Ferin woke when something dripped onto her left cheek. It came with a familiar, unpleasant scent. Hot, panting breaths wafted across her skin, but after several minutes where she thought it might do more than watch her, she squinted her eyes open to faced a set of fawn paws. They were large; the size of her own hands, and thick strings of drool slowly curled down to sink into the dirt.

Sluggish now that her body had gotten a chance to rest, Ferin pushed herself up with a marked effort. Shoulder burning in protest, she rearranged her body with her legs crossed and wiped the drool off her face before taking in the animal in its entirety.

It was a massive dog. He was covered in a thick coat of fur that frilled out like a mane, with drooping ears matching equally droopy eyes and tongue.

She knew this dog.

He was large enough for a Hobbit to ride on like a pony but this dog carried no Hobbit. He carried a very small, gnarled-handed, humped old –

"-Witch! Yes you're quite right, my dear," said a cheerful Gandalf, who sat on a log by a small fire. The others were eating breakfast (more rabbit by the looks of it), warily watching between her and the dog - and the little old women, smaller than Bilbo - who sat beside an uncomfortable Thorin.

The dog inched itself closer, giant tail stirring up leaves and twigs with great swishes. He was eager to say hello, but Ferin knew he was mindful of his Mistress's wish of being polite enough not to leap on top of people he liked - unless they specifically allowed him to, of course. He snuffled impatiently, body quivering in anticipation. Ferin, not quite fully awake, stared at him. Rebel (so lovingly named by said Mistress), woofed at her softly.

Moira the Witch scoffed and rolled her eyes, little hands busy in her bag. When she spoke, her voice was a lilting version of Dwalin's. "Say hello to him before he wets himself with all the excitement!"

Ferin frowned slightly, looking back at the dog. He was standing now, feet dancing, head tossing as he tried to talk to her in roo's, huffs, and yips.

She sighed. "Alright mutt – uhf!" He'd pounced, forcing her flat to her coat. "Easy. You great beast! Calm down, and stop licki – ugh not the mouth! Pfft! Get off. Stop. Off. Go say hello to someone else!"

Happy that he'd had his greeting, Rebel walked on her to remove himself, and then trotted away to one of the others. There were plenty of protests for several minutes.

"Off! No!"

"Stay away, you monster! Ah! Help!"

"No, don't go near that! That's my breakfast!"

"Gandalf, do something!"

"Anything!"

"He keeps licking!"

Eventually, Vala called him to play-wrestle with her and Dwalin.

Ferin had cleaned herself as best she could in those few minutes, sitting up and wiping the drool off her face and clothes.

"Is this the friend you talked about, Gandalf?" Dori asked, huffing and folding his cloak carefully, having managed to yank it back from the dog.

"Hmm? Oh no Mister Dori, that friend is a walk away, yet. I met Moira here on the way back. Seems she's been travelling for a time looking for Ferin."

Ferin looked at the woman with raised eyebrows. "Looking for me?"

"Indeed," Gandalf said.

"Come over here, Ferin," Moira called. The stooped Witch was near a log by the fire, and was busy swiping her hand across the dirt on the ground to make space for her charms. Bits of bone, wood, and animal teeth fell out of a small beaded bag she tipped over next. She took her time spreading them out carefully.

Ferin, realising Moira was going to do a reading, cautiously made her way over. Upon closer inspection, Moira was wearing an old, but thick travelling cloak that was covered in dust and bits of twigs. Her wrinkled face, small stature, and grey hair tied tightly made her look elderly and harmless, but the keen blue eyes underneath darker brows could frighten the hardiest of warriors. Her sharp chin and nose made for a severe countenance when paired with those eyes.

Moira looked up, rolling her eyes at Ferin's awkward, guarded stance beside her. "Sit dear, and don't look so worried! I'm not turning you into anything else." She waved a gnarled hand dismissively. "You've learned that lesson I suppose. Sit! My neck creaks when I look at you up there."

