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Tíana and Lítith stood side by side at the window, watching the busy scene in the cave. The dwarves were working hard, preparing a feast. The sound of metal clinking, meat sizzling on hot iron, and the cracking of freshly baked bread filled the air. It all blended into a cheerful noise that seemed to surround everything. The smells of herbs and smoke made the moment feel magical, and for a second, Tíana felt like she was part of something much bigger.

Her eyes moved from one dwarf to another - Fíli, Kíli, Dori, and the rest. She knew all of them, not just as craftsmen but as people with stories hidden deep inside. Every smile, every hammer swing, every little move felt familiar. Yet there was something mysterious in their eyes, like a secret they rarely shared. It was as if Tíana was standing at the door of a room she could never fully enter, a place even the dwarves rarely visited.

The lively sounds and the warmth of the moment filled her with a quiet happiness. It felt like being home - not just in a place, but in a moment with people she understood. The dwarves' love for their craft, their attention to detail, and their connection to the earth felt comforting.

Suddenly, a loud thud caught her attention. She turned to Lítith and heard her friend giggling. Gandalf, the wizard, had bumped his head on the low chandelier - wice. Tíana couldn't help but smile.

"Someone should tell him that chandelier is made for hobbits, not wizards," she said with a mischievous grin, leaning against the wall to enjoy the scene. Lítith nodded, still smiling, but her eyes stayed calm and thoughtful as she watched Gandalf.

"It’s funny how he never seems to lose his calm," Lítith said softly, as if she was thinking out loud. Her words made Tíana pause for a moment.

"True," Tíana agreed, her voice gentler now. "He’s... different. In his own world." She couldn’t fully understand the wizard's mind or his secrets, but for a moment, she felt a small connection to him. Gandalf, calm and wise, still felt like part of this strange but strong bond between everyone in the room.

Just as they turned back to the busy dwarves, Gandalf's voice rose, counting them: "Fíli, Kíli, Bombur... ah, even the ladies are here." There was a playful tone in his words as he included Tíana and Lítith. "And yet, one dwarf is missing."

Tíana smiled softly, her heart feeling a little lighter in this warm environment. She turned to Gandalf and replied with quiet confidence, "He’s late. He went north to meet with his kin. But don’t worry, he’ll come. He always comes back to me."

The words had flowed out of her, almost naturally, as if there was no other way to say them. Gandalf raised an eyebrow and glanced at her briefly, thinking about what she had said. But he said nothing and turned back to the group, as if the conversation was already over for him.

At that moment, Bilbo Baggins stepped closer, his face a mix of curiosity and confusion. “Aren’t you part of this clan?” he asked. His voice was a bit hesitant but full of genuine interest. Tíana felt a small ache in her chest - a rare feeling, but one that now spread through her. She lowered her eyes for a moment, and it felt like the world around her went quiet. It was that question she could never fully answer, at least not in the way others expected.

She licked her lips and slowly turned to Bilbo. Her eyes looked a little sad as she gazed at him. It was a mix of affection and something she couldn’t quite explain. This hobbit, so curious about the world, still didn’t understand much about life. Tíana tilted her head slightly as she spoke.

“You heard what Master Dwalin called me,” she said finally, her voice calm but firm. The name carried both an explanation and an apology, though she knew Bilbo wouldn’t fully understand it.

“Something like… Nulu...?” Bilbo guessed uncertainly, but Tíana quickly cut him off before he could finish.

“Nulukhad,” she said quietly. The sound of the name stirred something deep inside her. For a moment, her gaze softened, thoughtful. She explained with a patience that even surprised herself: “It means Half Hammer.”

“Half Hammer?” Bilbo repeated, a mix of surprise and genuine interest in his voice, which almost made her smile.

Tíana nodded slowly. In that moment, she felt a wave of empathy as she saw the quiet wonder in Bilbo’s eyes - a deeper curiosity than even he might realize. Still, she couldn’t help but hope for a bit more patience, a little more understanding, even though she knew the name meant more than he could imagine.

“Other dwarves would take it as an insult and want to rip my head off,” she said with a slight bitterness in her voice. “Because to them, I’m just a half-dwarf. My father called me that to help me feel less different—despite the pointed ears, the taller body…” She let the words hang in the air. Her eyes flickered with sadness for a moment, but the pain passed as quickly as it had come. She leaned against the wall, her thoughts drifting back to the first time her father had called her that.

