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Chapter Text

Right away, Kamal noticed the feel of the earth had changed. The muggy summer night had turned the soil soft. Her cleats sunk easily into the top layer. But with her next step, there was a brittle crunch of frost. Blue-white breath plumed in front of her eyes. Her arm hair lifted like pins. The cold seeped into her skin quickly; her oversized jersey and shorts did little to warm her. At least her socks were tall, and the shin-guards served as a second layer.

Her focus on finding the out-of-bounds ball abandoned her as a shiver lurched through her involuntarily. Even breathing in bit her throat with cold.

The humid, temperate forest was gone, replaced by late-fall leaves and conifers. Did I step into a backyard? She wondered. There wasn’t a fence… still doesn’t explain the cold. She blew a flume of breath, watching it trail up into the bristling trees. She spun on her heels, looking to trudge back uphill to the field. But the hill was gone. She turned about with frantic urgency. It was just here. She thought, her heart racing. 

Of course she left her emergency phone at the bench.

She looked at the ball at her feet; the only familiar landmark. Sniffing moisture dripping from her nose, she took the sole of her cleat and pushed. When that wasn’t enough, she used her hands to push and dig the ball deeper into the leaves so it wouldn’t roll. Part of her felt bad for submerging it in dirt. It was a birthday gift; Bright neon, not quite green or yellow. A light in the dark.

She walked twenty steps, then fifty. Then she lost count. But at least each time she looked, the bright spot was still there. She only stopped when her eyes strained to see the ball.

She decided to circle it, checking the perimeter without moving any farther outward. She knew the woods behind the field; she couldn't even remember how many times she'd been back here to grab runaway soccer balls. But nothing looked the same. She paused, pulling her arms through her sleeves and into her shirt, wrapping them around her body. "Morgan!" She called into the dark. "Stella! Hello!?" She listened, but nothing responded; only the  soft sound of wind moving through the canopy. Her throat constricted and tears threatened to spill. She sucked in air, looking up to the trees and blinking rapidly. The lump in her throat made her feel like she was choking.

A twig suddenly snapped behind her. She froze, heart pounding. One of the neighbors? 

"Hello?" She asked, but softer than before. She watched as a shadow moved between the trees against the coal black backdrop of the woods. Perhaps she was panicking, but she suddenly felt the urge to hide. Luckily she was close to a large, sprawling evergreen. Awkwardly shimmying her arms back out of her shirt, she dropped low and silently slipped under the branches. The piney smell was strong beneath it. She peered out from the needles, squinting against the black void. Her breath came out in short bursts. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a deep, male voice boomed from the shadows. He wasn't speaking English. And it definitely wasn't Punjabi either.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her heart thundering loudly in her chest. The man spoke again, his tone growing darker. There was a pause. He barked, and she knew it was a warning. As if to prove her point, there was a THWING and and something struck the trunk of the pine tree a mere centimeter from her head. She fell back, crying out in surprise. That... that's an arrow. 

She crawled on her hands and knees through the dirt, horrified as she heard footsteps crunching heavily towards her. She looked out from under the branches and saw an empty tree-line ahead. But she would need to run on open land to reach it.

Once, when she was up later than she was supposed to be, she saw blue light coming from her sister’s room so she peeked through the crack in the doorway. The movie was old, she could tell by the grainy color. A rodent character on screen began to stretch and transform as the narrator spoke. “ All the world will be your enemy, Prince With A Thousand Enemies, and whenever they catch you, they will kill you.” The phrase used to give her nightmares. She dreamed of sharp-edged animals chasing her down and leaping at her just as she jolted awake. But there was the second part…

“But first, they must catch you.”

Kamal took a deep breath. Ice flushed through her blood. She dug the spikes of her cleats into the hard-packed ground, found her hold, and launched. 

For a moment, she was flying. The muscles in her legs strained and snapped, propelling her swiftly out of her hiding spot. Her cleats gave her grip, and each stride was as long as an adult’s. 

But just as she reached the trees, a dark blur flew in from her left side. She ducked instinctively, but the shadow was just as fast. A burly arm wrapped awkwardly around her legs just above the knee, sending her flying face first towards the ground. Luckily, another arm swung around her front and caught her. In the same move, it clamped her arms to her sides and hoisted her off her feet. The break-neck stop didn’t keep her legs from kicking. One panicked cry escaped her before a palm covered her mouth. 

“ — whenever they catch you, they will kill you.”

She thrashed like she was being dragged underwater. She heard shushing in her ear. Her scream twisted into a sob, but the hand kept it muffled. It smelled like salt, and she could taste the dirt in the folds of skin. She gnashed her teeth but couldn’t get a bite. 

The hold of her tightened until she felt her ribs creak. Suddenly, the being spoke. Pressed against him, his voice thundered painfully in her ears. She couldn’t understand, but she realized he was yelling for something. Or to someone. 

Taking the briefest pause to gather her bearings, she saw more figures running in from the woods. They look large, barrel chested, and even with blurring vision she could make out weapons. One had a bow and quiver. The closest man had something sharp and metal in their hands, and despite herself Kamal cringed back against one holding her.

Her captor moved a step closer to the drawn weapon. In response, the girl’s feet scuffled at the ground uselessly. She dug her heels down, throwing her weight side to side in an attempt to buck him off. He said something again, followed by a heart huff. Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Is he laughing? 

To her relief, the one with the large knife lowered their arm. Kamal blinked the tears out of her eyes, wishing her hands were free to rub at them. The other’s circled in. She counted three in total, the fourth holding her. He said something else, and she could sense this time it was directed at her. An order. Very carefully, he uncoiled his arms. His meaty hands gripped her by both arms as he held her out in front of him, almost like a shield. Kamal felt dangerously exposed without his weight at her back. She tried not to shift around, but it was difficult. Eyes bore down on her as the party came closer to take a look. 

She dared a glance up… and was surprised. Though it was hard to make out features in the night, she could tell they weren’t very tall. Even the one behind her, despite his strength, must’ve stood only a few inches over her head. They were hairy like grown ups, deep-voiced like grown ups, but as tall as a 9-year-old (who was on the short side as it were). The one with the knife caught her glance, and she quickly averted her eyes. He said something to the group, and all of them chortled. 

The air was different now. Her heart still jackhammered, but at least she wasn’t being suffocated. The strangers seemed to be in pretty good mood; Not that this meant good news for her. 

The man behind her released her arms but snagged onto one of her wrists like a handcuff. He spoke in a hushed tone to the knife-wielder, flicking his head in her direction. A subtly as possible, she tested his grip, turning her wrist ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything, but a firm squeeze got the point across. 

All at once, the others started walking away. She felt herself being pulled in the same direction. She resisted. The one on her wrist gave her a look. He said something, but his voice had softened. He pulled again. Kamal stared at him with large, wild eyes. I want my coach. I want my team. She tried to twist her wrist again, nostrils flaring. She grit her teeth. I want to go home! As she opened her mouth to scream, the short man turned to her. As he did, his overcoat opened up to reveal something long and sharp strapped to his belt. Her shout died in her lungs. She gasped, and before she could protest any more she was dragged away into the night. 

Chapter Text

“... they catch you, they will kill you.” The words repeated themselves in her head as they came to camp nestled under a large rocky outcrop.

Black-Hair waved his hand near her face to get her attention. He gestured as he spoke; pointing at her, then the ground. His eyebrows lifted. She nodded. With a half-smile, he unclenched his fingers. She immediately felt the tingle of blood flowing back into her hand. She sat, drawing both of her arms around her waist and tucking her hands out of sight. Everything was sore. She hadn’t run far, but every fibre of her body ached with tension. She couldn’t relax, not yet. 

One of them added a log to the fire, and the orange glow revealed them more clearly. They were built wide and solid, their thick hair and beards styled to stay out of their eyes. They looked like… “Dwarves”, she mouthed, barely uttering the sound. Not humans with dwarfism. Dwarves like fantasy dwarves.

She recoiled as something soft and heavy draped over her shoulders. Her hands lifted instinctively, and she was surprised to feel fur until her fingertips. The black-haired one stepped back, nodding affirmatively. 

The fur was large, covering the length of her back with extra room to wrap around her arms. She curled in on herself, her body shuddering as the last of the chill dissipated. 

Facing the flames, her face flushed uncomfortably hot. She tried to ignore the eyes watching her. The fur provided a nice barrier, and she sunk her head low. 

The tears rose easily. In the comfort of the shadows, she let them stream freely down her cheeks. Her jaw tensed. She inhaled and exhaled heavily through her nose. If she could keep her breaths even, she wouldn’t sob. It had worked before. 

While she tried to stay still, the slight shakes under the fur were obvious to everyone around the fire. They looked at each other, the food turning bitter in their mouths. Black-Hair scooted a fraction closer to her. He tilted his head slightly to peer into her cocoon, only to be met with the top of her head. She had inky hair like his own, but without his curls.

“You have a name?” He implored gently. Instead of responding, her arms curled tighter around her knees, closing herself off even more. Knife-Wielder watched enigmatically. “I don’t think she understands, son.” He muttered. 

Black-Hair sat back, looking crest-fallen. “It’s a human language…” 

“Local humans. Maybe she’s an outlander. Who knows what she speaks.”

