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Their home was a distant memory, a broken dream swallowed by smoke and ash. The dwarves of Erebor, once a strong and proud people, were now homeless wanderers, traveling through the wilderness of Middle-earth. Their carts creaked, their feet were sore from endless walking, and their hearts were heavy with loss. The glory of their mountain, once full of life, light, and riches, now felt like nothing more than a fairytale.

Thorin Oakenshield, the young prince of Erebor, had carried the weight of responsibility since the dragon Smaug had attacked their home. He had been young when he saw the dragon's fire in the sky, turning the night red. He heard the deafening noise, the screams of his people running in panic, and the dragon's roaring that made the ground shake. In his mind, he always saw the moon above the mountain while the forest around it burned in flames. This memory was like a knife in his heart. He had watched his city turn to ash, his home destroyed. And he had never forgiven. And never forgotten.

But it wasn't just the loss of the mountain that hurt him the most. It was knowing that his daughter, Tíana, would never know Erebor as her home. She had been just a little child back then, too young to understand what was happening. All she carried from that time was the pain of loss and memories of death. Tíana couldn't remember the grand throne room, the golden halls, or the smell of fresh stone and ore in the mountain. For her, Erebor was only a story her father told over and over by the campfire on cold nights, as if trying to keep it alive through his words.

But the world beyond Erebor was different. It was full of wonders, full of stories, and full of things Tíana could never have imagined. Far away, in another part of the world, dragons were not enemies that burned cities to the ground. For the people in the villages and towns of Middle-earth, dragons were creatures of fantasy—beings from legends, no scarier than a shadow in the moonlight. She had learned that for many, dragons were only part of tricks and magic shows performed during festivals like the summer solstice, with fairy dust and colorful lights. For Tíana, it was almost unbearable to see how the memory of what had happened to her people had become nothing more than a simple children's story in the eyes of others.

On their travels, they had sought refuge in the world of men. Thorin, once a prince, did not hesitate to take any work offered to him. He chopped wood, fixed roof beams, worked in forges—anything to feed his small group. But through all those years, he never lost his pride and never forgot his anger at the dragon. Deep inside, he knew their time would come. They would return, reclaim their mountain, and restore the honor of their people.

But fate had other plans for Thorin and his daughter. And this is where Bilbo Baggins entered their story. It was a meeting that would change Tíana's life forever. In Bilbo's cozy, green hobbit hole, with its low ceilings and round doors, she felt a warmth she had only known from her father's stories. The hobbit was not what she had expected. He was small and plain, almost nervous, yet there was a calmness about him that fascinated her. His eyes, big and brown like the earth, seemed to look right into her, as if he could see something others had missed. It was the start of an extraordinary friendship that would last a lifetime.

But this wasn't the beginning of Bilbo Baggins' story—it was the beginning of hers.

The air was fresh and filled with the scent of flowers and grass carried by the wind over the hills of Hobbiton. The sun shone like a golden ball, bathing the green land in soft, warm light. Tíana pulled her worn-out cloak tighter around her. It was an heirloom from her mother, once beautiful, but now the frayed edges and faded embroidery showed the years it had spent in the wild. The soft fabric still carried a faint smell of Erebor's resin, a small reminder of a home she had barely known.

Her thoughts drifted back to her father's stories. Thorin often talked about how the mountain once sparkled in the moonlight, how the wind whispered through the trees of the mountain forest, and how the mines rang with the sound of hammers. "You'll see it, Tíana," he always told her. "One day, we will return." But now, the thought of returning felt like a far-off dream. Her heart ached as she thought about how Erebor was nothing more than a story to her—a story drowned in smoke and fire.

"Tina! Are you daydreaming again?" Fíli's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. His grin was as wide as ever, a bright spot in the middle of their worries. He was full of life, his blond hair falling in wild strands over his shoulders, broken only by the neat braids Tíana had woven for him. "At least I'm not dreaming about how I got us lost," she teased with a mischievous smile.

"Lost?" Kíli shouted, throwing his arms in the air. "This is a perfectly planned route!"
"Perfectly chaotic, you mean," Fíli muttered, pretending to study the surroundings seriously. His golden beard was also braided, decorated with small metal pieces Tíana had added. He was always the more cautious one, a sharp contrast to Kíli's impulsive nature. Tíana laughed quietly and brushed a strand of dark hair from her face that had slipped from her braid. She knew these little jokes helped them all forget their worries—worries about being in a world of men that felt so strange to them, and the mix of excitement and unease about meeting a hobbit like Bilbo Baggins.

