quite a nasty habit for it. He could not imagine Thranduil divulging an apology to anyone, bar Elrond, and so was quite flabbergasted.

Thranduil looked up at her in surprise; that was it? That was all it took? He watched as she dropped her hands and took a few calming breaths before he broke out into one of his small smiles and a chuckle escaped. "So easily pleased," he observed. He marveled at the ferocity of her anger and how quickly it disappeared. She had a talent for hiding her emotions though, he knew, and he doubted she truly forgave him. At least not entirely. There was still a bit of wounded pride and hurt within her, surely, but she had smothered it with her exhaustion like throwing a wet blanket over a fire.

"I'm just stressed, and tired," her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. She plopped into the empty chair her bag had been resting on and dropped her head into her hands, emotionally drained. She needed a moment to collect herself, realign her mindset and perspective, before she continued.

"I never," Gandalf began, lifting his robes and moving towards Katy, aghast by her behavior and more than a bit surprised by Thranduil's acceptance of it. He had never before seen her raise her voice in such a state, certainly not at Elrond even though he had kept her within Rivendell all those years. She had been passive aggressive in her approaches, he had seen, and Elrond had proven his observations countless times, assuring him that she was doing well, only frustrated. Gandalf paused, understanding then, she had been struggling throughout the entire venture to make a difference. She was at her wits end with anger and helplessness. He had forgotten, in all of the madness, that she and Bilbo were not driven by the need to reclaim Erebor. They had agreed to offer aid, but they had never been to war, never dabbled in politics. It was all new to them.

"Peace, Mithrandir, her anger was well deserved," Thranduil said, lifting a hand to stay the old wizard in his tracks. He brought the goblet of wine over to Katy, placing a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention, and passed it off into her shaky hands. "I have no doubt that there is important news you have for me," he began, "But let us all take a bit to rest and replenish our strength, it can wait an hour or so, can it not?" He lifted his brows at the wizard imploringly.

Gandalf closed his mouth, his lips forming a tight line, and nodded once. He had been expecting the king to be more difficult, but it seemed he was much more compliant these days, and so he allowed it. The orcs would not make it to the mountain for another day or so and he had yet to hear from any of the company. An hour of rest would do them all some good. He could even light his pipe to calm his nerves. The idea seemed so tempting after what he had just experienced not days before. His shoulders sagged and he nodded again.

"Bard," Thranduil called, "See if you can find something to arm your people with, I fear things may take a darker turn than we originally presumed." He could not imagine the people of Lake Town being much help in the possible battle to come, but they should at least be able to protect their families.

Bard paused, marveling at the one-eighty the elven king had taken, before nodding. "Aye," he said and turned to leave, allowing his eyes to linger on Katy before exiting the tent. While he felt for the elven woman, he had much more on his plate at that moment, but was certain she would be looked after by Thranduil and the wizard.

Gandalf took in the sight of the two, a strange look in his eye, before lifting his staff and following the bow man out. He had much to think on, as it was, and would question them later. There were important matters to address, chief among them, his pipe and the lack of it being lit within his hands.

When the two were left alone Katy let out another sigh, as she so often did, and took a deep gulp of the red wine Thranduil had handed to her. It calmed her, spreading its warmth in her stomach, and settled her shaking hands.

"Your burns have not been seen to," Thranduil observed from where he stood, his hands clasped before him. It did not have quite the same effect as it did when he wore his long trailing robes with their deep sleeves that he could drown his hands within. In the robes it appeared regal and thoughtful but in his armor it gave him a patient childlike appearance. He eyed the cooled gold across her chest warily.

"No," she admitted, looking at her arms and legs where much of the cloth had been burned away. She had been walking around in rags, looking like the survivor of a zombie apocalypse, and she could only imagine what the people of Lake Town thought of her. She prodded the gold in morbid fascination and winced. The flesh beneath it was burned and spilling puss, but it had sealed itself over top. "I honestly have no clue how to get this off," she mumbled worriedly.

Thranduil took the seat next to her, his armor rasping against itself as he moved, and lifted a hand to gently prod at the gold where it splattered across her collar bone. It was because of her he had brought the bundle of kingsfoil in the chest sitting at the back of the tent. He stood and moved over to it now.

"It is not thick, we may be able to pull it from your flesh, but it will cause much pain," he spoke as he prepared the leaves. All the supplies needed had been brought with them on their journey. "You do have a horrible habit of acquiring injuries," he spoke as he worked.

"I never grew out of my accident prone phase," she admitted tiredly, supporting her head with one hand, rubbing at her temples.

"I do not doubt it," he responded, reclaiming his seat next to her with the bowl of paste in hand. He had also taken the time to wash his hands within a bowl of water set on another table and collected a pile of bandages to use. "I must confess, I am not familiar with such wounds," he cautioned as he continued to gently prod the edges, searching for a point where the medal's hold was weak on her flesh.

"You have more experience than I do," she assured him through grit teeth.