Ferin sat cross-legged like before, hands resting placidly on her knees. "Why are you here if not to change me again?"

Moira fixed her cloak just so before settling on the log. The woman sighed, reaching out a hand to touch Ferin's chin, tilting it one way and another. "This world is changing, love. And not for the better. When you came to me, your inebriation created a haze over my readings. All I could see was a selfish woman bent on changing her own Fate and it angered me."

Ferin looked away, feeling the other's scrutiny.

"I was wrong," Moira admitted softly, tilting her head with a contrite expression. "And for that I am sorry. I never understood your sorrow; I believed it to be born of naivety. That you made a mistake that was terrible only to your eyes. It wasn't until after that, that my curiosity led me to ask more questions. I did another reading. What I found was... Well." She sighed, removing her hand and leaning back. "I cannot tell you the details but I can help you along a little. The details may change with each choice that is made so telling you will only be pointless."

"There is no sense to your words," Thorin intoned deeply from beside them. He was frowning, arms crossed.

"I will," she answered sternly, glowering at the Dwarf.

"Can you tell us of our journey?" Gloin asked fervently, moving in with the others closer to the woman. "I have read the signs that favour our chance of taking back Erebor but I have seen no more since we began."

"I am not here for you Mister Gloin."

"But - !"

"No."

"Surely you could tell us something?" Bilbo asked gently, fiddling with his waistcoat's missing buttons.

Moira pursed her lips, fixing her cloak once more. "Perhaps," she said eventually. The others murmured happily for a few moments until her sharp "Ahem!" brought their focus back to her. "If you would be so kind, gentlemen, I have a reading to do."

They quieted. Ferin watched as the Witch swept a hand over her charms. Something shivered up Ferin's spine at the feeling of the air turning warmer, before the charms were drawn up and ito Moira's hands. She shook them in her closed fists, a whispering chant escaping her lips. When they were released, they scattered in a pattern only she could read; and read she did. A heavy frown puckered her brows and she muttered to herself.

Leaning back away from the charms, Moira turned to Ferin and in quick succession, the old woman ran her hands through Ferin's hair, moving her head up and down, peering into her eyes before finally pulling her forward to seek out the wound on her shoulder.

"Hmm."

Ferin cleared her throat and gently detangled herself from the woman. "What does 'hmm' mean?"

"It means that the reading was right. I was hoping distance and your presence would say different but alas, it has not."

"What did you see?" Bilbo asked solemnly, staring at the charms.

"I saw many things, Master Hobbit," she replied unhappily. "I saw many paths that led to many a tragedy. There were very few promising ones."

"Did you see anything of us?" Gloin asked, receiving a light thump from, surprisingly, Vala.

"Tell us what you can, please," Vala said placatingly to the Witch. "I would like to know what is to happen."

"I wouldn't," Oin muttered, adjusting his ear horn.

Ferin ignored them all, gazing at the scattered bits of bone and teeth. There was a battered coin there, nestling its black sheen against the white of a piece of bone. There was something foreboding about it.

"What does that mean?" she asked softly, pointing to the offending objects.

Moira looked at her, consideringly, the others quieting at their soft conversation. "It means Death."

Ferin took a deep breath, her heart feeling like iron weighted down in her stomach. "Mine?"

"On some paths, yes. Death in battle. Honourable and quick. On others... it is not yours directly, but you will feel great sorrow for those who do pass. More than what you have experienced in your life thus far. It will eventually wear your heart and you will pass from the loss some time after."

Ferin opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Who could she care for so much that their passing could take her with them? Vala came to mind but she'd only known her the last few years. They were close, and she would feel a great pain should her friend die, but to die herself from it...?

When she spoke, her voice felt raw, her breathing painful. "Have I made no right choices?" Have I not lost enough?

It was Gandalf who spoke instead, his large hand resting on her shoulder. "The choices we make are made blindly. We only hope that they lead us to the right path. Some paths are more treacherous than others but forging through them can bring great reward."

