A/N: At last - better late than never! Thanks to all you guys being patient out there, I eagerly await any feedback you have. Cheers!

The night passed slowly as the river bore the three boats south. The stars flickered dimly overhead as oars quietly dipped into the water, taking the six companions further away from what could have been a very nasty encounter. The sickle moon lent little light to the slow-churning river, and upon its decent Gandalf finally deemed the area safe enough to beach the boats and rest awhile on the eastern riverbank. Sheltered by the reeds and grasses the exhausted company quickly fell asleep, lulled into slumber by the sound of the Anduin.

Bilbo was the last to wake, bleary-eyed and sore in the pale dawn. It seemed every part of him protested movement, but he feared Gandalf's reproof more than any ache he could experience. No one spoke as they boats were once more launched – each feared that orcs might descend if the silence was broken. With Gandalf once again leading the way they spent the whole day on the river, and did not stop until the sun had set. Despite the gradually warming air and lessening degree of danger, Bilbo felt an odd sense of unease creep slowly into the pit of his stomach. His companions all noticed, but assumed it was merely the hobbit's healing injuries that kept him quiet and sullen. Bilbo himself couldn't explain his mood, even if he had been asked. He spent most of the night staring into the fire, rolling his ring slowly between his fingers

They spent the next few days on the river, speeding south as the river straightened and widened. Small hills began rising on either side, low and brown in the grips of winter, rolling back towards the mountains to the west and under Mirkwood to the east. Gradually the travelers began speaking again – at first whispers of warning, then soon discussing travel plans and dinner in the same breath. They had not been followed, so the plan still held – after passing through the Gladden Marshes, they would seek refuge in Lorien and finally reach Mirrormere and the Dimrill Dale. As they camped on a wide isle in the river, the crackling fire soon restored to company to their previous optimism and idle chatter.

"I wonder where Beorn learned to bake?" Kili asked, him mouth full of honeycake.
"Perhaps his bees taught him," Tauriel offered from across the fire.
"Or maybe he invented baking," Fili mused gravely. Kili looked shocked at this revelation for a moment, then realized his brother had been teasing him.
"Oh, alright, very funny."
"You really don't make it very hard, brother."
"You know," Gandalf said drowsily, "I'm surprised you still seem to think that he is a man of few skills, especially after he has saved your neck several times now."
"He knew much about the history of the world – I did not look for a scholar in him," Tauriel murmured.
"Yes indeed. He has seem many years, and learned much from the earth itself rather than books and maps."
"What wrong with books and maps?" Bilbo piped up with a frown.
"Nothing, my dear friend, as you well know," Gandalf soothed, surprised at the hobbit's injured tone. "But you know as well as any the value of learning things firsthand, from rocks and trees and the road under one's feet. You yourself have learned much on your journey, though you may not know it. And you will learn still more, if I have any say in the matter!" he chuckled.
"All I've learned is that bitter cold makes me drowsy and that boating is not an enjoyable means of transportation."
"And so my point it made," Gandalf chuckled, then promptly fell asleep. Soon the rest of the company joined him except for Bilbo.

He sat glumly wrapped in his blanket as the fire warmed his toes, but the cheery flames couldn't lift his sulk. Something heavy clung around his shoulders, making him anxious about something he could not name. His only comfort was his ring – it slid easily between his fingers as he admired its shine in the firelight. As he turned it this way and that it suddenly slipped through his hands, dropping into the dying fire. As it touched the flames an imaged flashed in Bilbo's vision – a great eye, never blinking, made only of fire, smoke, and malice. He gasped and jumped in surprise, horrified as the fire licked around his ring. He nearly snatched it out of the fire with his bare hand, but managed to retrieve it safely with a nearby twig.

His heart thudded in his ears as the sudden fear faded. His ring was safe, unmarked by the fire, and before he could stop himself he was picking it up from the sandy ground. He nearly dropped it, expecting it to still be sizzling, but was surprised to find it just as cold as it had been before the fire. As he turned it over and over, blazing red letters began etching themselves along the ring. He could recognize the tiny letters, but the language was foreign and mysterious – something to decipher at another time. One by one the letters and words faded until Bilbo was left holding a plain gold ring once more – he hastily returned it to a pocket, then curled up on the ground for a night of fitful sleep.