He nodded once and gently pulled at a portion of the gold, it resisted, and he feared the pain would be too great for her as it reluctantly released its hold. It pulled burnt, raw, and puss ridden flesh with it. Katy gripped the armrests of the chair and groaned, biting at her lip to restrain the scream building in her throat. Her skin was red and bloody beneath it, but not pouring any bodily fluids as Thranduil feared it would.

The king let go, unable to pull it any further, and cursed. The medal was far too cool and not willing to bend, and while he wished he could rip it off of her in one try, he fear it would cause far too much damage.

"Oh man," she breathed and tried to relax back in the chair as Thranduil straightened to think. "Holy shit, that hurts," she grunted and resisted the urge to prod at it herself.

"We may need to reheat it," he spoke softly, in thought, and stood.

"What?" she squawked.

"Not enough to liquefy it," he hushed her as he lit a candle from his desk. "Just enough so that we may bend it," he continued as he returned with the candle and reclaimed his seat.

"Okay, okay," she agreed, attempting to bolster her resolve, and lifted a hand, "Let's start at this bit that's over my shirt. If I can pull at the cloth we might be able use it to pull the rest off too."

Thranduil nodded and lifted the candle to her shirt front. It would not take long to heat the gold, as he knew it was the most fragile of medals and allowed Katy to pull at the tunic herself, knowing it would be easier on her mentally if she was the one in control of her pain.

After a few minutes of heating the medal, Katy took a breath through her nose, and slowly pulled at her tunic, feeling it peel from her damaged flesh bit by bit. It stung like no tomorrow, the pain so great she feared she would scream, but she bit her lip and continued. She felt liquid dripping down her stomach but dared not stop to lift the tunic and see what lay beneath. Once the tunic had been removed from her flesh and all that was left was the gold clinging to her chest itself, she paused.

Thranduil watched her with raised brows and a cautioning expression.

"One second," she muttered and slid her hand under her tunic from below. Her fingers brushed across the grievous burns and she flinched but continued. She would need to push the gold up from beneath, like peeling a particularly frustrating sticker off a smooth surface. Her fingers stopped at the junction where the gold stuck to her skin, feeling the underside of the medal slick with her blood and flesh and prodded it further along. "I can't go any further," she let out a frustrated and shaky breath and dropped her hand back into her lap. Her fingers were slick with blood. It was too painful.

They had removed over half of the gold. Thranduil arched a brow and gave her no warning before he stood before her and reached forward, he had already loosened all edges of the medal, and with that in mind, he grabbed her tunic and pulled.

There was sickening pop, suction lost, followed by a scream of bloody murder from Katy herself. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped over in the chair, nearly spilling onto the floor below, but Thranduil grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back up. Her tunic was wet with puss and blood and the gold, now bent and broken, hung from the fabric dejectedly.

Katy seemed to roll back into wakefulness and groaned. "Why would you do that?" she grunted and attempted to push herself up in the chair.

"It had to be done," he stated simply and lifted a letter opened from his desk next. "Get that tunic off so that we can clean the wound," he ordered and passed the blade to her curtly.

Katy fought down a blush, thankful she was still in the habit of wearing a bra, and cut a tear in the tunic, allowing her to rip it half way up before her arms gave out. The pain it caused in her chest was immense. "Can you give me a hand?" she asked in tired frustration.

Thranduil stared before sighing through his nose and bending over her to rip the rest of the tunic. He helped her out of the sleeves, gently, while she let out pained cries. He straightened just as Gandalf re-entered the tent. The wizard took in the seen before him and dropped the tent flaps behind him to rush forward.

"What in the world has happened?" he questioned as he came to a stop at Katy's side.

Katy blushed, feeling anger and mortification swell beneath the gory burn over her chest. The black bra did little to hide the flush of red across her cheeks and she chuckled hysterically.

Thranduil gestured to the forgotten tunic he had dropped to the floor, the gold still plastered to it, and said "She had made it out of the mountain with a bit of Thorin's gold, it would seem."

"Good heavens," Gandalf cried as he lifted the clothing for inspection.

"I suppose you had some part in this," Thranduil said, gesturing to the wounded woman in the chair and turning to stare at the wizard imploringly.

"I may have," Gandalf admitted, setting his staff against the table in the center of the tent.

"And how did Lord Elrond take it?" Thranduil asked knowingly while he scooped the bowl of kingsfoil from the table next to the chair and slathered it across the marred flesh on her chest.

Katy fumed while they discussed her situation as if she herself was not present.

"Better than expected, but he still worries," Gandalf answered tiredly and sat in a chair with a great sigh. A plume of dust rose up into the air from his robes which he ignored pointedly but Thranduil watched the cloud settle about the tent with a raised brow.

"As he should be," he muttered as he lifted the bandages next and wordlessly gestured for Katy to sit forward. "What in your mind convinced you it would be a good idea to send her on this forsaken adventure?"

"Yes, well," Gandalf began but found himself stumped. "It simply felt right," he finally answered, perturbed by his own response however, he continued, "But it seems she has had some effect on the outcome."