Black-Hair ran his hand through his beard nervously. “Do you… is she… what do I do?”

The age lines folded around Knife-Wielder’s eyes. “Let her sleep it off. We’ve already given her the fright of her life. She doesn’t need us hounding her with questions.” 

Black-Hair’s fingers caught on a knot in his beard. He yanked at it, grunting with frustration as he turned away from the girl. Giving up on the knot, he stood and repositioned himself next to the Knife-Wielder. Knife-Wielder chuckled. “You need to stop fretting.” 

“Do I now?” Black-Hair replied snappily, scolding himself for being too loud when the cocoon flinched. He continued under his breath. “So I just let the poor thing cry herself to sleep?” He planted his chin on his hand. Eyeballing Knife-Wielder, he mumbled, “How old do you figure she is?”

“Not very.” Knife-Wielder gestured with a finger. “You can usually tell if they’re little. Heads too big for their bodies. All limbs and no muscle.”

Black-Hair snorted. “Nearly a baby, and she stands as tall as me.” 

They fell into silence for a minute before Black-Hair broke it. “What do we do with her?” 

Knife-Wielder settled onto his back with a sigh. “Take her to a village. See if anyone comes to retrieve her.”

“And if they don’t?”

Knife-Wielder shrugged, closing his eyes. “We will see when the time comes.”

Chapter Text

“You two share the same hair, did you notice?”

Black-Hair pulled at one of the curls he hadn’t yet plaited into a braid. He looked over to the girl, who had dropped like a rock right where she sat the night before. Her hair of the same shade spilled out around her head. 

“Yeh could be her da.” Kaer laughed as he rolled up his sleeping pad.

Black-Hair grumbled. “Quit calling me old. Besides, she’s too skinny to be my relation. We’re a big-boned lot.” 

“And tall.”

“She’s not tall, we’re just short compared to them.”

“Well how much bigger is she getting?”

“I dunno how big humans get. Darestrum?”

The eldest stretched deeply, jaw cranking open to yawn. “Women are a bit smaller than the men, usually, but even they get, what, four or five heads taller.”

“Yer bluffing.”

Darestrum only smiled in response, eyebrows lifting playfully. “Give her a few years and that little reed is going to be towering over us.” 

Wit sat up from wiping off the breakfast plates. "How come you know so much about humans?" He asked, genuinely curious. Wit was the newest of the four, having moved to the Iron Hills only thirty years ago. Darestrum twisted, his spine cracking in a way that made the others wince. "I worked with them for quite a while." He responded. "Helped with rebuilding. Not that they were thankful." He chuckled under his breath. "But there were a few good ones. And after what they've been through..."

"Aye," Wit agreed, sighing heavily through his nose. "Don't remind me." 

They cleaned and packed up with silent efficiency as the girl slept. Wit left a plate near her, hoping the smell would rouse her. No one wanted to be the one to wake her for fear of more crying. But the sun was rising, and time was of the essence. In the end, they drew sticks. Black-Hair groaned in disappointment as he pulled up the shortest twig. 

He tip-toed to the girl's side. Calm down, he thought. It's only a child. "Hey." He spoke, too soft to even be a whisper. She didn't move. He started to reach out, but decided against it. "Wake up." He cleared his throat. "Wake up." He said with a little more force.

The girl's eyes snapped open like she'd woken from a nightmare. She sat up, hair matted to one side of her face. She searched for the source of the voice, recoiling when she found the dwarf hovering above her. She looked close to tears, and Black-Hair panicked. "No no no, it's ok!" He whispered, holding up his hands placatingly. He lowered himself on a knee so they were eye-level with each other. 

Kamal stared at the dwarf as he bent to the ground. His hands were lifted like he was surrendering. She drew the fur tighter around her shoulders. She was so tired. She didn't remember falling asleep, only twisting and turning all night. She'd wanted to stay awake but her body wouldn't let her. She glanced at the canopy. It looked like early morning. Somehow it felt even colder than last night. She shivered so hard her teeth clicked. 

She inhaled sharply as the dwarf reached towards her, but he only grabbed a plate. She hadn't realized it was there. He offered it to her. Kamal eyed the grey-beige lump on the plate. Not unless I'm desperate, she thought bitterly. She turned her head away and ignored the offering. After a moment, Black-Hair sighed and set the plate aside.

He pressed his hand to his breastbone. “Hasdran”, he said with meaning. Then he pointed at her. Kamal looked back at him, her curiosity suddenly rising. He repeated the action. He's trying to talk to me. She mimicked his action. “Kamal.” She uttered, too tired to speak at full volume. Hasdran's face broke in a huge grin. He twisted over his shoulder and shouted to his friends. She didn’t understand, but she heard her name come up. The dwarves roared back happily, making gestures like a toast. 

“I. Am. 95.” Hasdran spoke slowly. He opened and closed both hands, fingers splayed, nine times, then held up only one hand. She looked back at him, face unreadable. He pointed to her, wincing inside when she flinched back. “How. Old. Are. You?” To prompt her, he flexed his hands five times. “50?” He asked.

Her eyebrows twitched in recognition. Hasdran smiled hopefully. “40?” He signed.

Kamal pressed her knuckles to her chest as he had. “Yes, you.” Hasdran laughed softly like a teacher responding to a shy student. Kamal held up both hands; five fingers on one, four on the other. He waited for her to flex her fingers, but she lowered them. His brow furrowed. “N-nine?” Kamal showed him again. 

Hasdran stared at her. “Nine?” He repeated dumbly, holding up nine fingers. “Nine,” she parroted in his language. He should’ve been excited about her getting the word, but he was too flustered by the fact they were essentially holding an infant hostage. 

Kaer stopped what he was doing. “Did she say nine ?” Hasdran just looked at him with equal confusion.

“That’s not possible.” Wit said, frowning. “I have soup bowls older than that! How fast do they grow?”  

Kaer twisted his gloves in his hands. “What if she’s too young to speak? Maybe that’s why she won’t do it.”

Darestrum groaned. “She’s not a baby. And she’s not stupid. Humans’ nine is our thirty.” 

Hasdran raked his fingers through his hair. “Is this a kidnapping? Are we kidnappers?”

“No one’s being napped." Darestrum said. "We’re escorting her.” 

“Oh, well, let me explain that to her, I’m sure that’ll patch things over.” Hasdran grumbled. 

“Stop pulling at your hair, lad, or you’ll look like Wit by the end of the day.”

Wit rubbed the top of his smooth head. “At least I have the skull for it. Besides, I’ve more than compensated with hair in other —”

Everyone went quiet as Kamal suddenly stood. Wit flushed, taking a sudden interest in cleaning the dirt out from under his fingernails. Kamal’s dark eyes flicked about nervously, never landing on one dwarf for too long. She turned and pointed to the woods behind the camp, then looked back to the party. Her arm stayed extended. 

“What is it, Reed?” Darestrum asked, stepping a little closer.

Kamal made a motion towards where she was pointing. She swallowed thickly. “I need to go back.” She explained futility. The oldest dwarf considered her with steely eyes, head tilting slightly. 

Kamal bit the inside of her cheek as she thought. What will they understand? She stopped pointing and faced them. She nodded down to her hands to draw their attention. Then she touched her fingertips together in an upside-down “V”. When there was no response, she turned her palms outward and extended her thumbs. Hopefully it looked like a building with an A-frame roof. I hope they live in houses, or this is going right over their heads . “Home.” She said firmly. “House.” She tapped her sternum a few times, made the home sign again, and pointed.

The dwarves stared at her. Kamal felt her face burning. But then Hasdran gestured too. His face opened up, and she prayed he was starting to get it. He said something, hopefully their word for “home”.

“Home. Yeah.” Kamal repeated. “That way.” For the first time in hours, she felt a small glimmer of hope. 

Chapter Text

“Nothing.” Darestrum said upon returning, shaking his head. There was no malice in his voice, only calm resolution. Whatever she was looking for was gone.

Hasdran watched Kamal pace like a caged animal. He could only imagine what was going on in her little head. He took a step closer, but froze when she turned on him. Her chest rose and fell with strained breathes. A knot formed between her eyebrows. Suddenly she shouted at him, mouth twisting into a grimace. Hasdran and Darestrum both stared at her in surprise. She had never raised her voice before. She hadn't even spoken in full sentences. Now she was properly cussing him out, at least as far as he could guess. 

"You're not looking hard enough!" Kamal spat. The old dwarf was wrong. He must've missed something. Who knows if he was even trying. He probably lied to get her to stay-- but for what she wasn't sure. She backed away from both of them, a feverish heat flooding through her. "I'll look!" She snapped stubbornly. They didn't move to stop her.

She walked briskly in every direction, fueled by frustration. She checked every tree, overturned large rocks, pushed around leaves to peek into animal dens. There had to be a door. Or a portal. A lamp post? She walked back and forth between pine trees, like Lucy in the Narnia movies. Nothing. 

The dwarves watched her dejectedly. "Should we do something?" Hasdran asked as the girl passed between the same trees for the eighth time in a row. Darestrum shrugged unhelpfully, looking at the ball on the ground. "Knock yourself out." He muttered, reaching down and scooping the ball up in his hands. He turned it this way and that. "What's this for, d'you think?" He asked, tossing it to the younger dwarf. Hasdran squeezed it. "Soft." He muttered. "I don't know. Just looks like a regular ball. The color's odd." Darestrum grunted in agreement. 