They reached the marshes by mid-morning the next day. As they sped down the wide river the reeds and rushes on the banks grew more numerous, and the river grew shallow and slow. Blackbirds hailed them from hidden perches, occasionally darting out of cover to flutter around Thorin's head before returning to safety. The sun was veiled by layers of thin cloud, casting a pale and sickly light over the land on either side as the banks steadily receded with the march south. Small islands of reeds cropped up with increasing intensity as the three boats sped south, long leaves bowed and drooping into the slow water below.

"And so we have come to Gladden," Gandalf finally declared. "These marshes are not as friendly as those you might be familiar with. Without the sun to guide us south it'll be best to follow me, I think."
"You know the way?" Tauriel asked, but Gandalf only glanced at her before silently paddling forward.

The marshes seemed to swallow them up, smuggling them between great clusters of tall rushes. The blade-like leaves stretched up nearly three feet out of the water before bending back down again, barely brushing the churned waters at the boats slipped past. Pockets of mist would suddenly crop up, tucked under the rushes and protected from the climbing sun. Bird piped here and there, breaking the stillness – there seemed to be a shortage of air as the wind died down. Only the occasional twisted bog tree broke the endless rushes, reaching with bare, gnarled fingers out over the water.

It was past noon when something unexpected loomed out of the haze before them, immobile and shadowy in the deeps of the mist. Slowly Gandalf led them silently past, revealing the shapes to be remnants of broken walls, constructed of huge rounded stones. They shone pale and translucent in the sickly sunlight, some of them rimmed with strange lily pads or clumps of algae where they emerged out of the water. Structures continued rising out of the marshes – some domed, some shard-like, but all seemed somehow preserved, as if the constant flow of the river had no effect.

"This is an old place," Tauriel finally spoke, making Bilbo jump.
"Indeed," Gandalf replied, "this was one of the first settlements of the Elder Days. Long ago a lake was here, fed by the Anduin and the River Gladden, and was inhabited by Silvan elves. Your kindred, I believe."
"I never thought it would be so well preserved," Tauriel answered in awe.
"This was also where some of the first hobbits lived, well into the second age."
"I find it hard to believe that hobbits enjoyed living near a lake," Bilbo mused. "What happened to them?"
"Well, eventually they began crossing the Misty Mountains and heading West, settling in the green country that became known as The Shire."

Gandalf continued rattling off very important facts regarding the inhabitants of the Gladden fields, and all the comings and goings and other great events that occurred in the area. Bilbo tried his best to focus, but Gandalf seemed quite content to recite his knowledge even if only Tauriel and Fili were interested in paying attention. They continued paddling around the dark pools and islets of reeds for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally passing another white ruin looming out of the water. They made camp on the largest isle they could find – it might have once been the crest of a hill, standing nearly ten feet out of the water and crowned with a single round dwelling. There was ample space for all six to spread out, and sleeping on solid ground was a welcome alternative to spending a night in the boats.

Bilbo woke with a start nearly an hour before dawn. A handful of stars still hung hazily in the purple sky, but their presence did little to calm him – he felt he was being watched. Goosebumps crawled up his arms as he sat up, peering anxiously into the darkness surrounding the camp. All was quiet, except for the snoring of his dwarvish company, but this did little to reassure him. He stood up slowly and quietly, stretching his limbs as he scanned the shadowy rushes around the little island, and froze when he realized he was no longer staring at merely reeds and rushes.

He was staring at two points of soft light, partially hidden in the marsh plants near the shore. Bilbo concluded with a jolt that they were eyes, lamp-like and wide, and they were staring right at him. They blinked slowly at him, and after a moment he returned the gesture, still mid-stretch. A face peered out of the reeds, followed by arms, legs, and an entire little body that looked altogether rather hobbitish. Bilbo was too startled to speak as the creature slowly approached – it seemed as curious about him as he was about it.