"I fail to see it, she has only succeeded in gathering more scars," Thranduil muttered as he wrapped the bandages around her shoulders and collar bone as best he could. She had slid her arms out of the bra straps hastily in an effort to keep herself covered.

"Well of course you wouldn't see it," Gandalf admonished with a chuckle. "Were you not just moments before prepared to go to war over a handful of gems? I doubt that had I come to you, and she were not here, you would have bothered to listen to me speak."

"They are more than just a handful of gems," Thranduil muttered darkly as he washed his hands once more in the bowl of water, "But I see what it is you mean to say."

Katy listened to the two talk, but she was exhausted, and did not have the energy to interject. Bandaged and thoroughly ashamed, she pushed herself out of the chair and hobbled over to the plush looking couch sat in the middle of the tent. Thranduil watched her as she went before offering her a blanket he had pulled from a chest. She accepted the offer and pulled it over herself before lying back on the couch. She had the thought to kick her boots off, before lifting her feet up, and shuffled about to get comfortable.

Once he was certain she was comfortable he turned back to face the wizard with a sigh.

As promised, an hour later Bard returned, brows knit with curiosity and worry. He stepped into the tent, halting to take in the scene of the elf and wizard chatting lightly of the Mirkwood affairs (though they were anything but), before moving over to join Gandalf at the table while Thranduil stood deep in the discussion of his homeland.

"I fear the darkness will soon reach even my own halls, at the rate it is spreading . . .Mirkwood will not last another century," he muttered grimly.

"You may yet be surprised," Gandalf said quietly, turning his gaze towards the sinking sun outside. He had yet to inform Thranduil of Lady Galadriel's actions not a few days prior. With Suaron banished from Dul Guldur the forest will no doubt begin its recovery, the darkness having no real host to shelter it from the magic of the elves, even though the woodland elves had no ring to sustain their magic like those of Rivendell and Loth Lorien.

Bard leaned back in his chair with a weighted sigh, the grimness of the situation was not lost upon him, but he feared he was at his limit. What would his people do if the lines of Mirkwood failed? His eyes trailed over to the sleeping figure on the couch absently and he glanced back at the two men, worried that their voices would wake her. But as they spoke he noticed she did not stir in the least.

"But that is not why you have come to us, Mithrandir, speak of what it is you rode so long and hard to tell us," Thranduil finally said after a moment of silence. He leveled the wizard with a focused gaze. Now that the bowman had returned, it was time to discuss the more pressing matters.

Gandalf nodded and stood, pacing a bit while he organized his thoughts, and turned to face them from the entrance of the tent. He paused then spoke, "You must set aside your petty grievances with the dwarves."

Thranduil's eyes widened and he turned away from the wizard, moving over towards the table to refill a goblet and pass it over to Bard who had begun to look a little haggard after the long day, all in an effort to hide his growing ire.

"War is upon us," Gandalf added in distress. "The cesspits of Dul Guldur have been emptied," he continued.

Though Thranduil had grown more patient with the wizard after Katy's explosion he was once more reminded why he irritated him so. There were no orcs within his kingdom, at least, not to the extremes in which Mithrandir was describing. The wizard had a flare for the theatrics he knew, and though he himself tended to as well, he never exaggerated something in such a manner. He glanced over to Bard who was watching him in surprise, clearly, the man was falling under the wizards spell.

"You all are in mortal danger!" Gandalf pleaded, seeing the doubtful expression that Thranduil wore.

Katy sat up on the couch looking blearily about, startled from her sleep, while the three men stared at each other with varying forms of disbelief. Her chest protested greatly, the movement causing the bandages to chafe, and she felt as if her flesh had been ripped from her chest all over again. In reality, she knew it to be the paste below that had dried and shifted with the movement.

"What are you talking about?" Bard asked quietly and stood from his seat at the table, moving towards the wizard.

"I can see you know nothing of wizards," Thranduil drawled. His eyes soon found Katy though, and he frowned, feeling guilty that they had woken her. It was obvious she needed rest and she would not truly get some for a while yet.

"Ugh," Katy groaned, rubbing at her face and struggled to push herself to her feet. The short nap had not helped as much as she had hoped it would, but it seemed she had slept right through the beginning of their battle plans, or war meetings, or whatever you would call Gandalf desperately trying to get the two to understand the direness of their situation.

Bard turned towards her wearing an apologetic expression, opening his mouth to speak, but quickly noticed she wore nothing but bandages and averted his eyes with red cheeks.

"They are often times exaggerative and unnecessarily loud over things which they deem important or dangerous that others, like us, know to be impossible," he said, leveling an annoyed look on Mithrandir.

"Not this time," Gandalf growled in frustration, "Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters, they have been bread for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength!" he cried.

Thranduil threw his head back in exasperation. "Why show his hand now?" he asked mockingly.

Bard's gaze jumped between the two, feeling out of his league in their discussion, before it landed on Katy. She was standing with her shoulders slumped and her arms at her side, staring at them in exasperation.