For a moment, Tíana blinked, and it was like time rewound. The memory that came to her was so vivid she could almost feel the damp earth, hear the crackling of the fire, and see her father’s rough but warm smile.

She had been just a child back then, a small half-dwarf, barely more than a shadow among the rough stone walls of Erebor. Her ears, already different from the other dwarves’, drooped shyly against her head, almost as if they wanted to hide. Her body wasn’t strong enough yet; her limbs were too long, too fragile. And worst of all, there were the sharp, judgmental stares of the other dwarves - always on her, the “Half,” the “Incomplete.”

That day, when the other dwarves of Erebor had gathered in a circle and laughed, Tíana had felt like her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. Once again, she was the one they mocked. Her ears, her height, the strange way her hair shone in the light - they were the reasons for the constant teasing. The other children had hidden behind their fathers, calling her “Half Hammer” over and over. The name burned like red-hot iron in her heart.

Sobbing, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she had turned away from the group, hoping no one would follow her. But the world was a cruel place for a child like her. With shaking legs, she had run to her father, who was working in the forge at the time.

“Father!” she cried, her voice shaking with fear and pain as she pushed open the heavy door.

He looked up, his eyes as tough as the steel he worked with, but his face stayed calm, almost thoughtful. “Tíana… What’s wrong, my child?” he asked gently, setting down his hammer and pulling her into his strong arms.

“The others… they called me that name again,” Tíana stammered, tears filling her eyes as she tried not to break down. “Half-Hammer… They say I don’t belong here. I’m… I’m not like them, Father!”

He held her tightly, stroking her shiny, messy hair that was a little too long and unruly for the other dwarves. As he looked at her, Tíana saw a new truth in his eyes, something he had always tried to teach her.

“Tíana, my heart, it’s just a name,” he said softly, his voice a mix of kindness and strength that she had always admired. “It’s a name meant to make you feel small, to hurt you because they don’t understand how great you really are. But do you know what it truly means?”

Tíana shook her head, still overwhelmed by the tears streaming down her face.

“Half-Hammer,” he repeated, holding her a little closer. “It means you carry the strength of both sides within you. The hammer of the dwarves and the fire of your mother. It means you are stronger than all of them—stronger because you combine both worlds. And that, my daughter, is not a weakness. It’s your greatest strength.”

Even now, Tíana could remember how she cried in his arms, slowly understanding that it wasn’t “being complete” that defined her. It was what she carried within herself, built through her own struggles and her love for her father. The name “Half-Hammer” was no longer just an insult. It became a symbol—a symbol of the strength she had to grow into. That moment stayed with her forever.

“It’s not a curse, Tíana,” her father had said. “It’s a blessing. You’re stronger than you’ll ever believe. Be proud of who you are, and most of all, be proud of where you come from.”

“Tíana, come eat something with us, and bring your friend!” Balin’s cheerful voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw him waving at her with a wide smile as he sat down with the other dwarves near Fíli and Kíli.

Tíana let out a quiet, sad sigh. The feeling of being different was always with her. Her thoughts drifted back to another time, another meal she had shared with her father when she was just a child. A child who was always laughed at by the other dwarves, never enough—not dwarf enough, not human enough. Their teasing, calling her “Half-Hammer,” had left her feeling unsure of herself, a feeling she could never fully shake off.

“Never, never again will I let them laugh at me,” Tíana thought with a determination that cut through her sadness.

“Not from far away,” Dwalin suddenly added with a smirk, looking at her with a mix of irony and respect as he stuffed a big piece of meat into his mouth.

The dwarves didn’t seem to notice her unease as they kept laughing, throwing food, and joking loudly. Tíana felt a little lost in the noisy chaos around her. But then, a thought flickered—a thought as old as her childhood: transform it. Turn it into strength. Her hand reached for a piece of bread as her eyes landed on the always-busy Bombur.

“Want to bet? Bombur, catch!” she called out playfully, throwing the bread toward him.

Bombur, a bit slow as always, reached for the bread—and missed, letting it hit the table with a loud thud. Tíana couldn’t stop herself from smirking. She had clearly won that little game, her old habit of outsmarting the older dwarves coming back to her. Laughter erupted around the table.

“You throw like a girl!” Kíli teased, shaking his head, though his comment wasn’t really aimed at Tíana. It was just a thoughtless remark that would soon backfire.

“Who wants some ale? Here you go!” Fíli said generously, passing out mugs to everyone. It was as if the air around her brightened, the mood lifting as the ale filled their cups and the laughter grew even louder. Tíana grabbed her mug and took a deep sip, feeling its warmth spread through her.