They both sprung to attention as Kamal trudged towards them. She reached for ball, chattering angrily. Hasdran quickly let it into her arms. His heart leapt into his throat as her eyes went glossy with tears. Her thin arms shook as she pressed the ball to her belly. Kamal looked down at it, her lips tightening into a thin line.

“It was here.” She said in a wavering voice. “I promise.”

The dwarf didn’t say anything. His silhouette blurred as tears burst from the floodgates. She turned her head down into her chest to hide it. “It was right here.” 

Hasdran couldn’t stand the sight of her. In one stride he was at her side, taking her arm as gently as possible. “There’s nothing here, child.” He whispered, wishing he could properly console her. He pressed his tongue against his teeth as he thought. His gaze wandered to the woods, ears pricked for the sounds of danger. 

"We should get back.” Darestrum said in a hushed tone. Hasdran nodded, but the last thing he wanted to do was drag a sobbing child away. 

“Kamal?” Her head snapped up as he addressed her. She saw a strange look flash over his face before he spoke again. He nodded back towards the camp, and she knew his meaning. 

To his relief, she nodded in return. She lowered the ball to the ground and left it atop the pine needles. “You don’t want it?” He asked, but she didn’t answer. She hugged her arms close to her body. Even with the morning light breaking through, the air was still chilled. He could see the fine black hairs on her forearms standing at attention. 

He smiled. “Why’d you leave your cover at camp?” He scolded, his gentle chiding masking real concern. With no fat to protect her, she was one cold breeze from freezing to death. That discomforting thought suddenly made him open his thick overcoat and reach an arm around her. She didn’t react as he pulled her a little closer, careful not to squeeze her. The coat was made wide and long, and her small frame fit perfectly under his arm. She sniffled miserably, and it took every ounce of restraint not to wrap her in a mighty bear hug and carry her.

Nine years old. He thought as they walked back to camp. How can any person be mature enough to be alone at nine? Nothing about it made sense. He’d never seen a human child alone (or at all, for that matter), but he knew children this age usually stuck close to their mother’s side. At least a child of his kind would. 

And she was completely underdressed for the elements; A short-sleeved cotton tunic, short pants that didn’t even reach her knees, and long socks covering braces around her shins. Her clothes were summer wear, but on her legs and feet was what almost looked like light armor. He could hear the shin braces tap occasionally together with a hard sound when her weak legs criss-crossed. Her shoes had intricate lacing, and the soles were adorned with blunted spikes. For defence, maybe? Was she in training?

A child warrior, he smirked, but the smile fell just as quick. It’s not unheard of…  

Chapter Text

The walk back to camp felt longer than before. Kamal was slowing them down, with Hasdran taking smaller steps to accommodate her shuffling. Darestrum walked ahead, scanning the woods as they marched over the crest of a ridge. Every sound seemed to set him off. His right hand rested on the hilt of his scabbard. 

For Kamal, the whole trip was a blur. She kept her head down. Her tears had dried on her cheeks, and although it stung she didn't bother wiping at them. Her hands were buried into her armpits. Hasdran's arm hovered behind her back, guiding her forward. Only his fingertips touched her elbow. As weird as it was to be close to him, it was warmer than the open air. 

Her mind was blank. It was too tiring to think about home. 

When they arrived, morning had officially set in. Hasdran took off his overcoat. As Kamal stood as still as a statue, he draped the coat over her small shoulders. It was huge on her, the arms falling as low as her knees. 

Wit and Kaer eyed Darestrum, who simply shook his head. They turned back to their duties, a solemn mood falling over the camp. Everything was almost packed. A pony-sized mountain goat grazed casually as Kaer loaded it's back with supplies. Kamal watched the animal blankly as Hasdran took a thick cord of twine from his pack. He wrapped it twice around her waist, tying a knot and giving the makeshift belt a firm tug. He talked softly to her while he worked, but she didn't acknowledge him. 

"And let's roll these up," he mumbled mostly to himself, rolling the cuffs of the sleeves until he could see her hands. He almost preferred her outburst to this deafening silence. He glanced at her face. Her eyes were still puffy and red. Walking through the morning mist had left small beads of dew on her face, and some clung heavily to her dark lashes as she watched the goat. 

Hasdran sighed. "I wish I could help you more." He said, straightening out the sleeves and stepping back to observe his work. Her dull eyes moved to him as he surveyed her. He hummed approvingly. The coat was still too long, but it would keep her warm. He shivered involuntarily, ignoring the chill. "Wit? Where's her food?" He called back over his shoulder.

"I tossed it. It isn't any good by now."

Hasdran gnawed on his tongue thoughtfully. "Hold on," he said, holding up his hand to Kamal. "Stay here." He went back to his pack and brought it over. After fishing around, he pulled out a few strips of rabbit jerky and pushed them into her cold hands. Kamal looked at it wearily.

"It's food." Hasdran explained. To show her, he took a piece for himself and bit down. "See?" He said, chewing. "S'good!" 

Kamal looked at the jerky. She was hungry. She'd eaten meat before, but not knowing the origin of the jerky was making her stomach twist. Hasdran noticed her worried expression. "No?" He asked, shaking his head questioningly. "That's fine, we can find something else." He dove back into the pack and returned with a tan biscuit-shaped object. "How about bread. Is bread ok?" He asked, handing it out to her. 

After a pause, Kamal took it from his hands, trading the jerky for the roll. Hasdran nearly melted with relief as she started taking bites out of it. "Thank you." He breathed, smiling to himself. He turned to his party. "Are we ready?" He asked. He was met by a chorus of "Ayes". 

Just then, Wit stepped forward. "Hold on." He said as he trotted up to Hasdran and the girl. "I have something for her." In his arms was what looked like leather wraps. He held them out and they unfurled into a pair of moccasins with shin covers. "Cotton's no good for the distance we're making. It'll ruin her feet." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a woolen ball. "I've some extra socks, too." He caught Hasdran's suspicious stare. "No, I haven't worn them yet." He said with an eye roll. 

Both dwarves looked at the girl. Still chewing on the last bite of bread, she reached out for the gift. Plopping onto the ground, she shed her wet socks and cleats. The dwarves watched in fascination as she stripped the velcro straps apart on her shinguards. She practically peeled them off, the build-up of sweat and water having turned the skin beneath them pale. Rubbing the blood back into her legs, she pulled on the woolen socks. Already she felt warmer. As she slipped her feet into her new shoes, she realized they were a bit big. She tapped her heels to the ground and wiggled her toes, just like she did with her cleats before lacing up. 

Hasdran held out his hand. "Lemme help you up." She grabbed it and he lifted her to her feet with ease. Wit knelt at her side, folding the flat leather around her shin and calf. He pulled two long strips of fabric from a toolkit on his belt and started wrapping one liberally around her leg. When he finished the other leg as well,  he stood with a labored grunt. "There we go. Dry feet are happy feet." He ran his thumb under his nose. “You need to break them in. Wear them as much as you can, otherwise the leather will stay stiff.”

Although she didn’t understand, Kamal smiled weakly at the moccasins. She’d be thrilled to never have to look at those stupid cleats again.

It was the first time either of the dwarves had seen her smile, even if it was a small one. Wit felt pride, a strangely strong reaction for just a pair of shoes. Hasdran, on the other hand, was practically floating. "Alright," he beamed, clapping his hands together. "Let's get a move on." 

Chapter Text

Kamal rode side-saddle on the goat, a blanket draped over her head and shoulders. She gripped the horn of the saddle as tight as she could. Her tailbone killed her, but she wasn’t about to complain. Her feet needed the rest. She had tried to break in her new shoes, but one blister later she was designated to the goat. She rolled her ankles, pointing her toes like a ballerina to stretch the leather. She didn't know how the bald dwarf had come across these shoes. Did he make them?

Swaying with the motion of the animal, she tilted her head up to the sky. The sun burned white through the overcast clouds. She liked having games on days like this-- when the wind cooled you down, but you were running too hard to ever get cold. And if she was taken off, she'd snuggle for warmth under a funky smelling blanket with her teammates on the bench. Not that she was ever taken off. She was fast-- the fastest, even. Coach Lewis always had her play midfield, and she liked it that way. Midfield let her be aggressive.  

The goat stumbled slightly, knocking her back to reality. They were making their way downhill, the dwarves practically swimming through waist-high ferns. She watched the back of their heads as she tried to remember their names. Kaer was the youngest, and seemed to do most of the heavy lifting. Wit was bald and made the food. He also had a belt that had everything you could ever need in the pockets. Darestrum had the most grey in his hair, and he was the tallest. Hasdran was last. "Black-Hair." He was the one who'd grabbed her, and in a way she blamed him for being stuck with the group. But he also talked to her, and fed her, and he gave her his own coat. She could tell he was trying.  

While not knowing where they were headed wasn't ideal, at least she wasn't in immediate danger.

Until a second later, when Darestrum lifted his hand and the whole party lurched to a stop. Kamal buckled over the saddle horn as the goat suddenly halted, the force knocking the air out of her. Hasdran, who had walked beside her the whole time, took hold of the animal's halter. "Shh," He hushed. Kamal wasn't sure if he meant her or the goat. The other three drew their weapons and circled in; Darestrum brandished his scabbard, Wit a bow notched with an arrow, and Kaer had something that looked like a pick-axe. 