"Because we forced him!" Gandalf admitted guiltily. "We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakensheild set out to reclaim their homeland." He stared at Thranduil imploringly while the elf leveled him with a more respectable and intent gaze. He could sense now that the wizard was done beating around the bush. "The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor," Gandalf continued, lifting his robes and moving out of the tent.

Thranduil set his goblet down, sending the two remaining in the tent a pointed look, and followed the wizard out.

"Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them," Gandalf called back over his shoulder. "His master seeks control over the mountain."

Gandalf stopped in a dilapidated pavilion with broken windows looking out over The Lonely Mountain. He gestured to it with a nod of his head and dropped his robes, turning to face the group that had followed in his footsteps. Katy looked out at the entrance to Erebor, a sight that brought up memories of pain, desperation, and dwindling hope. Her thoughts jumped to the fallen dragon sadly.

"Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies. It's strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north," Gandalf finished with a distressed sigh. He dropped his hands to his sides, staring out over Erebor grimly. "If that fell kingdom should rise again," he turned back to face them with a shake of his head, "Rivendell, Lorien, The Shire, even Gondor itself will fall."

Thranduil had remained silent throughout the wizards speech but now that Gandalf had ended his tale he lifted his chin and asked, "These Orc armies you speak of Mithrandir – where are they?"

"Oh for the love of-," Katy threw her arms up and rubbed at her face in ire. "Did we not just go over this?" she asked in frustration. "He said they are on their way from Dul Guldur."

The three turned to look at her in surprise.

Thranduil turned away in frustration and strode back into the tent. He refused to believe that an army of Orcs was on the move. It had been hundreds of years since the last war and though Gandalf had ample proof and reasoning behind his claims he could not imagine Sauron making a move so long after his initial defeat, let alone over a simple mountain. True, it was a good strategic move, a good way to force his way back into those accursed lands, but was it really worth going to war so soon after revealing himself?

He sat down at his chair, the feel of its branches at his back comforting, and fell deep into thought just as Katy stormed in after him.

"You need to take him seriously," she advised darkly, coming to a stop before him with her hands resting on her hips.

Thranduil did not look at her, his gaze focused on the ground some feet in front of him. He held a fist to his mouth in thought, ignoring her presence while emotions warred within him.

"I know Orcs are coming, I have seen it. I was there in Dul Guldur when Gandalf escaped. He summoned me by mistake. Do you think I am lying?" she said. She lifted her palms to him imploringly.

"No," he answered after moments of silence. He dropped his hand down to the arm of his chair and lifted his eyes to her through his lashes. "I think you are confused," he watched her curiously. "I have been to Dul Guldur myself many times since and have seen nothing."

Katy pursed her lips and dropped her arms to her side, staring down at the king while Gandalf and Bard filtered into the tent behind her. They walked slowly; Bard as he was unsure and hesitant about his place in the conversation, and Gandalf out of frustration and blooming defeat.

"The whole place was under a spell to hide their presence," she said finally.

Gandalf turned his head towards her, surprised by her admission, as she had not been there to witness that particular moment. She had known of the events then, which meant that, things truly were set in motion to occur. Darker days lay before them.

Thranduil lifted his brows mockingly, "Oh?"

Katy glowered at him, he knew she hated his derisive mannerisms more than anything, yet he chose to use it against her. He seemed to be enjoying himself. But she figured it had more to do with the worry for his people than anything else and she sighed, letting go of her anger.

"I don't know what more I could say to change your mind, Thranduil, but at least I can say I tried. If you want to march out there, unprepared for what is to come, that is your choice," she finished with a shrug, though it hurt her physically, and turned away. She opened her mouth again, though, seconds later as her frustration bubbled up again. "All I've done is work to set things right, to make sure this world does not die. I've changed so little, at this point, that I'm beginning to think it's pointless

"You've changed things?" Thranduil repeated in a drawl, "How presumptuous of you."

She stared at him in stunned amazement, her shoulders slumping forward, before turning slowly to meet the pitying gaze of Gandalf. "Funny," she muttered, "Weren't you encouraging me not a week before?"

"That was before I knew you were playing at being a god," Thranduil responded lightly.

Katy blanched and took a step back. Not an hour ago the elf had been so kind and apologetic to her, understanding even, and now he had turned around and bit her so ferociously that she could not comprehend it. She turned away and moved to the other side of the tent, putting Bard and Gandalf between her and the king. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back on everyone.

"Just what exactly do you think we are trying to do?" Gandalf asked, keeping a watchful eye on the woman behind him as he spoke.

"I think you're trying to save your dwarvish friends," Thranduil answered scathingly yet he still wore a smirk. "And I admire your loyalty to them but it does not dissuade me from my cause," he said more seriously. He stood from the chair, his robes trailing behind him as he moved, "You started this Mithrandir, you will forgive me if I finish it." He turned away towards a guard standing at the tent entrance, "Are the archers in position?"