She – in the growing light it became clear the creature was female – wore a tunic made of many layers of grey-blue netting, secured at the waist by a broad belt. She had a curly topknot at the highest point of her head, secured by several cleverly placed sticks, and carried a sort of barbed spear and a reed basket at her hip. Hobbit feet carried her silently across the marshy ground as she approached, reaching nearly the same height as Bilbo, looking him over with round brown eyes.

"What are ye?" she suddenly whispered, making Bilbo jump.
"I'm a hobbit," he whispered back, "not unlike yourself, I think."
"A hobbit? I'm no such thing!"
"Well what are you then?"
"A Stoor, if ye must know, and the chief no less."
"There are more of you?" Bilbo asked, genuinely interested.
"There's no one that's the likes of me, and I'll thank ye to remember that!"
"Of course, I didn't mean to offend-"
"Then why by Yavanna's left hand are ye and yer's lolling about on one of our islands?"

At that moment Bilbo became aware of several more faces half-hidden around the banks of the island – he stammered out that there was a misunderstanding, and began quickly rousing his friends under the critical eye of the chief. His companions were irritated at the early wake up, but were soon very compliant as the chief made herself known to each and every one of them by staring into their faces for nearly a minute each. She clicked her tongue once and nearly two dozen similar forms crept forward – all wrapped in net tunics and sporting topknots – some old, some young, all brown and freckled and very, very hobbit like. Although some wore rudimentary boots and some males had frizzing beards, their large feet, round features, and short stature linked them undisputable to Bilbo's people to the west.

"Bless me, you're Stoors, are you not?" Gandalf cried gleefully as he leapt to his feet. Several of the strangers yelped or screamed at the wizard's towering height, and he quickly sat back down. "Apologies, my excitement got the better of me. Of course it is a delight to meet you, I must say! May I assume you are the chief, my lady?"
"Yeh, that'll be me, you great stork. What's your business here?"
"We are travelling south, to Lothorien, the Golden Wood. Do you know it?"
"Ah, going to pay a visit to the Lady of Light, are we?" she sneered, and several of her people laughed as well.
"Yes, although I fail to see the humor of that statement."
"The Lady Galadriel is a myth," one of the Stoors quipped, "everyone knows those woods were abandoned years ago!" Several laughs and hums of agreement rippled through the small folk.
"It would seem your travels are in vain," the chief laughed roughly, "but a charming story besides. Your goal?"
"To reach the Dimrill Dale," Thorin growled, and at once half of the Stoors hissed at the name.
"We do not care for that place," the chief spat, "and neither should you if you would like the world to stay in one piece! Do you know what evils smolders there?"
"That is precisely our goal, to cleanse that place of…of its filth, and its evil!" Gandalf supplied. The chief frowned, looking hard into Gandalf's face for a long moment. He kept up his polite smile while she scrutinized him, twiddling his thumbs as his companions and the other Stoors watched. After a moment the chief's face split into a broad grin as she put her hands on her hips.
"Ye know, I think I believe you! Morla's my name. Up up up, up ye get, we're friends now!"

At that moment the atmosphere of the little island changed – the Stoors relaxed and lowered their spears, and the dwarves cautiously took their hands from various handles. Chief Morla was now a very different person from the wary creature Bilbo had first encountered; she was robust and confident as she questioned Gandalf, and gruff but civil as she met the dwarves. She didn't seem to know what to make of Tauriel, who stood awkwardly beside Bilbo, but after a few words she felt as strangely welcomed as the rest of the party.

Dawn broke shortly after, and Morla all but demanded to host them on another island. The offer was accepted, and soon the Stoors began filing away. Each one clambered into his or her own little boat and quickly paddled off. Made of reed and shaped vaguely like halves of a walnut, the little watercrafts were surprisingly nimble as they shoved off through the reeds, bobbing single file as they paddled east. The six travelers all but jumped into their own boats to follow – outnumbered in strange territory, they could only hope that their host was as benevolent as she seemed.

A/N: I'd love to hear what you readers thought about this - was it too long? Too short? Was the pacing alright?
As a reminder, the next chapters will be once per week, but about this long. :)