"I want one too, brother, and Tina probably does as well," added Kíli. As expected, another mug of ale was handed to her. It was a gesture of brotherhood and camaraderie that she felt deep within.

"Take another one, I say," grumbled Dwalin with a crooked smile that spoke of a dwarf's experience and zest for life. Moments later, he turned to Oin and, with a quick flick of his wrist, poured ale into the dwarf's hearing aid, causing Oin to shout in loud, confused protest.

"Drink up, on three! One, two, three!" called Bofur, grinning mischievously. Before Tíana could react, everyone took a deep gulp from their mugs. The ale spilled over their beards, and the moment was filled with wild freedom and carefree laughter.

"I knew you had it in you!" shouted Bofur, laughing loudly as Nori, who had just poured ale all over his beard, ended with a loud, guttural burp. Laughter erupted all around, making the table shake under the noise.

"Alright, Ori, hand it to me," said Fíli, tossing Tíana a plate that flew straight into her hands. She caught it and quickly passed it to Kíli, who was just as swift. Tíana felt her fingers regain the energy of the game. It was as if, for a moment, she could forget everything else. The flow of movements, the exchange, the dwarves' laughter—it felt like she was part of something bigger. Something she carried not just inside but shared with others.

"Stop complaining, this is fun!" she laughed, as Mr. Baggins grumbled in the corner of the hall. She groaned playfully, barely able to contain her joy. "You're way too serious, Baggins!" In that moment, she was part of the family again—a child of the mountains, forgetting the hardships of life.

When the dwarves started singing loudly, Tíana could hear the melody she'd buried deep inside for so long. It brought memories of her father, of how he always said, "You're stronger than you think. You'll never be alone." A smile played on her lips as she looked at the dwarves around her. Yes, she was stronger. And that was her legacy—a legacy alive in joy, laughter, and the strength of bonds.

As the last bits of the meal disappeared, Tíana leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Her gaze swept over the rowdy group of dwarves drinking and laughing, and a warm, almost homely feeling filled her chest. It was a familiar sight that reminded her of times past when she was a child surrounded by her people. But the familiar warmth was suddenly interrupted.

A dwarf politely raised his plate and asked hesitantly, "Excuse me, where should I put this?" It was a simple question, but the silence that followed was heavier than it should have been.

Beside Tíana, Lítith let out an annoyed hiss and shook her head. "May their beards fall off, these dwarves!" Her words dripped with disdain as she grabbed her wine glass and took a sip.

Tíana noisily pushed back her chair and turned to the elf. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her voice was calm but firm. "My dear Lítith, what on earth is wrong with you?" She placed her hands on the table, fingers slightly spread, as if to keep herself from standing.

Lítith put down her glass and gave her a disbelieving look. "What's wrong?" She gestured wildly, almost hitting the dwarf beside her. "I'm surrounded by dwarves! That's what's wrong!" Her voice was high-pitched with frustration.

Tíana raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a crooked smile. "They're a lively bunch once you get used to them. Or... if you grew up with them." There was a teasing tone in her voice, but her gaze was thoughtful.

"I don't want to get used to them!" Lítith's response was quick and sharp, and she downed the rest of her wine in one gulp, as if trying to wash the dwarves out of her system.

Tíana leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze drifted to the dwarves, who were now arguing loudly about the world's best ale. "You got used to me," she said casually, not looking at Lítith, though a small grin played on her lips.

Lítith opened her mouth, then closed it again when she caught the half-dwarf's gaze. The elf shook her head and muttered something under her breath before staring back into her empty glass.

Tíana sighed, stood up, and grabbed her plate. With a swift motion, she tossed it across the table, where Kíli caught it with a wide grin. "Thanks, Tina!" he called, raising the plate like a trophy.

As soon as he set the plate down, one of the dwarves began a deep, rumbling song. It started with rhythmic stomping that made the floor vibrate slightly, and soon the others joined in. Tíana couldn’t help but smile as she sat back down. In seconds, the room shifted from relaxed to completely chaotic.

"Kíli: Rip the tablecloth apart!
Fíli and Tíana: Light the old cork on fire!
All: Throw the glasses hard against the wall!"

Tíana couldn’t resist joining the cheerful chaos. She grabbed a spoon and banged it on the table in rhythm while the dwarves danced and sang. Her laughter mixed with the deep voices of the dwarves, and for a moment, she felt completely free.