"Yes My Lord," the guard responded, jumping to attention.

"Give the order: If anything moves on that mountain, kill it." He watched the guard move away and said, "The dwarves are out of time," before turning back into the tent.

A heavy silence fell between the four and it remained that way for several minutes while Gandalf puffed on his pipe and Bard claimed a seat at the table with a heavy sigh. Katy remained on the other side of the tent, biting at a thumbnail deep in thought, and did not speak for a long while, but eventually she did. She dropped her arms to her sides.

"No, Thranduil, you started it," she said quietly.

Thranduil paused and turned to look at her from over his shoulder, "I fail to see your logic."

Gandalf and Bard fell silent.

"You started it when you failed to give aid to the dwarves all those years ago," she explained, lifting her eyes to his. "When you refused to so much as offer them shelter when their home had been claimed."

"They chose their fate when they took from me what was rightfully mine," he snarled, turning towards her in anger.

She scowled at him, "You sound like a child!"

Gandalf lifted his eyes to the heavens above and turned to join Bard at the table as well. He pulled his pipe out and worked to fill it with pipe weed while the argument raged in front of him and sighed.

"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed, taking a step towards her and gripping the back of one of the few remaining chairs around the table for support.

"Mine, mine, mine," she mimicked. "Yes, the dwarf that was being controlled by greed brought on by a ring twisted by dark magic and dragon sickness kept what was yours. I understand your anger and frustration, I really do, I know that those gems meant more than the world to you. But that's just it," she rambled. "Do you not value her memory?" she asked beseechingly.

"Of course I do," he whispered in stunned surprise. He did not move.

"Then where – in that immortal head of yours- did you get the idea that a handful of trinkets could ever represent her better than your own memories could?" she asked, "Better than your son?" She watched as his shoulders slumped, just a fraction, and crossed her arms. "At that moment, besides the men whose kings of old had long been claimed by their rings, you were the only one with a clear and level head not affected by a dark magic and yet you let your emotions get the better of you."

Thranduil straitened, realizing that her speech was less accusatory and more questioning. She did not understand his actions and why he could not see the fault in them. He dropped his gaze to the table surface.

"She would not have wanted you to turn your back on an entire kingdom of people asking for your help over something so trivial . . ." she trailed off sadly. "And now you stand in their way while they try to reclaim their home. Where they themselves have memories of their childhood. I do not claim to know what it is like to be immortal and to know that even as an infant that you will be a part of the world forever. Elves see the magic of this Earth all throughout their lives but mortals . . .they only see it when they are children. Everything is wondrous and new . . ." she shook her head.

"I do not wish to stop them from reclaiming their home, I only seek-."

"What is yours, I know," she interrupted him and lifted a placating hand. "My point is, she will always be there," she pointed at his heart, "No one can take that away from you, now let it go. See what you did was wrong. And fix it."

Thranduil fell silent before lifting his eyes to her, "Regardless, my order still stands, the past does not alter the actions of the dwarves now." He turned away, putting out a confident aura, but they could all see the hesitation in his eyes.

Bard stood from the table, realizing the discussion was over, and intent on seeing that his people were prepared. He marched out of the tent, frustrated with the situation and wishing there was a way for him to help.

Gandalf followed after him.

"You, Bowman," he called after Bard.

Bard stopped and turned to watch as the wizard approached.

"Do you agree with this?" Gandalf asked despairingly. "Is gold so important to you? Would you bide with the blood of dwarves?"

Bard shook his head, "It will not come to that. This is a fight they cannot win."

"That won't stop them!"

The two turned to face the owner of the voice and found Bilbo Baggins himself standing in front of them, tired and ragged. He stood among the men and elves as they moved about the square, looking like a lost child in his dirty over-sized coat.

"You think the dwarves will surrender- they won't," he shook his head, staring up at the men helplessly. "They will fight to the death to defend their own."

"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf greeted joyously, he pulled his pipe from his mouth to smile down at the small creature who smiled sheepishly back. "Perhaps you can shed some light on the situation," he mused, gesturing for the two to follow him back into the tent.

Bard nodded resignedly and followed after the wizard while Bilbo took a second to pat himself down and make himself presentable. It was useless, but he tried nonetheless, before following after them into the tent. He stopped short at the entrance upon sighting both Thranduil and Katy with their backs turned to each other in frustration. Katy glanced at the entrance and a smile broke out across her face.

"Bilbo!" she cried moving towards him and dropping to her knees to give him a hug.

The hobbit laughed and patted her on the back appreciatively. "Katelyn, I was wondering where you had got to," he said. "And where are your clothes!" he exclaimed through a stammer and covered his eyes.

"They were too damaged from the fire and gold," she responded in embarrassment and glanced about the tent in search of something to cover herself with. It was Thranduil who offered her a green tunic from his own collection. Katy glanced up at him thankfully and worked to pull it over her head with as little pain as possible.

Gandalf smiled at the two and moved further into the tent towards Thranduil who had reclaimed his seat once more. He eyed Bilbo thoughtfully as the hobbit spoke with Katy.

