A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Aid

The bird soared through the dark skies landing atop the highest perch of the tower.

A loud cry escaped his dark beak as he waited, patiently, for his master to acknowledge him.

A long, pale hand reached forth and plucked the missive from the thin leg of the bird.

He snorted when he read the scrawling words upon the parchment.

'The dragon will be defeated, and war will come. A hobbit travels with the dwarves and she carries something of power. I can sense it.'

He didn't believe for a moment that The Master of Laketown was adept at understanding true power.

Though...

A hobbit seemed to be all he was hearing of lately.

His own master had mentioned this Halfling, protected by a company of dwarves. The same company who had rallied the elves and men against his army of warriors from the South and again against his master's army of orcs and goblins.

How was it possible?

This Halfling held the key to his master's return?

'She carries it. You must bring it to me.' The voice was biting, harsh, and commanding in his ear.

"Very well," Saruman's low voice echoed through the tower, his white visage cutting a stark contrast against the black marble, "I have work to do."

*****

Very carefully, the king of Erebor ran his hand over the bruised and muddied cheek, wiping the filth from the pale skin, memorizing the way Lyla Baggins looked in this moment.

Each freckle, the soft upturn of her nose and the way her hair stuck to her forehead and curled around her ears and the base of her neck.

"Thorin."

He could feel the rainwater trickling down the back of his tunic. He could hear the way it pitter-pattered in the mud. He caught snatches of movement around him, the way that some of the company shifted their feet as they edged closer.

But, no matter what he did, he could not wake her. No whisper, nor gentle caress against her cheek would rouse those lashes to flutter. He'd never see those large eyes, that sparkled brighter than the richest emeralds, gazing back at him.

"Thorin."

Gentle hands rested on his shoulder as he lowered his head and whispered into the hobbit's hair, apologies that would never coax breath to enter her lungs, entice her heart to beat.

She remained unmoving, her chest unnaturally still.

A bitter taste filled his mouth and a hard, painful ache crushed his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He wanted to tear his eyes away.

Yet he found that he could not.

"You fool of a hobbit," he murmured roughly, nearly choking on his words, "You foolish, foolish creature. Why? After all that has happened, you'd still...after all that I did, all that I

said, you still..."

He clutched Lyla closer to himself, regret and sorrow turning his stomach sour, making him wish that death had befallen him on the battlefield.

Not her.

She deserved none of this. He was so wrong. So utterly wrong.

He'd been wrong so many times on this journey. Each time she saved him, saved all of them, did something utterly brave and stupid to save the company on this journey.