When they finally climbed the hill and saw the small house with the round green door, Tíana stopped for a moment. The sight felt almost unreal. The warm colors and the neat garden gave off a sense of comfort she had only heard about in stories. Everything here was so different from the rough lands they had traveled through. Here, it was... peaceful. "This is it," Fíli said quietly as he rolled up the map. Kíli stepped forward and knocked on the door, which creaked open slightly. Behind it stood a small man with messy brown hair, a waistcoat that looked a bit too tight, and an expression somewhere between confusion and mild annoyance.

"Uh... can I help you?" Bilbo's voice was friendly but cautious as he looked at the three strangers. His brown eyes widened as he glanced at Kíli and Fíli, but it was Tíana who caught his attention. She had pulled back the hood of her cloak, and the sunlight made her olive skin and green eyes seem to glow. It was an unusual sight, even for someone as naturally curious as Bilbo.

"Greetings," Kíli began, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by an unusual formality. "I'm Kíli, this is my brother Fíli, and this is Tíana." "Half-dwarf," she added quickly, her voice sharp but not unfriendly. "Just so there's no confusion."

Bilbo blinked and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but before any words came out, the two dwarves spoke again. "At your service," they said in unison, bowing deeply. Their posture was formal, almost theatrical, but the sparkle in their eyes hinted at playful mischief.

Tíana stepped forward, pulling her cloak tighter around her and nodding politely. "Good evening, Mr. Baggins," she said, her voice calm, though her words stretched out, as if she wasn't sure what to say next. Her eyes scanned the small hobbit, who looked more surprised than pleased to see them.

Bilbo Baggins was a strange sight with his messy curls and an expression that shifted between discomfort and annoyance. But before Tíana could say anything more, the hobbit's response came - short, sharp, and far from welcoming.

"No! You can't come in. This is the wrong house," he said with a mix of panic and determination, stepping back and trying to shut the door.

Tíana felt her heart sink as she saw the disappointment on her cousins' faces. Fíli and Kíli had put so much hope into this journey, so much effort and planning. And now - this sudden rejection. It was like a sharp sting, a painful moment she couldn't stop. She knew she had to stay calm, but inside her, frustration and worry were building.

Before Bilbo could close the door completely, Kíli's hand shot out to stop it. "What? Was it canceled?" His voice was full of surprise and concern, as if that thought had never even crossed his mind. Fíli quickly stepped beside him, nodding firmly. "We didn't hear anything about that!" he said, his tone almost offended, as he confidently stepped over the threshold, not waiting for an invitation.

"Nothing was canceled!" Bilbo replied, now clearly overwhelmed. His face twisted in disbelief at what was happening. "I would know if it was!"

Kíli grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with unshakable optimism. "Well, that's a relief!" he said with enthusiasm, as if Bilbo had just invited them inside. Without hesitation, he followed his brother into the hobbit hole.

Tíana watched the scene with a touch of amusement, even though she could feel the tension in herself. She stepped through the door too, her movements careful, her eyes taking in everything. "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit," she murmured softly, almost in awe, as she looked around.

But this hole was nothing like she had imagined. It wasn't damp, dirty, or filled with the smell of mold like the caves she had seen during her travels through the wilderness. No, this was a home. A real hobbit hole—warm, welcoming, and full of life. The smell of fresh bread and herbs filled the air, and the light from the lamps gleamed golden on the polished wooden furniture.

Tíana gently ran her fingers over a shelf with finely crafted wooden frames and ceramics. It was as if she could feel the history of this place, the care that went into every detail. She couldn't stop a soft sigh from escaping her. "This is what a home feels like," she thought, casting a quick glance at her cousins, who were already rummaging through the cabinets looking for something to eat.

Bilbo stood frozen in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob, as if he couldn't understand what was happening. "This... this is a cave of peace and quiet!" he finally said, giving a desperate look at the dwarves. "You can't just come in and... and... turn everything upside down!"

Tíana slowly turned to face him, her voice soft but firm. "Mr. Baggins, we are on an important journey. We're sorry if we seem rude, but we have no choice." Her words sounded sincere, and there was a spark of understanding in her eyes that made Bilbo pause for a moment.