"If I am not mistaken," he began, shifting in his seat to throw one leg over the other, "This is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards." He looked at the hobbit imperiously. Such a little thing had managed to slip past all of his men with thirteen dwarves in tow.

Bilbo stood awkwardly, drumming his fingers against his legs, and muttered a strained, "Yes, sorry about that."

Katy chortled, delighted by the light atmosphere the hobbit had brought with him, and sat down on a chair by the table. From the corner of her eye she could see Bard struggling to restrain his own laughter. It was good, she decided, to pull themselves out of the doom and gloom that had taken up roost within the forgotten city of Dale.

"I came," he began, stepping forward and pulling a bundle out from his coat, "to give you this." He set it on the table, pulling the cloth back to reveal the glimmering gem that was the Arkenstone. Its light seemed to swamp the candle light originally used to lite the tent itself. Those present leaned forward to gaze within the shifting light within, watching as the colors flickered and changed with every angel.

Thranduil's eyes alighted upon it and widened. He pushed himself up from his chair and moved over to the table whispering, "The Heart of the Mountain. The King's Jewel." He had seen the jewel a handful of times before, always within to throne of the Mountain King.

"And worth a king's ransom," Bard added as he too moved towards the table in awe. He glanced down at Bilbo curiously, "How is this yours to give?" He was glad to see that Bilbo had survived. He had taken a liking to him as he was more than a breath of fresh air in comparison to the dwarves. He had feared Bilbo wouldn't survive.

"I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure," he answered confidently, lifting his chin to the group around him.

Gandalf let a small smile grow from under his beard and he bit down on his pipe while the others stared at him searchingly.

"Why would you do this?" Bard questioned, "You owe us no loyalty."

Even before the man could finish Bilbo was shaking his head. "I'm not doing it for you," he said and looked up at the man and elf who were watching him strangely. He took a moment to organize his thoughts and gave a quick smile before saying, "I know that dwarves can be obstinate. . .and pigheaded – and difficult. Suspicious and secretive. With the worst manners you could possibly imagine," He sent Gandalf a pointed look, they had nearly destroyed his kitchen, and it would be a long time before he forgot that. He shrugged and lifted his hands pleadingly, "But they are also brave, and kind, and loyal to a fault." He dropped his gaze to the ground thoughtfully. "I've grown very fond of them and I would save them if I can," his gaze flicked between the two as he stared up at them beseechingly. He pointed to the gem glittering on the table and said, "Now Thorin values this stone above all else, in exchange for its return I believe he will give you what you are owed. There will be no need for war."

Bilbo did not mention that Balin himself feared Thorin laying eyes on the Arkenstone. Feared the madness it would only further bring to light. But Thorin's madness could be dealt with later, if they died in a needless battle, their lives would be lost all together.

They all stared at Bilbo, each with their own thoughts racing through their minds, while the hobbit nodded as if to reassure himself.

Thranduil turned back to his chair and dropped into it, he sat in it like a sack of potatoes, tired of the arguments and fighting. He leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the hobbit absently before turning his gaze to Katy.

"You have the patience of a saint," he said tiredly.

She smiled at him in understanding but in her mind she recalled all the times she had lost it within the past two days. It was less patience, she decided, and more like insanity. Though she would have never had actually returned back to her own time, she felt too much obligation towards her friends, she would not have tried so hard to get him to see reason as she had otherwise.

Bilbo stepped back from the table, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, and watched as Thranduil let out a sigh. He was rather proud of himself, if he did say so, and the others were quite impressed with him. Katy had been struggling for the better part of the day trying to convince the king to see reason and the hobbit had waltzed in out of nowhere and laid the Arkenstone on the table like a pro. The simple action swayed the archaic mind like the coming of a new age, unstoppable, and had done it in such a modest and humble way to boot. If only she had his skills.

Katy watched him in awe and appreciation. He truly was a magnificent person. She wished that all the creatures of Middle Earth were as clear headed as hobbits, able to step back from a situation and reevaluate it from every angle. The world would be a much more peaceful place. But then, she thought, it would be awfully boring. The idea left her feeling a bit guilty and more like a troublemaker than she cared to admit so she pushed it away. Hobbits had no want for magic or power, that was why they were the perfect beings to utilize in times of war, especially wars containing the evil magic that had worked its way across Middle Earth, like the roots of a weed.

She reached out with an arm and pulled Bilbo into another hug, he stuttering in embarrassment all the while, and kissed him on top of his head.

"You beautiful creature you, what would we do without our Bilbo?" she cried.

"Yes, well, thank you," he stammered in her hold.

"We certainly would not have gotten as far as we have," Gandalf exclaimed through his laughter.

Bilbo disentangled himself from Katy's arms and patted his hair down, "I highly doubt I've played that big of a part in this adventure."

"Bilbo," Katy said through a chuckle, "you have no idea." She covered her eyes with a hand and continued, "It's called The Hobbit."