"What is it?" Hasdran whispered into Darestrum's ear, but the old dwarf didn't need to answer. They all heard the slow, plodding footsteps approaching them. Even muffled by the ferns, they could tell it was something big. Kamal lowered herself on the saddle until she was horizontal. The goat, weirdly, seemed perfectly calm. 

Nothing could've prepared her for what walked out of the trees. A figure, cloaked in dark furs, and taller than anyone she'd ever seen. A great, prickling black beard erupted from the shadow of its hooded face. It walked unhurriedly towards them, boots flattening any plants underfoot. 

The dwarves drew even closer, fingers flexing on their weapons. Kamal tried to breathe as softly as she could through her mouth, her heart hammering. Silently, Hasdran nudged Kaer and passed the halter to his hands. He brought himself to the front of the group, moving slowly like he was approaching a wild animal. Although the shape of the stranger was mannish, its stalking was frightfully predatory. 

It stopped only ten paces from the Hasdran. Kamal swore she could hear all of the dwarves' hearts pounding in unison with her own. 

Hasdran peered up into the void where it's face should be. He smiled upwards. "Sverne!" He called. "Fancy meeting you here." 

The very large person scanned the group, eyes landing on the shivering blanket lying flat atop a goat. “You picked up a stray?” They huffed, voice twinged with curiosity. Kamal felt everyone around her prickle. Oh no. 

“A-ha, in a way.” Hasdran chuckled lightly, though his throat suddenly felt dry. He could feel Sverne staring him down. "Let me see." The giant man grumbled. 

Fuck. Hasdran turned and looked at his companions. They looked back at him, eyes wide and uncertain. Hasdran took a fortifying breath. "Kamal?" 

She looked up and saw him gesturing for her to come over. Please don’t make me, she begged in her mind. Hasdran held his hand out, waiting for her to take it. Steeling her nerves, she slipped awkwardly off the goat's back and walked over. He took her wrist and gently pulled her next to him.

“This is Kamal.” Hasdran introduced, an arm curled protectively around her. Sverne leaned down examine the girl's face, but she had shrunk back into her blanket. He gave Hasdran a look. “Shy thing.” He observed. 

Hasdran squeezed her a little tighter. “She doesn’t speak Westron.” He explained. “We think she may be an outlander.” He instantly regretted opening his big mouth. Through the shadows, he thought he saw Sverne's eyes light up with interest. “An outlander?” He knelt even closer. “But from which land, I wonder.”

Kamal didn’t realize that the giant was pressing into her space until their shadow blocked the sun. She flinched hard, ducking around Hasdran. With nowhere to go and nowhere to look, she pushed her forehead into the dwarf’s shoulder and shut her eyes.

Hasdran swallowed thickly. "I-I'm sorry, Sverne, I didn't..." He stammered.

“Argh,” Sverne snorted. “It’s the beard, isn’t it? Hold on…” He pulled back his hood. There was a series of pops, like buttons coming undone, followed by a rustle. Kamal peeked from Hasdran's shoulder. To her surprise, the bristly black beard was gone. Sverne held it limply in one hand. She realized the 'beard' was attached to, or rather sewn into, a wide leather strip, and that it wasn’t hair at all. They were quills.

A face covering . She thought, seeing the empty circles on the hood where the buttons were usually attached. And there was the face.

She didn’t know what to expect. And now that she was looking at Sverne bare-faced, she sort of wished the beard was back on. His head matched his body; enormous, wide, and brutal. His nose was flattened and crooked. Cool grey eyes peered out at her behind a heavy brow topped with thick black eyebrows. He looked like a boxer who's been sucker-punched one too many times. His head was framed in thick mats of dark hair. His jaw was bearded, and Kamal wondered why he had the quill decoy. 

She found herself staring, unable to look away from the colossus towering over her. With each rapid heartbeat, her mantra repeated itself in her head; They catch you, they will kill you. They catch you, they will kill you. They catch you--" 

Sverne caught her eyes and she gasped. His mustache twitched like he was smiling. "Kamal." He spoke, feeling out the name. Then he reached out a massive hand.

Kamal wanted to run. Her fingers curled into claws, gripping onto Hasdran's shirt for dear life. Hasdran grabbed one of the girl's hands. "She's just a bit shy, Sverne."

Sverne glowered. "It's rude not to accept a kind gesture."

"She means no offense."

The beast-man didn't answer. He stared past Hasdran's head, zeroing on the girl. Wit drew his arrow back. Darestrum reposition his scabbard in his grip, taking deep, slow breaths through his nose. Kaer pressed himself a little closer to the goat, who was still unbothered.  

Hasdran's shoulders sank. "Kamal," he hissed. He nodded towards Sverne. "Shake it. Please." The look on the girl's face broke his heart, but they didn't have a choice. "Shake. His. Hand." 

Knees shaking and keeping a shoulder to Hasdran’s side, Kamal tentatively extended her own hand to shake. Sverne's fingers curled around her entire hand and wrist. As it did, several frightening thoughts leapt into Kamal’s head. Mostly images of her arm being ripped out of its socket. 

Instead of shaking, Sverne squeezed her hand with a minuscule amount of pressure. Even that jump-started Kamal’s heart. Her hand, caught in the cage-like gap between Sverne’s fingers, folded into a fist. I don’t need a broken finger. After what felt like ages, the giant let go and Kamal remembered to breathe, inhaling so deeply it made her a little dizzy.

Sverne smiled, but he seemed distant. Hasdran watched him grimly as he rose to his full height. Kamal stood frozen in spot, looking even more like a twig against Sverne's frame. Before he could stop himself, Hasdran reached forward and dragged the girl behind him again. Not that he could do much to protect her.

Sverne clenched and unclenched the hand that had held Kamal's. "Now tell me..." He uttered, looking at his own palm with fascination. "Where exactly are you taking her?" 

Chapter Text

The party hurried as quickly as they could from the ferns. "SHIT" Hasdran spat as he hastily pulled the goat by the harness. The goat's neck stretched to keep up. Kamal watched him uncomfortably from the saddle. 

Darestrum took long strides to fall in line with Hasdran. "It could've gone worse." He offered, huffing and puffing. Hasdran growled something under his breath. "Could've gone a lot better!" He snapped, shaking his head. "Of all the days... I should've known. Fucking Sverne." He cursed lowly. 

Darestrum ran around him and stopped, drawing the party to a halt. Hasdran almost fell back, lost in his own crabbiness. His eyes blazed at Darestrum. "What?"

Darestrum tightened his jaw. "Think. Are we really going to dump her at some random village?"

"I'm not leaving her at a 'random' anything-- Sverne will look to the south while she's safe in Esgaroth." 

Darestrum’s eyebrows arched. “That’s it? She’s not a puppy, Hasdran, no one’s going to 'take-in' a human child for free. And how do you know she’ll be in good hands? Not to mention there's still a dragon in the Lonely Mountain.”

“She’s a child. Someone with a kind heart will sympathize, surely.” He sniffed. "And the dragon sleeps. It has no interest in a treasure-less town upon a lake." 

Darestrum sighed. "Perhaps." 

Hasdran grumbled. "And wasn't it your idea to leave her with humans?"

"That was before Sverne came into the picture."

Hasdran felt a lot of emotions at once; mainly embarrassment, followed quickly by stubborn anger. But before he could shoot back a retort, Kaer walked up between them. “Darestrum's right. We’d be rolling the dice.” The younger dwarf recoiled as Hasdran turned on him. "No one asked you." He snipped.

Darestrum's frown deepened. "Hey!" He warned, blocking them with a meaty arm. “Knock it off." He looked at Hasdran again. "I’m not saying your intentions aren't good. I’m just telling you what I know to be true.” 

Hasdran ran has fingers through his beard nervously. "Then what's your alternative?"

Darestrum raised his chin assertively. "We take her home."

"What!" The other three chorused. Kamal sat up a little straighter.

"She's human, she can't live with us!" Hasdran sputtered, gesturing wildly. "I mean... I would be happy to watch over her if I could, but it just isn't done!" He looked at the girl, a knot forming between his eyebrows. "She needs to be around people like her. And her parents will be looking for her amongst other humans, not dwarves."

An uneasy silence fell over them. Darestrum sighed again. "About her parents... I'm worried, Hasdran..." His eyes scanned the hill from which they'd come. "If Sverne is in this territory..." 

Hasdran's heart missed a beat. He stopped tugging at his beard. "You don't think..."

"I don't know. But we shouldn't rule it out." 

Cold dread seeped through the black-haired dwarf. Sverne had changed everything. He knew about the girl, and when he wouldn't find her in the south, he would come for her in Laketown. 

Darestrum spoke again. “She’ll be safe with us. The community will protect her. And if her guardians come for her, then she goes with them.” That was a strong if. He took a deep breath and looked up, watching grey clouds drift overhead. With a hum, he said, “I’ve given my side. But in the end, it is your choice.”

Hasdran's forefinger flicked against his thumb as he thought. He looked at Kamal, who was staring right back at him. She searched his eyes. “Alright." Then he smirked maliciously at Darestrum. "But you're telling Clasa."