"An important journey, you say?" he murmured, as if trying to understand the meaning of her words. "A journey that could save our people," she added, taking a step closer to him. "Please, give us a chance."

Bilbo looked at her, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he recognized something in her words—a determination, a need that both troubled and intrigued him. But he didn't say anything, and with a resigned sigh, he finally closed the door behind him.

Tíana watched as Bilbo Baggins nervously held Fíli's weapons in his hands. The hobbit looked as if he was afraid the sharp blades might hurt him at any moment. With a gentle smile, Tíana stepped forward and held out her hands. "Give them to me, Mr. Baggins," she said in a calm voice, "so you don't hurt yourself."

Bilbo, clearly surprised by her unexpected politeness, hesitantly handed her the weapons. "Well, thanks... I think," he murmured, watching her slender hands as she took the weapons with the care of a master. Tíana's gaze briefly scanned the intricate engravings on the blades before she balanced them safely on her forearms. She loved such craftsmanship - something that reminded her of the home she never really knew.

But the calm didn't last long, as Kíli, her carefree cousin, had begun scraping his boots on a chest that Bilbo obviously cared about. "That's my mother's dowry chest! Please stop!" Bilbo snapped at him, his voice sharp with annoyance.

Tíana's eyes narrowed, and she gave Kíli a look that said it all. "Kíli!" Her voice was quiet but firm. "Don't you have any respect?" Kíli, caught in the act, raised his hands innocently and stepped away from the chest. But before Tíana could say anything more, a deep, distinct voice came from the direction of the pantry. "Fíli, Kíli, come! Help out! Or do you just want to stand around?"

Tíana turned around and immediately recognized the strong dwarf with the shaved head and tattooed hands. "Mr. Dwalin!" Her voice sounded almost in awe as she gave a slight bow. "Nulukhad!" grumbled Dwalin, winking at her. The nickname "Half Hammer" was always said with some humor, but Tíana knew it also meant respect. It was her differences that had inspired this name, but it also reminded her that she was part of their community. The hammer, a symbol of strength and dwarf craftsmanship, held special meaning for her.

With a nod to the other dwarves, Dwalin pointed to a stack of crates. "Push these into the hallway, or we'll never get everyone in here!" As he spoke, another voice, calmer and wiser, spoke up. "Dwalin is right. Move it, or we'll be in the way," said the older dwarf, whose snow-white hair and beard gave him a dignified appearance.

Tíana's face brightened, and she again respectfully said, "Mr. Balin!" Her arms were still heavy with Fíli's weapons, but she stood a little straighter, as if to show respect to the wise dwarf. Balin was like a bridge for her between the old world and the new, a reminder of all the dwarves had lost, and a symbol of hope for what could come.

Bilbo, watching the scene with growing confusion, was starting to lose his patience. "All? How many more are coming?" His voice sounded a little panicked as he watched the ever-growing group of dwarves.

But no one paid him any attention. Instead, the dwarves got to work with a matter-of-factness that only made Bilbo more uneasy. Tíana gave him a brief look full of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baggins," she said quietly before turning away to help the others.

Bilbo stared after her as she moved into the room with the other dwarves and finally murmured, as if he couldn't quite grasp the situation: "What a strange group." His words echoed in the air as he watched the dwarves move like a strong current into the peaceful hobbit home.

Tíana stopped for a moment and gave him a look that was almost gentle. "True, but they are family," she answered quietly. Her eyes moved over the dwarves, who were now spreading out around the rooms, placing crates and bags as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She felt a deep warmth inside, a sense of belonging that almost contrasted with the chaotic scene around her.

But before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, a sharp ringing sound broke the silence, followed by the impatient, energetic steps of Mr. Baggins moving toward the door. "No. No. There's nobody home!" Mr. Baggins had such a determined voice that Tíana wondered if he was trying to convince himself. "If no one is home, why are you shouting that no one is home?" Tíana raised an eyebrow, a look of confusion on her face as she watched the hobbit. It was as if his contradictions were turning her thoughts upside down. What a conflict in this small, nervous hobbit, she thought.

"Just go away and bother someone else," Mr. Baggins continued, his voice now sharp and demanding. "There are already too many dwarves in my dining room. If any fool is making a joke, I can only say it's in bad taste."