"What is?" Bilbo asked with a curious smile. He was glad to have brought a smile to her face after all that they had been through.

"This story," she answered in a whisper and dropped her hand to watch the perplexed expression that overcame him.

"Yes, well . . ." he shrugged and shoved his hands within his pockets with a chuckle, "I'm sure there has been some embellishment."

Katy rolled her eyes mirthfully and turned away from him in her chair while Gandalf laughed. Thranduil watched on like a hungry animal, eager for any information about the future and the time Katy had come from.

"I think it is about time our hero here got some rest," the wizard voiced a minute later.

Bilbo looked up at him gratefully, "That would be lovely," he admitted.

Gandalf stepped forward, resting a hand on Bilbo's back, and shuffled him out of the tent. They could hear him asking, "How did you come across the stone and manage to hide it from all those dwarves?" The three watched them go in varying shades of amusement before turning to their own thoughts.

"We will make plans to arrive at their doorstep tomorrow, I have much to think about," Thranduil announced.

"Aye," Bard agreed grimly but as he turned away Katy could see the slightest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "Stay out of trouble," he muttered as he passed her on his way towards the entrance of the tent.

"I can only hope," she answered with a sigh as she pushed herself out of her own chair and rolled her should tenderly to release the building tension.

"Hope harder," Bard called back over his shoulder with a chuckle. He would not sleep for more than a few hours that night, deep in thought over the recent events, and would turn to preparing his men long before the sun had risen. But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be in a bed and see that his children were made comfortable. It had been a long day and he had not seen them since the night before, still dirtied and crisp around the edges from Smaug's fire.

Katy watched him go before glancing at the king from out of the corner of her eye. She did not trust herself around him then. Though she was glad that Bilbo had stepped in and provided them the Arkentsone in hopes of preventing war, she knew that Thranduil had not chosen to do as the hobbit said out of a change of heart. He simply saw an easier method to regaining what was his and so she knew that, if she were to speak her mind, it would only end in another argument.

"Katelyn," Thranduil called.

She paused, confused by the use of her real name, and glanced over her shoulder at him curiously. "Yes?" she asked.

He watched her silently for a few moments, taking in her rumpled and dirtied figure, and said, "Will you forgive me?"

Good lord, she thought dryly, she couldn't keep up with the elf's mood swings. The idea of saying something sarcastic and mouthy came to mind but she thought better of it. He seemed sincere enough in his question and she found that she could not be angry with him when he looked at her in such a pitiful way; practically begging for forgiveness.

She sighed, "Of course."

She had never been one capable of holding a grudge, as it was. She had gotten in a fight once with her best friend Cassie years back, they had fought over something trivial but at the time it was a big deal, and they had avoided each other throughout the day at school. But on the bus ride home Katy had caught sight of her and she smiled out of reflex and just like that the tension between them broke and they laughed. The thought of her friend brought forth nostalgia and she dropped her gaze to the rug beneath her feet.

To distract herself from her emotions she said, "There will still be a battle tomorrow."

"You knew the Halfling would bring the Arkenstone?" he asked in surprise. If she knew without a doubt that there would be war then Bilbo's actions would not be an end all to their situation as he had hoped. She must have had known that the hobbit would bring the Arkentstone, negotiations would fail, and they would still go to war despite it.

"Yes," she answered simply from where she stood.

"Then why go through the effort of swaying my opinion on the matter?" he said. He leaned his jaw against a fist and watched her inquisitively.

She lifted her eyes to his with a scowl, irritated by the spark of mirth she saw in his eyes, and turned away. "Because you are being an idiot," she muttered. She moved over to her bag and crouched in front of it, ignoring the bark of laughter from the elf, and searched through its contents until she found a decent sized bundle of leather. It was nothing but a small hard leather vest and a pair of bracers, but that had all she had been able to fit in her small bag at such short notice before she left that morning in Rivendell.

"You plan to join us in battle?" he asked.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and dropped her arms in her lap to look up at him, "Yes." Did he think she was going to sit back on the sidelines and watch it all play out helplessly? She had been training to fight for as long as she had been in Rivendell and she could hold her own just fine.

"You will need more armor than that," he stated calmly.

"Do you have some?" she asked, still staring up at him, now more seriously.

It was his turn to look at her like she was dumb.

They remained silent, watching each other like they were both stupid, before she snorted and broke into a fit of laughter. Of course he had armor, he had brought an entire army with him to Dale, there would no doubt be something for her to scavenge.

Thranduil sat behind his desk with a soft sigh, shuffled the papers about it in search of something, and reminded Katy so much of Elrond then that she smirked. There was a similar crease, just there, between his brows that seemed to only settle upon the faces of those meant to be leaders.

"Thranduil," she spoke up a moment later. Her eyes were on the leather bracer in her lap as she corrected its lacing absently.

"Yes?" he answered, dropping the paper he had been searching for to gaze at her questioningly.