Chapter Text

“You better have a good explanation for this.” A very pissed off dwarf snarled at Darestrum and Hasdran, who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else. Kamal stood a few paces behind Hasdran. She also wanted to bolt, but Kaer and Wit blocked the doorway, trying their best to hide their smiles as the others was drilled down by the stranger.

The new dwarf shared Hasdran’s black hair. In fact, a lot of their features were remarkably similar. This dwarf stood just a little taller than Hasdran. Their eyes were decorated with makeup, and their voice wasn’t quite as deep as the others. The stranger put their hand on their hip, and Kamal had a sudden flashback to the deathly glare her mother sported whenever she acted up at home. “I thought you said you were going hunting…” The dwarf continued.

“We were," said Hasdran, "but we found the girl in the woods. We couldn’t just leave her, Clasa.”

Clasa eyed him with suspicion. “Found her?” She pressed, her tone less vitriolic.

“She just showed up." Darestrum stepped in. "We were nowhere near a human settlement. And we saw no signs of traveling or camps.” He looked back at Kamal. “It’s like she fell out of the sky.”

“Why didn’t you try Esgaroth?”

Darestrum turned to Clasa again. “I advised against it.”

Clasa snorted. "Aw, didn't want to walk the loop?" She cooed with mock sympathy. "Didn't want to get sore legs?"

Darestrum ignored the jest. "Because of Sverne."

Clasa’s face turned pale and her smile fell. “Sverne,” she gasped. “You spoke to him?”

“Only briefly.”

Clasa finally turned her eyes to the girl. “Did he see her?”

“He did, yes.”

Kamal’s stomach twisted as Clasa went rigid at the name of the giant man. If only she could understand them. Clasa’s hand flew to her belt, gripping it tightly. “What did you tell him?” She asked, her admonishment replaced by fearful concern.

"That her village was to the south, along the river." Darestrum explained. "It was originally our plan to take her to Esgaroth, but we thought it too risky."

Clasa stepped towards them, her jaw set. But she approached Hasdran, not Darestrum. She got up in his face, nostrils flaring. "Hasdran. Tell me the truth, or I swear on Mother's grave I'll never forgive you. Did Sverne touch her skin?”

Hasdran blanched. The others in the doorway were silent.

“Hasdran.”

“He did.” The dwarf admitted, looking at his feet in shame.

Clasa was quiet for a moment. Then, with surprising speed, she suddenly lunged forward, throwing all of her weight into her brother as she punched him in the gut. Kamal stumbled back in surprise. Darestrum didn't move, looking as though he'd been expecting this. Hasdran buckled over his sister, wheezing. He nearly fell over as Clasa retracted her arm from his stomach, hand still closed in a fist. “You fucking idiot.” She snarled. “He has her scent now!”

Hands on his knees, Hasdran rubbed his gut sorely, wincing as he looked at her. "W-whew -- we didn't have a choice." He croaked. "We didn't want him to lose his temp-cough- temper."

Clasa glared down at him unsympathetically. "If you were worth your grit, you would've stood up to him."

"All due respect," Darestrum finally spoke. "Hasdran is right. We would not be here now if we hadn't complied." Kaer and Wit nodded in agreement, although they remained silent. Clasa's fist unclenched as she rubbed her bearded jaw anxiously. Her eyes fell on Kamal. “Do you have anything to say?” She asked. Kamal jumped and her eyes traveled to the floor.

“She doesn’t speak Westron.” Hasdran rasped. 

Clasa’s eyes bulged. “Well, what does she speak?” She asked, her voice cracking on the last word.

“We… we don’t exactly know.” Hasdran replied.

“Never heard speech like it,” Darestrum chimed in.

Clasa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just so I'm clear... you picked up a stranded child in the middle of the nowhere, didn’t tell her where you were bringing her, and dragged her through a madman's territory without proper protection?” She gave each dwarf a scathing look. “Do you have any idea how terrified she must be?”

"That's why we need to keep her here, Clasa." Hasdran said, wincing as he rose to his full height. "She'll be safe."

Clasa scowled at him. "No. She'll never be safe." She walked so close to her brother that he had to step back. Her mouth curled in a grimace. "Doesn't matter where she is. He will wait until she's strong, and then he will come for her."

Hasdran shuddered at the implication. “She’s only a child, Clasa.”

“A child who will grow. And grow quickly.” Clasa eyed Kamal. Kamal did not like the dwarf’s worried expression.

"Lady Clasa." Everyone's head swiveled as Wit spoke up. He held his hands docilely in front him, lowering his gaze in respect before addressing her again. "I know I'm still a stranger here in some ways. And I know that Sverne is a scourge on the wilds. I've been warned plenty about him." He swallowed dryly. "But he's never attacked us unprovoked. Why should we have to worry about the girl?"

Clasa's glare was steely as she surveyed him. No one dared speak. Finally, she gathered herself and replied. "Because Sverne is a man-hunter." 

Chapter Text

Wit's mouth fell open. "Come again?"

Clasa fidgeted with her belt. "He came from the south, from Vales of Anduin. A beorning. But he is not the same as his kin." She paused. “You’re positive she can’t understand us?” She asked her brother, referring to the girl standing a few feet away. Hasdran nodded silently. Clasa continued. "The beornings are mortal men. Strong, tall warriors, but men all the same." She sneered. "Sverne takes after his forefather, Beorn. He is the only known descendant of Beorn to match him in strength and size." 

They all knew legends of the skin-changer; a giant, seemingly immortal warrior who could take the shape of an enormous black bear. A force to be reckoned with and, ironically, a strict vegetarian.  

Clasa glanced to the girl, who watched her with sharp, inquisitive eyes. "But Sverne does not share Beorn's respect for living things." She said, scowling at the ground. "I would say he is more beast than man, but I've never seen a beast take such pleasure from killing."

"Has it been proven?" Wit asked in an uncharacteristically tentative voice. "That he is a hunter of men?" 

Darestrum answered for Clasa. "There have been accounts of human remains. And the number of disappeared merchants from Esgaroth is more than suspicious." 

Wit shook his head. "That could be orcs, or wild animals."

Darestrum opened his mouth to respond, but Clasa held up her hand. "It isn't. I've witnessed it." Wit stared at her, dumbfounded. Kaer and Darestrum respectfully looked away as Clasa's chest swelled with anger. "I came across him..." She closed her eyes and collected herself. "I saw him, flaying a man." She swallowed hard. "Like a common animal..." 

Dread fell over the room like a black curtain. Hasdran felt his arms prickle with goosebumps. She had told him when it had happened not three years ago. He looked at his sister. Her eyes were clouded, lost in the memory. Though she seemed daze, her voice was clear and firm. "I told the council. I begged them to do something. Anything."

"... And why didn't they?" Wit asked. 

Clasa turned away, her face beet red. Darestrum's brow sunk low over his eyes. "Because he is a skin-changer, like Beorn, and very effective at keeping orcs and goblins away from the Iron Hills. He is also unlike his clan in that he is very fond of precious metals."

Wit's face screwed into a death stare as it clicked his head. "I thought we couldn't drive him away." 

"It's true that it would be a risk. There's a high chance we'd lose people if we confronted him." 

"He's a threat to dwarfkind and mankind, and yet we do business with him?" 

"We tolerate him, and he tolerates us." Darestrum wrinkled his nose in disgust. "But that time must come to an end."

Clasa snorted. "Good luck finding him. He speaks the tongue of animals, and knows the wilds better than any of us." She pressed her hand to her burning cheek, irritated by her state. 

Hasdran smirked humorlessly. "A wart on our heel..." he grumbled.

Clasa rubbed at her face. "I need a moment." She muttered, palming her forehead. As the dwarves turned to leave, Clasa said, "Hasdran, you stay." The others exited swiftly, sparing Kamal sympathetic glances as they filed out the door and closed it behind them. 

Hasdran stepped closer to her. "Are you having a wave?" He asked softly. Clasa shook her head. "I'm fine." She sighed, looking at the child standing awkwardly by herself. “Poor girl,” she whispered. Hasdran lay his hand on her back. "It'll be ok. We can protect her."

Clasa closed her eyes against the throbbing in her head. She swallowed down nausea. "But for how long?"

They fell silent. Hasdran ran his hand in a slow circle between her shoulders. "Do we tell the council?"

Clasa frowned. "No. No, not yet." She straightened herself. Hasdran removed his hand. Clasa cleared her throat and smoothed out her skirts. "For now, she stays with me." She looked at her brother knowingly. "This stays in the dark until I say so." Hasdran nodded and turned to leave, but Clasa caught his arm. "Make sure the others know." She leaned close to his ear. "If any one them spill, tell them they answer to me."

Despite himself, Hasdran smiled. "They'd rather take it to the grave." He ducked as Clasa playfully swiped at his head. "Stop joking, ass. Now go."

Then there were two.

The dwarf woman held both hands out invitingly. “Kamal, come here please.” Kamal approached. Hesitantly, she lifted her right hand to Clasa’s, who sandwiched it between her palms. It was Clasa’s first chance to see the girl up close. Kamal’s large, dark eyes reminded her of a fawn’s. She had a high forehead crowned with beautiful black hair, the baby fly-aways resembling whiskers. Her nose was long and her mouth small, and her skin was golden brown.