But at the moment he opened the door to send his guests away, the inevitable happened. A whole bunch of dwarves rushed into the house with a loud crash, all tangled together, as if they had gotten caught in a big heap while trying to get through the door. They stumbled into the living room and almost fell over each other.

"Gandalf!" Mr. Baggins muttered in horror. His eyes widened as he saw the familiar, well-known wizard among the dwarves, who rolled off the doorstep with a joyful, almost mischievous grin.

Tíana couldn't help but chuckle quietly as she watched the scene. She had seen the dwarves in many ways, but the idea of them rushing into a hobbit's small, cozy home like this was just too amusing. She stepped beside Bilbo and felt a slight sympathy for the hobbit. His world had really been turned upside down, and it was clear to see.

"Come on, get involved," Kíli called with a grinning expression, and in the middle of the chaos, Tíana still held Fíli's weapons in her arms, moving calmly and keeping control as she watched everything around her. A deep sigh escaped her as she slowly leaned forward, offering a stern but warm smile to each dwarf entering her host's home. "Alright, alright," she murmured, carefully adjusting Fíli's weapons in her arms, mentally counting the dwarves, as if going through a guest list in her head.

"Dwalin, Balin, Óin, Glóin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Ori, Nori..." she said, her voice soft and almost motherly as she looked at each of them. The names came off her lips like a quiet echo of long-held connections and understanding, as if in that moment, they were all home—and perhaps that was the real magic of this adventure.

Tíana stood still for a moment, observing the lively chaos spreading throughout the cave. Her eyes moved over the faces of the dwarves, who were moving through the room, laughing loudly and clinking their plates and cups, as if carried away by a whirl of stories, memories, and hopes. She could feel the atmosphere change, from a tension that hung in the air to a shared moment of closeness. She felt that this was the true magic of the adventure—this moment of being together, this little world of connection. Her eyes searched for Gandalf and quickly found him, standing at the edge of the group with a mischievous smile on his lips as he watched the chaos unfold with amusement and maybe a hint of mockery.

Tíana couldn't help but smile quietly, though her voice, when she turned to Bilbo, was gentle and calming. "I'm sorry, Mr. Baggins," she said, her words full of warmth, almost motherly, "but sometimes it's hard to hide all the dwarves in a cave." Bilbo's eyes widened even more as he looked at her, a mix of wonder and maybe a bit of confusion. But then he slowly backed away, like someone retreating to the safety of their own world after a moment of shock. The door clicked softly as if it were the last act of reclaiming his control.

"Dwarves," a voice murmured suddenly beside Tíana. It was a soft, almost shy voice, and Tíana knew at once who it was. Lítith. Her elven heritage was easy to see, as was her delicate appearance, which gave the impression of a fragile flower. Tíana smiled gently, almost with affection in her gaze. She could still see the changes in Lítith, the journey she had made through this group and this world of dwarves. Her skin, as flawless as morning light, glowed with a brightness that seemed to shine like a star in the cave's darkness. Her silvery-blonde hair fell in soft waves to her waist, almost glowing in the weak flame light, like the otherworldly glow of a moonbeam.

"What do you expect?" Tíana replied, her voice quiet but tinged with amusement. "They're just setting the table, Lítith." It was one of the things she loved about Lítith—this mix of curiosity and seriousness in every question she asked. Tíana now turned fully to the half-elf, who looked with the eyes of someone who wanted to know more, who demanded more. Lítith was a young woman whose presence seemed like a delicate breath of elven magic—fragile, yet filled with an inner strength that only a few ever saw. Her skin, a pale, flawless color, seemed to embrace and reflect the light, as if wrapped in a silver glow. Her silvery-blonde hair fell in soft, almost dancing waves to her waist. It was a shine that reminded one of the first morning light of a foggy winter, yet it had the depth of a long, still lake, seemingly calm at first but hiding deep secrets when looked at more closely.

Her face was naturally beautiful, in a way that was hard to compare to anything else. It wasn't the kind of beauty that was loud or fancy, but a quiet, pure grace. Her high cheekbones gave her a noble look, while her soft chin and curved lips showed calmness, almost like they were protecting her. But it was her eyes that no one could ignore. They were big and a deep, piercing blue, like the sky on a clear day. But behind that innocent look was a strong determination that was almost visible. It was the look of a woman who carried both fragility and the undeniable knowledge that she could change the world in her own way.