"I have a favor to ask," she began hesitantly. "I know that, no matter what I do, there will be war tomorrow," she explained and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "But I know the outcome of this battle, and while you may consider it playing god, I need to make sure certain things do not happen."

Thranduil dropped his eyes to the desk before him, wishing he could take the words back, but the damage had been done. He had not meant to wound her so, as he knew her quest, and it was the most honorable one of them all. "Anything," he finally said, an apologetic smile on his lips.

Katy let out a relieved sigh. "When the time comes, when the battle begins, I will be going to Raven Hill and any reinforcement would be greatly appreciated," she mumbled lamely and pulled the bracer onto her forearm resolutely.

"What is at Raven Hill for you to fight?" he asked curiously, his brows drawn together in concern.

Katy thought for a moment, lifting her eyes to the tent wall in front of her, and chewed her lip. "Right now? Nothing," she answered, "But tomorrow? Azog."

He lifted a hand to his eyes and drummed the fingers of the other on his desk. There was a flurry of emotions bouncing about his chest, chief among them was fear. Fear of her death and Elrond's wrath to face because of it. His friend would never allow him to know peace again if she passed under his watch. "And why, pray tell, would you need to face Azog the defiler on your own?"

"Well, I never wanted to face him alone, hence why I am asking for a favor," she shot back derisively and scowled. She refocused her attention to lacing the other leather bracer. "If I don't stop him in time, Thorin will."

"And?" Thranduil questioned with a bewildered expression. The dwarf had more right than anyone to strike the pale orc down. He saw no issues there.

"And die," she added definitively.

The king sighed and lifted the paper back into his line of sight. "It would be tragic, but his nephews will take his place, the line of Durin will continue as it always has," he muttered back. Thorin's passing, should it come to be, would not lead to the end of the world. He failed to see why she must endanger her life for his when he was clearly lost to the dragon sickness.

"Fili and Kili will not survive," she continued pleadingly. She was fighting tears now as she begged him to understand. The line of Durin surviving may not play a huge role in the saving of the world in the long run, but every bit helped, and she had grown to like them all. Irritating though they may be, she had found friends within the others, despite Thorin's distrust of her.

"Why do you not rest?" Thranduil voiced, yet to remove his eyes from the graceful writing in front of him. He denied her an answer at that time and he watched as she practically wilted from where she sat on the floor.

"I am tired," she agreed demurely, not wanting to push the king any further.

"I do not doubt it," he commented and set the parchment down on the table. "Take tonight to sleep." He moved about the tent, pulling out a quill and inkwell from another chest and laying out a sheet of parchment next to the other on the table. "You may use my bed if you wish, I must speak with Mithrandir," he explained blandly.

Katy stared up at him blankly, vaguely wondering if he was going to share her request with Gandalf, before letting out a sigh. She would follow her heart and ride out to defeat Azog tomorrow and if Thranduil wanted to help, then he would, and that was that. She pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to the bed while Thranduil watched. She could not get as comfortable as she wished, due to her chest, but she laid down on her back atop the covers and closed her eyes.

Thranduil disappeared from the tent then and she was left alone with her thoughts.

She fell asleep within seconds, hardly having enough time to admire the plushness of the pillows before she dropped off into unconsciousness.

"How are you, little one?"

The voice greeted her almost immediately upon her arrival in the dreamscape and Katy opened her eyes to find herself on a tree filled little cliff, below she could hear the rushing of a river, and above the leaves whispered with the wind. She turned her gaze to her right, sitting up as she did, and took in the form of Celebrimbor in his royal blue silk robes, resting against a tree next to her.

"I've been better," she admitted, "But I've probably been worse."

Celebrimbor chuckled, "If I recall you had quite a rebellious streak after moving out on your own. There was much alcohol in those days."

"If I never see a bottle of Kentucky Gentleman again I will die happily," she muttered darkly, rubbing at her head at just the memory of the amber liquid.

"Let us not speak of such topics," Celebrimbor cut in, not enjoying the thought of her death. "I wanted to see how you fared, fearing that the day's distressful topic may have had some negative impacts on you, but I see that you are well enough now," he observed.

"Yeah," she agreed with a sigh.

"Tomorrow," he began, "while the others wage battle against the Orcs, you must ensure that the direct line of Durin endures."

"Right," she nodded resolutely. This was something that she had known from the beginning. The dwarves, dragon, and forest were the three things she had mulled over throughout their adventure and while Smaug had been a questionable success, she was determined to get the other two right. "I will face Azog tomorrow," she stated quietly.

Celebrimbor let out a sigh, "I do not know, little one." He fell silent in thought, looking off over the edge of the cliff where the sun was rising over the forest line. "If you face him then promise me to keep your mind sharp. If you were to die . . ." he trailed off and dropped his gaze to his own hands. "I will live on within the ring and another would one day find me but I cannot bear the thought of losing you to the darkness."

Katy smiled sadly at him, "Alright, so no Mortal Kombat moves, got it."

Celebrimbor shook his head but smiled at her efforts to lighten the mood. "Be careful," he whispered.