“I know you can’t understand,” Clasa spoke sweetly, trying to hide her worry. “But you are safe here. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” She tried to smile. Kamal didn’t reply, not that she expected her to. 

Whether it was intuition or curiosity, something drove Clasa to take a loose strand of the girl’s hair and tuck it behind her ear. Kamal’s breath caught in her throat at the motion. Clasa stopped, worried she’d done something wrong.

As the dwarf’s soft fingers brushed past her temple, the fear that sat like a stone in Kamal's gut shrank to the size of a pea. Maybe, just maybe, I can finally relax. Kamal stepped forward, pressing herself into Clasa. Her brow pushed into Clasa’s shoulder. Clasa was struck still by the sudden movement. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around the human and held her tight. Does she know what's coming for her? Does she have any idea? “It’s ok.” She whispered into the girl’s hair, running one hand down the back of her head. “It’s going to be ok.”

Chapter Text

Kamal stuck to Clasa's side like a third arm. The dwarf led her swiftly through dimly lit corridors, avoiding crowded hallways and opting for side passages.

Kamal had no sense of where they were. When the others had brought her to Clasa, they had shielded her between them. Her blanket hood had fallen over her eyes, but with her arms squeezed between them she wasn't able to lift it. She was basically blind the entire way from the stables to the meeting room. After Hasdran had left, Clasa took her hand and ducked through a small, unassuming door carved straight into the wall. After many sets of stairs going up and down, the girl was completely lost.

But Clasa seemed to have a knack for navigating. As they started taking stairs down deeper into the building, the candles became sparser. Kamal struggled to see two steps ahead. When she stumbled for the fifth time, Clasa wrapped her arm around the girl's side. Kamal could feel muscle through the sheer fabric of her sleeves. The dwarf pressed her close, nearly lifting her off her feet, and spirited her into the dark. 

✶

After what felt like an hour of rushing, Clasa pushed her into a well-lit room. It took Kamal's eyes a second to adjust, black circles dancing in the corners of her vision. Clasa shut a thick oaken door behind her and turned the lock. She caught her breath, leaning back and popping her spine loudly. 

"Ah, blast." Clasa grumbled. "I need to call Lorna." She turned to the wall on her right to a brass, rectangular panel. She opened the cover to reveal four small levers. She pulled the second one from the left, and Kamal thought she heard a bell ring from somewhere in the walls. As Clasa replaced the cover, she searched the room, her gaze landing on the dresser in the back corner. She motioned for Kamal to come. As she opened the dresser door, Kamal gave her a skeptical look. 

"I need you to hide," Clasa explained, waving her hand. "Just for a moment." 

After a pause, Kamal climbed in and hunkered down into the neat piles of clothes. "It'll only be a second, ok?" Clasa's eyebrows arched, waiting for a response. Kamal raised her hand, her fingers furled and thumb sticking straight up. Clasa gawked at the gesture blankly, but before she could ask there was a knock at the door. The dwarf shut the dresser door carefully, giving it a testing pull before addressing the knock. 

Kamal pressed her ear to the wood and listened. She heard Clasa speaking, then another, more demure, female voice responded. There was the shuffling of footsteps and, to her surprise, the splash of water. Clasa laughed lightly at something the other said, quipping back in a sarcastic tone. There were more footsteps, then the squeak of the door on its hinges as it shut. 

The girl almost tumbled to the floor as Clasa swung the dresser door back open. She helped Kamal climb out, then rummaged through the clothes. As the dwarf searched through the piles of fabric, Kamal looked and saw a short basin in the corner had been filled with water. The basin was lifted on a metal rack, almost like a grill, and beneath it white hot coals were smoldering in a small pit cut into the floor. 

Clasa finally retrieved what she was looking for. She pushed the items into Kamal's arms. "Clean clothes." She chimed, mostly to herself. "Towel." Then she gestured to the tub. "You can bathe there."

Kamal looked at the towel and then at the basin. It seemed too small to sit in, even for a dwarf. She walked a little closer and peered inside. The water wasn't boiling, but steam rolled off the top in slow curls. "Oh," Clasa gasped, remembering something. She went to a nightstand and pulled up a plain wooden cup. Balancing it on top of the towel, Clasa stepped back expectantly. Kamal's eye crossed slightly as she tried to look at everything in her arms. 

The dwarf frowned. "What's wrong?"

Kamal took the cup off the top and made a scooping motion, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Clasa sighed. "I'll show you. Sit down." Clasa knelt beside the basin, the heat of the coals instantly warming her knees. She took the towel from Kamal and lay it over the edge of the pot. She nodded to the ground. "C'mon."

Kamal knelt next to her, setting the clothes out of the range of splashing. As Clasa started reaching for her, Kamal stiffened and leaned back. "No." She said as firmly as she could. Clasa seemed to understand and shook her head. She leaned her head over the basin, mimicking scooping up the water and pouring it over her head. Then she held out her hand. Kamal caught on and passed her the cup. 

Clasa dipped the cup into the warm water. She watched as Kamal reached back and took a tie from her hair and slipped it onto her own wrist. The girl's hair fell past her shoulders. Clasa reached out and very, very gently tilted the child's head over the basin. She brushed through the hair with her fingers, noticing it was a bit greasy. She started pouring cups over Kamal's head, smiling softly as the girl's face scrunched up to keep the water out of her eyes. Then she applied shampoo, digging her finger's into Kamal's skull and scrubbing vigorously. 

Kamal leaned into the touch, her face relaxing. She propped her elbows on the towel, hands tucked back into her chest. Her neck was starting to twinge from staying at the same angle, but she didn't want to complain. Clasa stood, working the back of her head and then the other side. Her fingers tugged gently through Kamal's black mane as she rinsed it, undoing the knots. 

When it was done, Kamal felt warm and tired. Leaning over the steaming water had flushed her face. Clasa had her sit up, and Kamal very carefully rolled her neck. That's going to hurt tomorrow. 

Clasa picked up the towel and made a dipping motion, pretending to rub it across her face and arms. "Do you understand?"

Kamal nodded, and Clasa gave her the towel, now heated on the edge of the tub. "I'll be right outside." She said, eyeing her brother's coat judgmentally. "I don't know how you've stayed in that rag this long... I'm burning it the minute it's off you." 

When Clasa left, Kamal took a hearty scoop of water and splashed it on her face. She rubbed her face down, trying to peel the dirt and sweat off her skin. She'd never wanted a bath this bad. And while she would've preferred actually being in the water, she would take what she could get. 

A few minutes later she was fully clean and dressed in the clothes Clasa had selected. The shirt was long like a dress, and she had to hold up the pants to keep them from slipping. She leaned her nose down to her collar and sniffed. Smells like a campfire, she thought.

There was a knock. "Yeah?" Kamal asked loudly, forgetting she was supposed to be in hiding. Luckily it was only Clasa, who pressed a finger to her mouth in a "Shh" motion. She had a bundle in her hands. "I found some food. Mind if we share?" Clasa sat at the edge of the bed and patted the mattress. She set the bundle on the comforter and pulled a brush from her belt. "Let me work on that mop for a minute."

Kamal sat in front of Clasa, who turned her around to face the wall and started in on brushing. The brush ran smoothly through her washed locks.

With a small pile of bread, cheese and dried fruit in her lap, Kamal should've been starving. But her mouth felt dry. Her ears honed in on the sound of the brushing. She closed her eyes, and imagined she was home on her own bed with the purple cover. Her mother took her hair in one hand, twisting the end around her slender fingers. "You need to take better care of yourself," she scolded, tucking flyaways behind her ears. "I won't always be here to get the knots." Kamal could almost feel her mother's lips on the back of her head, planting a kiss. 

Clasa froze when an anguished sound escaped from the girl. "I'm sorry," she said, taking away the brush. "Did I pull too hard?" She got up and looked at Kamal from the front. 

Hot tears dripped down her face. Clasa moved in, her eyes wide and worried. "What is it?" Kamal couldn't look at her; her vision was completely blurred. Suddenly she lurched forward, crying out like she was in pain. Clasa caught her and pulled her close to her breast. Kamal shook violently, choking out sobs. Clasa whispered to her, trying to comfort her, but she didn't understand. "I want to go home." She cried, her voice muffled against Clasa's dress. As she struggled to take breathes between bouts of weeping, she could hear the dwarf's heartbeat thundering against her ear. She cried and cried until her body ached. She thrashed. She wanted to scream, the scratch the bedding to shreds. Her despair turned fiery, but it never had the chance to fully ignite. Clasa tucked her into her arms and held tight, refusing to let go. She held down the lashing girl until her little body went limp with exhaustion.

✶

Kamal rose in and out of consciousness. When her eyes cracked open, she noticed something in her periphery. Blinking sleepily, she saw a figure crouched by her bed, an arm draped over the edge and face buried into the comforter. Kamal watched the figure's back rise and fall with steady breaths until her eyes were too heavy to keep open, and she slipped into the soft embrace of sleep. 

Chapter Text

Kamal woke up with a crick in her neck. Clasa was gone, the impression of her body still visible in the comforter. The room was cast in a warm glow from the lanterns hanging from the walls. There were no windows. No way to tell the time of day. For all she knew it was the middle of the night. But she was restless, so she swung her legs out from under the covers and sat up. She felt remarkably refreshed; the fit from the night before a distant memory. 