What Tíana had learned about Lítith's change in style was just as impressive as Lítith herself. At first, she had seen Lítith wearing simple, practical clothes—fabrics that gently fit her slender figure but didn't show any sign of power or rank. But over time, everything had changed. Her robes, once plain and functional, became grander and more meaningful. Each dress she wore was a masterpiece, made of fine fabrics that seemed to catch the light in a magical way. Her robes weren't just clothes—they were a sign of where she came from and her connection to the great people of her kind. They showed her status as Elrond's sister and Galadriel's close friend. Every detail was carefully chosen to emphasize her position, while still hiding her true nature as someone who carried both the wisdom of the Elves and the strength of an unbreakable character.

And yet, even with all these changes, there was still something about Lítith that hovered over her. A mysterious glow in her eyes, a spark of innocence that couldn't be completely covered by the weight of her responsibilities. She didn't just carry the legacy of her people; she also felt torn between the importance of her role and the freedom she sought in quiet moments.

"Who's who?" Lítith's question echoed in the air, and Tíana nodded slightly, a quiet smile on her lips. She knew that at this moment, she wasn't just reading a list of names. It was a new chapter for Lítith, opening in a strange world. For a moment, her mind wandered back to the days when she had first met the Dwarves—wild, stubborn, but with hearts full of courage and secrets. She remembered how she had wondered if she could ever fit in with them, if she would ever truly be a part of their group.

"Kíli," she began, looking over at the group that had gathered a little to the side, as if they were waking up from a train of thought. "Kíli is Thorin's nephew and Fíli's younger brother. He's brave and passionate, sometimes a bit impulsive, but that's what makes him such a valuable companion." Her eyes lingered for a moment on Kíli, who was grinning while filling one of the plates. It was a mischievous, almost playful look, but beneath it, there was also a sense of seriousness.

"Fíli," Tíana continued as she looked at the Dwarves more closely. "He's the more reasonable of the two brothers, a skilled fighter, but he's a bit more patient and thoughtful than Kíli. He's always by his brother's side, even though his thoughts often guide the way." She could feel the strong bond between the two brothers, like an invisible thread in the air. She'd never had a brother like that, but she understood the trust between them.

"Dwalin," she said, her voice a bit more serious. "He's one of the most experienced Dwarves, Thorin's loyal friend, and a warrior with a heart of stone. But deep inside, there's a kind of care that only a few can see." Her eyes lingered on Dwalin, who was looking into the distance, thinking. Tíana could feel the sharp, almost quiet protection Dwalin had for his friends. It was something she really appreciated.

"Balin," she continued, watching the older Dwarf, who was sitting quietly at a table, lighting his pipe. "He's the oldest of the group, a wise man who often acts as the voice of reason in the middle of chaos. If anyone can stay calm here, it's Balin." She couldn't help but give him a small, almost motherly look. He had a certain dignity that acted like a shield for the group.

"Óin and Gloin," Tíana said, nodding toward the two Dwarves who were quietly talking to each other. "They're brothers, and they have the same fiery hearts as most Dwarves. Óin is a healer, a fire master who goes his own way, while Gloin, Gimli's father, is a determined warrior." She knew there was a deep bond between the two of them, even if they didn't always agree on everything.

"Bifur," she went on, "the loyal Dwarf, whose story is a bit different. A shard in his head changed him, but he still remains an important part of the group." Her eyes glanced at him as he got caught up in a conversation with Bofur and Bombur. Tíana had often admired how Bifur never lost his courage, despite his difficult situation.

"Bofur and Bombur," she said, with a warm smile in her voice. "Bofur is the optimist, always ready with a joke, even in the darkest moments. And Bombur..." She shook her head, unable to hide a smile. "He's the biggest of the group, but he's also the one who thinks the most about good food."

"Dori, Ori, and Nori," she finished, looking at the three brothers who seemed to act as one, a unit of different personalities, but united by their loyalty and unshakable determination. "Dori is the protector, Ori is the chronicler, and Nori is the clever one, skilled in many things." She knew each of them played an important role, and she felt honored to be part of this unusual family.

Tíana sighed softly and let her gaze sweep over the Dwarves one last time. In that moment, she felt more connected to this wild, chaotic family than ever before. And as she looked at Lítith, she could see the hint of a smile on the Half-Elf's lips—a sign that she, too, was starting to feel at home.