She dreams of Golden Hope

The World will end in fire and ice

„Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice." Fire and Ice- Robert Frost

The rain was pelting down heavily upon them, as they made their way through the Misty Mountains. After long, exhausting days of wandering through the most extraordinary landscapes, roaming an increasingly arid and rocky terrain, which slowly morphed into the arctic and lapidarian bailiwick of the mountains which they now found themselves crossing to reach Rhovanion. They would first have to cross the Green Woods, where the woodelves and their King Thandruil resided as Thorin had told them begrudgingly, before they reached Lake Town, which lay by the lake of Esgaroth and by the Lonely Mountain. A long journey still lay before them and Bilbo feared that from now on, ever since they left the hospitable halls of Rivendell, their venture would only become more precarious in its nature. And he was not being contradicted by the heavy storm that was upon them, with its flashes of lightning like blazes of fire from the heavens and its thunderous growls like the roar of omnipotent brutes. The rain that was being lapidated upon them were like biting, salient needles and its cold penetrated to their bones. It was also rendering the narrow, jagged path beneath their feet alarmingly unctuous. Bilbo watched his feet carefully as he treaded the waxy stones and pressed himself planate against the rough stone of the mountain, holding on to the jutting stone like a lifeline. He had dared to gingerly look over the edge of the path when they had first ventured through it and the sight that had met him had left him dizzy and petrified. He feared falling into the endless and gaping abysm he had glanced into, ravenous like the dark mouth of a dismaying behemoth.

He walked carefully but surely between Dwalin and Bofur, wishing to escape as quickly as possible from the hankering cliff. At the front of their wary and rain-drenched procision was Thorin Oakenshield, their very own leader, who seemed undeterred by the avaricious hunger of the cliff-edge he toed, and who lead them deeper and deeper into the range of the Misty Mountains through plunging valleys and twisting, narrow paths undeterred by his kin's palpable alarm.

He looked over his shoulders and had to squint momentarily, as the rain ran a dale down his eyes. Through his water-impaired vision he saw his cousin at the back of the company, looking similarly alarmed as wet strands of hair, which had escaped her braid, clung tightly to her face and he could see her knuckles turning pale from her grip on the mountain stone. Bifur, who had spent the last few in Laurel's company, walked right behind her clutching his wooden axe tightly in both hands, as if he could protect her from falling with his weapon. Bilbo turned his gaze back to the front and once more devoted his attention to his own walking, having been appeased that his cousin seemed to be safe for now. He was thankful that from his expression, Bifur had seemed intent to protect his cousin and that he had remained loyal to the friendship between them, despite Laurel's heritage. He had been so thankful that his cousin's melancholic and mournful demanour had been somewhat lessened after Bifur had approached her and had then proceeded to walk with her during their wandering and sit beside her during the nightly campfire. They made an interesting pair the both of them, Bilbo had thought last night before the company had entered the Misty Mountains and had set up camp on the last verdant patch they had been able to find before the landscape had become snowy and austere. They made an interesting pair, Bilbo had thought affectionately while he had sat beside Bofur and while the spirited dwarf had talked to him about something, he had watched the red-haired girl and the reticent dwarf sitting beside each other silently, occasionally gesturing with their hands and sitting closely together, almost as if they wanted to confirm the presence of the other. He had been grateful to Bifur, because he had been the only dwarf that had not forsaken his cousin for the sake of the dwarfish prejudice against elves; because he had held steady to their friendship; because he had ignored the dark and accusing glares that, principally, Thorin and Dwalin had sent in his direction and had smiled back at Laurel, when she had gestured something that seemed to amuse them both.