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she scanned the room. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all solid stone. The bed she sat in was nestled in the back corner, the end facing the door. The dresser she'd hidden in was against the wall opposite of her, and beside that was the fire pit, now cleared of coals. The washing basin was also missing. 

The air in the room was chilled, so she wrapped the comforter around herself as she slid out of bed. It trailed behind her as she crossed the room and tried the door handle. Locked. Kamal shivered, nuzzling deeper into the comforter. She wished she had slippers, as the stone was like ice on her bare feet. 

She fidgeted about the room, waiting for something to happen. She was too awake to go back to sleep. She practiced the grapevine drill, bouncing from wall to wall, lifting the blanket like it was a heavy skirt so she didn't trip. She tried bouncing on the bed, but it didn't have much spring. She did high knees, toe touches, even tried a push up (and failed miserably). Eventually she found herself on her back, the bed cover spread around her like wings. She walked her feet up the wall, trying to lift herself up into a handstand. Stella could do handstands all on her own, and she always envied her balance. Grunting, Kamal was just getting her body flat against the wall when the door suddenly swung open.

Clasa walked in with a tray, stopping when she saw the girl attempting to stand on her head. They stared at each other in surprise, until Kamal's body started to teeter to one side and she collapsed on the floor with an "Oof".

Clasa couldn't help but laugh. "What are you doing?"

Kamal's face flushed horribly as she scrambled to her feet. The dwarf approached her, a wide smile plastering her face. She said something and ruffled Kamal's head. Kamal smiled back, although she was still hot with embarrassment. Then Clasa went to the bed and set the tray upon it. There was a plate of more preserved fruit, nuts, and bread, as well as a cup. Forgetting her shame, the girl dug into breakfast greedily. She picked up the cup and eyed the contents before drinking. The contents were amber colored, almost like apple juice. She took a sniff. It smelled like cloves. When she took a tip, her eyes blew open and she sputtered. The little bit of liquid made her tongue tingle and the back of her throat burn. She coughed, her eyes watering.

Clasa looked at her, perplexed. "Is it bad?" She asked, reaching out for the cup. She took a sip. No, it was fine. She gave it back to Kamal. "Just have a little bit. It'll pick you up."

The dwarf watched Kamal expectantly, speaking encouragingly as she returned to cup to her. Kamal looked at the drink. She didn't want to be rude. She took slow sips, and to her surprise found that the taste became bearable. Pleasant, even. Like spicy apple juice, she thought as she finished it off. Clasa seemed satisfied and stood to leave. Kamal stood too, prepared to walk out with her, but the dwarf held up a hand. 

"No, you have to stay here," Clasa said, feeling a pang of guilt as the girl's face fell in disappointment. "I-I'll bring you some things to pass the time." She stumbled. She wondered what time the girl had woken up; if she'd been stuck in a nearly empty room for hours on end while Clasa herself still slept. 

Clasa was only gone a few minutes before she returned with a wicker basket loaded with activities. Most were a little too young for her, like the toy soldiers carved from stone. But there was also a notebook with blank paper, and a quill and ink well. Like Harry Potter, Kamal thought excitedly. When Clasa left her again, Kamal set to sketching and writing, enjoying the scratch of the quill on parchment. She wrote about everything; meeting the dwarves, the giant man, the goat, Clasa. She'd never had the patience to keep a diary before, but maybe this was the chance she was waiting for. 

But the mystique of using ink began to wane as the minutes ticked by. She ended up using everything in the basket, even the toy soldiers, before Clasa returned with lunch (or dinner, who could tell). Each time Clasa came back she said something in an apologetic tone, but never let her leave.

Soon she returned to snuff out some of the candles. As Clasa tucked her into bed, Kamal felt like she could bounce off the walls. In a desperate move, she grabbed the dwarf's wrist. Clasa pulled, a half smile creeping across her face. "What?" Kamal tightened her grip, staring at her intently. Clasa shook her head. "What is it?"

Kamal, still holding Clasa, lay back on the bed and shrugged. Very helpful, Clasa thought. She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Can't sleep?" She asked. Kamal didn't answer. 

Clasa clicked her tongue, thinking. "How about a story?" She finally twisted her wrist out of the girls grip and made a "scoot over" motion. Kamal shuffled until Clasa had ample room to lie down next to her. Clasa looked up at the ceiling, settling her head against the pillow. "Alright... not that you can understand..." She turned her head. Kamal was still watching her, her eyes as wide as saucers as she waited in anticipation. Clasa smiled. "I will tell you of Mahal, and the seven fathers..." 

✶

Clasa hated leaving the girl alone, but it was necessary. At least the toys would keep her busy until lunch. 

She moved quickly through the halls, her steps echoing around her. She squinted as she pushed through the door that opened to the surface level. The morning sun shone brightly through the tall windows lining the corridor. Other dwarves bustled about. Some nodded politely to her, but she was too focused to pay them any mind. She half walked, half jogged to the foyer where Hasdran was waiting. "Took you long enough." He teased.

She glared at him, huffing and puffing. "You try stairs in a dress," she grumbled. "Where are the others?"

"At Tully's. Kaer's a mess; I don't the lad's ever kept a secret in his life."

"Well, he's keeping this one," Clasa replied, a warning in her voice. "At least until I figure out how to break the news." She slowed, almost coming to a halt. Hasdran turned at looked at her, head tilting curiously. "Are you alright?"

Clasa nodded. "Fine... I just feel like I forgot something..." 

Chapter Text

Kamal couldn't believe her luck. Clasa had left the door unlocked after delivering breakfast. She seemed rushed, and must've forgotten as she ran back upstairs. Kamal took hold of the handle, half expecting the dwarf to reappear and give her the scolding of her life. When she didn't, Kamal pulled and the door heaved open.

The dim hall opened up in front of her, at once tantalizing and nerve-wracking. How was she going to get back to the surface? When they'd descended, it seemed like a maze. She looked back at the bedroom. The toys lay strewn sadly across the floor. No. I'm not staying in here for one more second.

Kamal soon realized she may have gone in a little too hot. Her confidence died when she passed what she swore was the same candelabra for the millionth time. She thought if she kept going up she would find the topside, but dead ends and winding staircases proved her wrong. The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in on her. She stopped and took ten deep breaths, shaking her arms. No more crying. She exhaled. There's an end somewhere.

She wasn't sure what her goal was as she searched. To find the outside, of course, but she didn't want to run from Clasa. She felt a little bad thinking about the dwarf woman returning to an empty room. Maybe I can get back before lunch, she hoped. If I can get out of here at all.  

Suddenly she stopped. She felt something brush her arm. Is that wind? It was coming through a doorway to her left. She ducked through, her heart racing as she picked up the pace. After one turn and two more sets of stairs, she saw a blessed bar of light glowing beneath a door up ahead. She almost ran straight through, but she remember Clasa's secrecy. They were hiding her; from what or whom she didn't know. But she had to be careful. Steeling her nerves, she opened the door just a crack. 

The fresh air kissed her face as Kamal peeked through, blinking the stinging sensation out of her eyes. So it is daytime. She could see light coming in through windows across the hall. She listened, ducking back in as she heard footsteps approaching. She knelt, frozen in the shadows as a strange dwarf passed by, completely oblivious to the door that was slightly ajar . 

Once she was sure it was quiet, she slithered out of the doorway and into the hall. The ceiling soared above her in elegant arches. But before she could stand around and gawk, she heard voices coming from down the hall. She looked side to side, unsure which end it was coming from. She decided to go right just as the source of the sound turned the corner on that side. Turning on her heels, she sprinted away, her bare feet slapping the floor as she ran. Oh no. Ohnoohnoohnoohno. She should've just gone back through the door she came through, but it was too late now. How long is this stupid hall?!

Finally there was a break. She saw a great arch illuminated with daylight. She raced through, the open air smacking her like a brick. Her mouth fell open as her lungs swelled. Outside! Her brain screamed in delight. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she realized she was in a courtyard. It had a stone path surrounded by flowering shrubs and fruit trees. The path encircled a central fountain, teeming with a small flock of sparrows.

But every side of the garden was surrounded by more walls. It was like the building never ended. In her panic, Kamal didn't realize that she had frozen in the middle of the path, her brain too scrambled to think of diving for cover. But it was too late; she heard a gasp of surprise. 

Slowly, she turned around. A dwarf woman she'd never seen before was staring at her, mouth agape. Kamal's eyes darted about, desperately seeking out a door. When there was no luck, she looked at the dwarf again. The dwarf's chest distended as they filled they inhaled, probably to scream. Before she could, Kamal dashed past her back into the hallway, her sudden lunge sending the dwarf tumbling backwards. The dwarf's call of alarm didn't even reach her ears as she raced away as fast as she could.

Chapter Text

It was such a lovely morning. Dwarves milled about in the shade of the grand courtyard's pergola, enjoying the warm air and pleasant conversation. It seemed nothing could break the peaceful atmosphere... until several heads turned at the sound of fast feet on stone. 