"All: Splash the wine on every door!
Pour the grease across the floor!
Soak the rugs with beer for fun!
Throw the bones under the bed!
We’ll smash pots, bowls, and plates with our axe!
And if anything’s left intact,
We’ll just start over again!"

The dwarves laughed and cheered as they finished their song. Tíana leaned back and watched the lively scene with a warm smile. Then her eyes fell on Bilbo, who stood frozen at the edge of the room. His expression was somewhere between shock and horror.

"What... what have you done?" His voice was barely a whisper, but the room fell silent immediately.

Before anyone could reply, Gandalf rose slowly from his seat. He stroked his beard and gave Bilbo an amused look. "Well, Bilbo, I’d say the dwarves have created their own kind of order."

Just as the laughter began to return, a loud, deliberate knock echoed through the room. The lively atmosphere vanished instantly, replaced by tense silence. Tíana’s heart raced as her hand instinctively reached for the axe at her side.

"He’s here," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes stayed locked on the door, sharp like the blade of her weapon.

Gandalf nodded at her, almost unnoticeably, and walked slowly to the door. The moment he pulled back the latch felt like it lasted forever. Everyone in the room held their breath, the air heavy with tension, as the door creaked open.

"Gandalf... Didn't you say this place was easy to find? I got lost twice. Without the mark on the door, I wouldn't have found it at all," Tíana heard her father's deep, familiar voice from the entrance. A warm, bittersweet feeling filled her chest. She stood in the shadow of the living room doorway, watching him. Thorin Oakenshield. His dark hair was messy from travel, his beard neatly braided, but dust and dirt covered him. Part of her wanted to run into his arms, but years of separation made her cautious. Instead, she stood still, arms crossed, taking in the moment.

"A mark? There is no mark! The door was freshly painted just a week ago!" Bilbo protested, crossing his arms as well. Tíana felt a smile tug at her lips—this kind of bickering seemed normal for Hobbits.

"There is a mark. I put it there myself," Lítith said dryly. Tíana shot her a shocked look. An Elf damaging property? She would not let her forget this anytime soon. Lítith just grinned smugly, almost making Tíana laugh.

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf’s commanding voice cut through the argument. "May I introduce you to the leader of our company? Thorin Oakenshield."

The black-haired Dwarf stepped forward, his presence filling the room with natural authority. Tíana’s heart ached as she looked at his face—those serious, tired eyes that bore the weight of his responsibilities. She had missed him more than she cared to admit, but she stayed quiet and still.

"So, this is the Hobbit? Tell me, Mr. Baggins, are you skilled in combat? Axe or sword? What is your weapon?" Thorin asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Tíana frowned. Her father was a natural leader, but his habit of testing others right away could be... exhausting.

Bilbo looked flustered but answered with a mix of defiance and nervousness, "I—I can throw a rather elegant chestnut, if you must know. But I don’t see why that matters."

Thorin snorted, letting out a soft, dismissive laugh. "I thought so. More of a tradesman than a burglar." His words made the other Dwarves burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room.

"It’s not funny, Father," Tíana finally spoke, her voice sharp like a blade. The Dwarves fell silent. "It’s the small ones who can make the biggest difference."

Thorin turned to her, surprise flickering in his eyes before they softened as he recognized her. "Tíana," he whispered, warmth filling his voice. He stepped closer and, before she could stop him, pulled her into his arms. A flood of emotions—joy, pain, relief—overwhelmed her. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. His strong, familiar embrace felt like a safe harbor, and for a moment, she was a little girl again, seeking his protection.

Tíana felt tears sting her eyes but blinked them away quickly. She wasn’t weak. "You haven’t changed," she murmured softly, teasing him slightly.

Thorin released her from the hug and studied her with a proud smile. "But you have. You’ve grown..." He paused, looking her over. "...in many ways."

Tíana laughed, a quiet, genuine laugh that surprised even her. "I might be taller than you now, but I can still hug you without bending down."

The Dwarves roared with laughter, and even Thorin smirked. "You’re still my daughter," he said, his words holding more meaning than they seemed. Tíana only nodded, knowing there was nothing else to say. She was finally back with her family.

As Thorin and Tíana stepped apart, a strange mix of relief and unease settled in her chest. The warmth of her father’s hug lingered, but she couldn’t ignore the weight in his shoulders and posture. His burden was hers too, and she knew it all too well. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her worries aside and followed him back to the table, where the others were waiting impatiently.