A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Betrayer

Something nagged at Gandalf.

A feeling.

A feeling he couldn't quite indentify.

It left him unsettled and wary of the mountain looming ever larger in his line of sight.

Thorin Oakenshield's face flashed through his mind and the feeling increased tenfold.

Something was amiss.

He gazed up from atop his horse, at the growing darkness of the afternoon sky and noted thick dark clouds rolling slowly forth, beginning to cover the great expanse of blue above his head.

He also took notice of the many dark birds winging through the air, their low cries ringing in his ears.

Gandalf frowned thoughtfully.

*****

Even though she was still smarting from the verbal lashing, Lyla didn't hesitate to follow after Thorin towards the balcony overlooking the main gate.

The news of guests (whatever that meant) was certainly something that piqued her curiosity and made her nerves tingle with worry. She wondered if the enemy Gandalf had predicted had arrived at last.

Lyla rubbed her fingers gently over the small ring and flower hanging 'round her neck as she ghosted behind Fili and Kili and the others.

She certainly wanted to be near Thorin (protect him somehow), though she wasn't too sure she wanted to be seen by him at the moment.

She didn't think she could survive another round of glares or snappish remarks.

Which is why she chose to duck behind a pillar out of his line of sight. It gave her a good vantage point the others without being noticed herself.

Though it did little to ease the tension in her shoulders that cascaded down to her stomach and dripped into her toes.

"It is most fortunate!" Thorin called down towards the waiting party standing at the gate, eyes gleaming brightly in the dimming afternoon light, "Most fortunate, indeed, that you have come at last, my cousin."

Lyla stared in bewilderment and hesitancy, peeking her head around to gaze down at the large gather of dwarves standing near the gate, their armor gleaming in the setting sun. Lyla caught flashes of silver interspersed with golden filigree markings worked into their breastplates and helmets. Some held large battle axes while others favored swords. And each of them bore spectacular, long beards, their hardened, glaring eyes framed by bushy brows.

One of them stepped forward, his long silver hair brushing past his shoulders in tiny, tidy braids held firm by small golden beads, and a stern frown upon his lips.

"Hail Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain of Erebor," the dwarf's long braided beard nearly brushed the ground as he bowed his head out of respect to his cousin.

This was Dain Ironfoot.

Lyla stared unabashedly curious from her shadowed nook behind the stone pillar, watching the dwarf as he straightened, tucking his helmet more firmly under his arm. Dain peered upwards, eyes shifting carefully to assess the rest of the company members who stood near Thorin. He smiled when he noted Balin and Dwalin both standing near Thorin and his smile turned into a grin when his gaze flittered over Fili and Kili's forms.

But when he caught sight of her, skulking behind the pillar as she was, Dain's gaze turned curious and thoughtful. His eyes narrowed, the main care lines he bore on his face deepening, and he frowned lightly before stilling his features and turning his gaze back towards Thorin.