"There is one path that will lead you true but it is so muddled with the rest, you will not find it on your own," Moira said. "It is also intertwined with the Fate of these other fellows. What happens to you now, your Fate is here, with them on this journey. This will be the path you lead that will determine how you end. But the only way to focus it, I'm afraid, is to give you a Sight Mark."

"A Sight Mark?" Vala asked.

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed, cottoning on to what Moira was thinking. "An intriguing idea," he mused. Reaching into his bag, the Wizard pulled out a small pot of red powder.

"A very old, little used magic," Moira answered, reaching for the pot and opening it. A small amount was shaken onto her palm where she rubbed the fingers and thumb of the same hand to spread it around. "I don't like to use it much myself."

"Then why use it on Ferin at all?" Bilbo asked, frowning in worry.

Gloin looked perplexed, having never heard of such a thing himself. "What does it do?"

"It gives the person the gift of Sight, but in small increments," Gandalf said, gripping his staff to tap the crystal on Moira's powder-covered hand. It heated up with a small red glow before burning brighter.

"Increments?" Ferin asked, watching in alarm. Moira's hand looked like hot metal, ready for branding. The Witch didn't seem affected by it.

"It will give you dreams and momentary flashes of what is to come. They may come quickly or slowly, in snippets or in long dreams. You may have only a moment to act should they decide to give you a foresight as to what is to come."

"Sounds very unpredictable," growled Gloin, his intrigue waning with the explanation.

"Sounds like a curse," Oin muttered.

"It is, that is why it is used little today," Moira agreed, seeming satisfied that her hand was ready.

For a moment, Ferin wanted to get up and turn back the way they came, to run and run until her legs could no longer carry her, until she reached the Shire where she could sit in the comfort without knowing the pain of what would come for them, but then she remembered who she was, what she had done, and what she had agreed to do. "Where are you going to put it?" Ferin asked, tensing as Moria closed in on her. "And will it hurt?"

"Your shoulder," the Witch answered, motioning her toward Thorin. "You're a strong lad," Moira smiled, ushering Ferin to kneel between his knees. "Could you hold her?"

Ferin tensed even more as Thorin regarded Moira carefully before grasping Ferin's arms.

"Closer, dear, don't be shy! Hug her if you must and yes, it will hurt a bit, dear. Bit of a sting." Moira grasped Ferin's tunic and hoisted it to her shoulders, exposing her wound and scars for all to see before pushing her firmly into Thorin's arms where he held her, large hands hot on her back.

Ferin could only rest her chin on his shoulder, hands placed on the log either side of his hips. His hair tickled her nose and she waited, tongue feeling swollen and throat dry. There was a moment of quiet and Ferin felt the brief shake of Thorin's head before his hands tightened unbearably.

"What – " White hot fire closed over her wound, and pressed. She screamed. Thorin released one of his hands to press against the back of her head, forcing her forehead into his neck.

"You must keep quiet," he murmured urgently.

Ferin could hear Moira chanting something but the pain overwhelmed her senses. Whimpering, she pressed closer to Thorin, hands gripping his back, biting hard on her lip to do as he said.

When it was over, Ferin slumped in relief and Moira quickly placed a cold cloth on the mark. Fern flinched at the contrast.

"That should do it."

"I would hope so," Ferin gasped, trying to breathe through the residual pain. "Will the mark fade? Will the Sight leave me?"

"It will when it is ready," the Witch answered casually, busying herself with collecting her trinkets and charms.

"That's not very reassuring," Ferin muttered. Thorin grunted in agreement.

While she was recovering, Thorin still holding her to her surprise, Ferin listened to the Dwarves pack and ready themselves, Moira doing the same.

"Take care with what you see," Moira said softly from beside her, jewellery clacking together as she bent to see Ferin's face. "It is not always as it seems so I must ask you to think before you act. Give it time and I think you will find your own way. Good-bye and I hope we meet again under better circumstances."

