A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Move Yer Feet!

"You have to move Halfling. Don't stand there gaping at me like a dead fish. Do something!" Dwalin's stern reprimand pierced the air as Lyla desperately tried to retain all the information the dwarf was throwing at her.

The morning after her uncomfortable interlude in the garden, the dwarves and their hobbit burglar had silently slipped from the confines of Rivendell's borders thanks to Gandalf's foresight that the white wizard would impede their journey further.

'I will meet you in the mountains when I can spare a moment' he had said.

And now as they camped at the base of the Misty Mountains, Gandalf had still not arrived. And Thorin, anxious to prevent further delay to his plans, was not apt to wait for the finicky wizard much longer. In the morning they'd head into the mountains without their wizard guide.

The few days journey-with Bofur, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin relieving her of hernewly acquired pack (thanks to the elves)-did give Lyla a chance to heal up enough to begin training with the warrior-dwarf Dwalin.

That very evening during supper, he had thrust a short, broad piece of birch into her surprised hands and declared her fit enough to start 'earnin' HIS keep'. Though he did promise to start out easy and slow for her since she was still on the mend.

"I'll not have ye hurtin' yerself further," he had grumbled, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over Lyla's shoulder.

So here she stood awkwardly gripping a stick, trying to remember all the instruction Dwalin had just mentioned, with the salty sting of sweat trickling down her forehead and into her eyes, matting her cropped curls to her scalp and making her feel rather ghastly to be honest.

And this was the easy training? She was already exhausted and dreaded what a regular training session would consist of.

"Move yer feet hobbit!" Dwalin growled again as he slowly circled her, "Ye'll be dead in short order if ye keep staring off like some lovestruck pup. Move it!"

Right.

Stay focused.

Move feet.

Got it.

Unfortunately, her attempts to focus didn't prevent Dwalin from knocking her stick to the ground with a loud 'thwack' with only a stinging sensation smarting across her palms as proof she had at one time held the 'weapon'.

That was the third time he'd done that.

Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible to Lyla's ears (though she suspected it was a curse) and sent the hobbit a glare.

"And ye have to move yer feet Master Baggins," Dwalin was exasperated by this point, "Standing still makes ye more of a target. Now retrieve yer practice weapon and we'll do this again. I'll not let ye rest until ye show some improvement!"

Lyla had a feeling that it was going to be a very long evening.

After Dwalin knocked her practice stick out of her hands a fifth time, Balin interjected.

"If I may ask, Master Baggins, do ye know how to dance?" The wizened dwarf sent her a small, placating smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Lyla replied regarding Dwalin's shorter, less intimidating brother suspciously. "Every hobbit knows how to dance."

"Well that's good then!" Balin remarked cheerfully getting comfortable on a large boulder near Lyla and Dwalin's sparring match, "Just employ those dancin' skills to your sword fightin' and you'll be grand!"

Lyla stared confusedly at Balin. Clearly, the dwarf had never actually seen how hobbits danced. It was nothing like the movements Dwalin was trying to teach her. It was more...flowery, exaggerated, intricate...