A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Sleepless

Hobbits are sensitive to the changes in nature. They can tell when the slightest shift in seasons will take place. So, naturally, the more the days dragged on and the longer Lyla trudged through Mirkwood, the more nauseated she felt. Her palms were sweaty, and her stomach clenched painfully. The air was stuffy, animals nonexistent, and always the whispering hiss hummed in the darkness. This was nothing like the Shire. There was something dark and sinister living here. She could feel the taint in the trees, in the earth, everywhere.

And it frightened her.

She craved the sunlight and the flowers. She craved the fresh air and the peace of birdsong.

She hated this.

She hated how the trees-once a beautiful edifice for her-were crowding her, caging her in, their dark wood only managing to push her into a haze of confusion. She never had felt claustrophobic before. But now? Now, her heart hammered at the closeness of the trees. She was so jumbled, mixed up, confused and flustered. And she could no longer tell between night and day.

And the eyes, staring unflinchingly at her within the darkest reaches of the forest, made her skin crawl. She wanted something, anything to distract her from those relentless orbs, gazing predatorily in the darkness. But they could not start a fire. Kindling was scarce along the path, the living trees too tough to cut, and the first night they had managed to ignite a small flame, enormous moths, the size of Lyla's hands, swarmed the company, sending the dwarves and their hobbit burglar into confusion.

They were forced to remain in darkness as a result.

Gloin, determined to keep the company's spirits up, took the time to spin elaborate tales of the Elves that ruled the forestlands here in the East.
"There's a witch they say," he began, his voice soothing and riveting all at once. "An elf witch who rules the forests of Lothlorien. Travelers say that she will ensnare you with her beauty. They say that all who look upon her fall under her spell and that she knows their thoughts for she has been gifted with a rare talent."
Most of the company had snorted at that, as they all slowly sank to the ground.

"What a load of rubbish," Dwalin had grumbled, gruffly. "What an absurd notion to believe. I thought ye had more sense than that Master Gloin."

Bofur and Dwalin would not let her quake in the dark however. They remained near her side almost constantly. And when they could not, Fili and Kili usually found a spot next to her. Usually Bofur's arm found its way around her shoulder as he tucked her into his side, shielding her from the darkness.

"It'll be alright lass," He murmured, placing his hat on her head, "Just breathe. Things will be right as rain soon. Ye'll see."

And then he started humming, low and comforting.

A smile spread on Lyla's face as she recognized the tune.

"I do believe," she murmured, closing her eyes, "That you need my dishes to sing that song."

Bofur chuckled, "Aye lassie, that we do. Can't sing about what Bilbo Baggins 'ates without tossing a few plates about."

He continued to hum, lowly, other members of the company joining in.

*****
Lyla jerked awake, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried to bury the images that surfaced every time she closed her eyes.

Snow-covered hills.

Wolves, howling and snapping at her heels as she ran from her Uncle's smial.

Her father's still form.

Her mother's stricken eyes.

Her brother's defeated gaze.

Azog smiling wickedly down at her, teeth bared.