Ferin released one hand from Thorin's back (he hissed at the release of pressure and she apologised), and clasped Moira's arm respectfully. "I have met many lately who seem to wish this also. I can only hope better circumstances are in the near future for us to do so."

Moira chuckled and brought a hand up to Thorin's where he held the cold cloth to her shoulder. "Take care of her, Thorin Oakenshield, and she will take care of you."

Thorin held her gaze, his own guarded but he nodded eventually, if a little bemusedly. He had underestimated Bilbo... perhaps he was realising he had done so with her as well. Ferin could only hope. Moira left with a smile and mounted her furry steed, Rebel wagging his tail in good-bye, tongue still lolling out from the side of his mouth. "I hope you fare well on your journey. Take care, good-bye!"

She urged Rebel away, the giant dog sprinting off in loping strides.

"Where does she go?" someone asked.

"She heads for the Shire, I believe," Gandalf responded, checking to make sure he had everything he needed.

"Will she fare well with the Orcs and Goblins?"

"I would worry about them, my dear Ori, if I didn't find them so wretched," the Wizard chuckled, adjusting his satchel. "She is very powerful and has her own paths to travel. Rebel is a very unique beast that can travel at great speeds."

Ferin listened quietly while the pain in her shoulder ebbed. Thorin continued to hold the cloth and she could only guess his thoughts were very deep for he barely noticed her breath across his ear. She became a bit distracted by it. It was large and very round; very different from Hobbits and Elves and that made her think more on his features.

The others were rotund and heavily bearded, with large bulbous noses and unusual hairstyles. Thorin and his nephews had none of these qualities. They were slimmer and finer featured and, besides Fili, their hairstyles were tame in comparison. Perhaps it was the line of Durin that made them so different, she thought. Thorin had a slim nose, thick eyebrows and a very simple hairstyle. The only feature that distinctly identified him as similar to his comrades were his round ears and Dwarfish manner.

He'd still not released her and she was loath to disturb him from his thoughts but her knees were beginning to hurt and her feet were getting cold. Her boots,which she'd removed the night previous sat by her coat and the morning dew was cold on her skin.

Risking the possibility that his mood would change (she held very little hope that he would be the same Dwarf in daylight now than he was the night before) Ferin moved her fingers against his back, shifting her chin on his shoulder. Her nose brushed his ear and she was amused to see it twitch, his body tensing immediately afterwards. "What does it look like?" she enquired softly.

He moved his head towards her as she spoke before he removed the cloth. "You look like branded cattle."

She grimaced. "Lovely."

"It looks like her hand," Bilbo's voice said beside them, the Hobbit having snuck up without notice. "It's red, and in the shape of her hand. Quite disturbing, if you ask me."

Ferin leaned back and Thorin let her, keeping his hands on her waist. She twisted her neck as far as possible and made out the edge of small finger marks. Bilbo reached forward and brushed his fingertips over it and it was like being struck by lightning; she jumped and a small picture of something flashed across her vision.

Bilbo was running through a dark forest, sword unsheathed, hand cupped to his mouth, calling out something… but there was no sound, and the colour of the world around him was a terrible washed out grey. He was also alone.

Ferin gasped and blinked as the vision disappeared.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, Bilbo, I don't believe you did," Gandalf answered softly, clasping a large and withered hand on his shoulder.

"Is it always like that?" Ferin asked, sitting back on her heels.

"I'm afraid not. I believe that one was painless and brief. Your first real vision will be difficult to bear."

Ferin sighed, rubbing her thumb and forefinger over her closed eyes. "Wonderful."

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me for so long! Hoping to boost this along now in the next few weeks if I can. Thanks for all your support through reviews, favs, follows, subscribes and comments! Please forgive any errors etc. I am very tired when I get to edit these chapters, so I miss bits and pieces. ZeB xxx