A couple holding hands cried out in surprise as the strange person stumbled between them, knocking them apart. The quiet talking stopped altogether as everyone stared at the gangly creature bounding through the yard. She moved like the wind, her long shirt and pants snapping tight against her skin. The creature skidded at the end of the pergola and dashed towards the next opening; a door leading to the stairs up to the ramparts. 

People stared dumbfounded as she disappeared through the doorway. The couple, so rudely separated, found each others arms again, only to be roughly jostled by a cluster of armored guards who were in no doubt after the stranger. The guards stormed through the doorway, their armor clanking and grinding as they ascended.

✶

Kamal burst through the next door a the top of the winding staircase, her lungs burning. She quickly surveyed her surroundings; She was on top of the wall, the broad walkway extended a good 20 yards ahead of her until it hit a tower. She hurried out into the open air, the wind immediately stronger and colder at the higher altitude. The tower was doorless, and through the archway she could see the next stretch up ahead. She looked to the right. The rampart enclosed the grand courtyard in a semi-circle, meeting with a cliffside carved with windows and open walkways. A closed loop, she thought worriedly. But there might be a way back into the cliffside at the end. Her head whipped around as a group of armored dwarves clamored through the door behind her. They shouted after her, their voices gruff but thinned from exertion. She gunned it across the walkway, diving through the first tower and onto the next stretch. 

The wind was cool on her sweat-slick skin as she pumped her arms and legs. Her soles stung from running bare foot. The second tower was just a few strides away. She didn't want to go back into the strange stone castle, but she needed to get the guards off her tail. But all of her hopes came crashing down as three new guards stepped out in front of her from the doorway of the second tower.

She nearly fell on her face as she stopped dead in a full sprint. Throwing her arms out for balance, she turned the way she'd come. The guards behind her had finally caught up. They formed into a wall of metal behind her. None had drawn their weapons, to her relief, but now she was completely trapped. Both sides started closing in. The one's from the second tower shouted to the main group, one of whom replied with an order. Heart hammering in her chest, Kamal stepped back until her back hit the stone parapet.

Ice dripped down her spine. She swallowed hard, her throat raw as she tried to catch her breath. Clasa hid me for a reason. The thought resurfaced as she caught the flinty eyes on one of the dwarves behind their silver helm. I'm so stupid! She gripped the stone behind her, eyes shifting wildly as she tried to keep both parties in her line of sight. She dared a glance behind her. Her stomach flip-flopped when she saw the significant drop onto cobble stones below. Some dwarves in the courtyard craned their necks to look at the action above them. 

She grit her teeth. NO. You're not catching me. She pushed herself off the parapet, bristling like a cat corned by a dog. Her nose crinkled as she grimaced in concentration. The walls of guards inched closer, closer. One held up their hands placatingly, speaking in a warning tone. Kamal dug her nails into the palm of her hand. Her toes gripped the stone, and she sprung towards the second tower. The three guards jumped for her as the ones behind her rushed in, but Kamal made a U-turn mid-step. She spun around the outside of the first flank, their arms flinging out to snag her. She arched her body just out of reach of their grasping fingers, ramming her hip painfully into the left-side parapet. Before any of the guards could change direction she was already back through the first tower. Am I doing it? She couldn't believe that had worked. 

But apparently the universe couldn't believe it either. She could smell the metal behind her before she felt it. Two powerful arms wrapped around her, pulling her back just out of reach of the door to the first walkway. "No!" Kamal shrieked, throwing her arms out and catching the edge of the doorway. She tried to pull herself in, her thin arms shaking. With one heave her captor ripped her from the doorway into the shadow of the tower's chamber. She wriggled and twisted as he struggled to keep a hold. She kicked back as hard as she could, only meeting cold metal armor. "No! No!" Out of her periphery, the other guards swarmed her. She punched and kicked with all her might, slipping out of the guard's grip for a second only to be pinned by two more. Her breathing grew ragged and panicked. "Clasa!" She screamed, her voice cracking. She needed the dwarf woman. I'll never run again! I'm sorry! Her scream turned into a wail as she bucked against the arms holding her. 

One of the guards shouted something, and the others froze. The two pinning Kamal on either side gripped her arms like pythons. Kamal stared with wide eyes as they removed their helmet. Cast in shadow, she could still see that their face was red and wet with sweat. Two fiery hazel eyes bore her down from beneath thick eyebrows. He spoke to her, spittle flying off his lip. Something something "Clasa?" Kamal's heart nearly stopped. She nodded furiously. "Clasa! I'm with Clasa!" She panted. 

The guard's face wrinkled in a sneer. There was an agonizing pause, then he nodded at the two holding her. They lifted her to her feet. Kamal prayed to whoever would listen as the small force dragged her off the rampart to who knows where. 

Chapter Text

Clasa and Hasdran walked out of Tully's empty bar, squinting against the high sun. The meeting with Wit, Kaer, and Darestrum had been a success; they agreed that Clasa and her brother would break the news to the council that night. "We'll get them at after dinner drinks, they should be in good spirits by then," Hasdran had suggested. They all knew that introducing the human would be difficult, but they couldn't wait any longer. Clasa explained the girl's restlessness to the others. "It's not good for her to be cooped up down there day and night."

Clasa was nervous. She fidgeted with her belt as she walked with Hasdran back towards the main hall. Hasdran sighed. "Stop that. It's gonna be fine."

Clasa rolled her eyes. "Always the optimist." She grumbled.

"We have a good case," Hasdran pressed. "Not to mention they'll actually give us the chance to speak. That's more than most."

Clasa scoffed. "Ah. Nepotism strikes again."

"Hey, don't complain. We could use it right about now."

As they approached the entryway, two dwarf women wandered past them. "—that's what I heard. A human child, loose on the grounds! Someone said it attacked the guards." Clasa froze. Hasdran looked at her, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Without another words, they took off in the same direction. If the guards had her, they knew exactly where they would take her... 

✶

"Is this the smallest size we have?" The guard asked, trying the smallest pair of handcuffs on the girl's wrists. They'd been attempting to cuff her for several minutes to no avail. Just like all the others, this pair was far too large and slipped uselessly off her hands. The other guard groaned. "She's built like an elf; nothing's going to fit." 

Kamal sat placidly on a stool in the center of the guard's office. When the crowd of guards had brought her in, she'd stopped fighting, letting them drag her through the halls. She was tired. She just wanted Clasa. They'd sat her down on the stool, the red faced one barking at her. She could only frown back at him. Eventually he lost his patience and stormed out, taking all but two dwarves with him. 

The guard with the handcuffs tossed them aside. "Forget it. What difference does it make? She's not going anywhere." He looked at the girl. "Right?" She stared at him with big brown eyes. "I'll take that as a yes." He nodded. He sat on the edge of the desk with a grunt. "I've never met a human before. What's your name?"

"I don't think we're supposed to talk to them, Orik."

"Hush. Who's gonna know?" He smirked, eyeing his companion warningly. "C'mon girl, give us your name."

The girl said nothing. Her gaze wandered to the floor nervously. Orik's smile fell. "Hey." He said, leaning forward. "I asked you a question." The girl looked back at him, confusion darting across her face. Orik's eyebrows arched. "Do you not speak Westron?" 

Kamal's stomach flipped. The guard was staring her down, waiting for a response. She gripped the sides of the stool. "Where's Clasa?" She asked, her voice wobbly. "Clasa Clasa Clasa." The dwarf mimicked, making Kamal shrink with embarrassment. He said more and the guard next to him sniggered. 

"Is that all you can say?" Orik laughed. "How do you know of Lady Clasa, hm?" He was actually curious. Lady Clasa was not an outward looking dwarf, like many of their kind. She stuck to the halls her family carved, lost amongst the daily politics of the Iron Hills. How would a lone human know of her, unless... 

The door nearly flew off the hinges as Red-Face barged back in. "We're bringing the girl to the Consulate." When the guards hesitated from surprise, Red-Face slammed his fist against the doorframe. "Now!"

Orik and the other grabbed Kamal by the elbows and hurried after their captain. Kamal tried to keep pace, but found herself mostly being towed along. "Do they know, Sir?" Orik asked as they fell in line behind the Captain. Red-face grunted affirmatively. "They do. And they're none too pleased." He glared at Kamal over his shoulder. "And you better not be lying about Lady Clasa." 

✶

The consulate was a large circular room deep within of the cliff-side palace. It stood at least five stories above the surface, the outer wall striated with small portals to let in fresh air. Ten chairs, all but one seating a stern looking dwarf, were arranged in an arc around a central dais. The child stood shaking on the raised platform, her arm gripped tightly by the Captain of the Guard. No one was happy to be there. It was only late morning, and many on the council had been dragged away from other pressing duties to deal with the commotion. 

The Captain bowed curtly. "Lords." He greeted, then turned to the three female dwarves and bowed deeper. "Ladies." He stood up straight, grip tightening incrementally on Kamal's arm. "Obviously you know why I have gathered you today." He jerked Kamal in front of him, nearly sending her stumbling off the platform. Kamal's free hand was balled into a fist at her side. She stared at her feet, her heart pounding in her throat. The Captain spoke again. "She was spotted in the grand courtyard."

One of the male dwarf lords smiled. "I heard she gave your men a bit of a chase." A few council members chuckled. The Captain flushed, his grip starting to become painful. Kamal winced but dared not open her mouth. "Anyhow," the Captain continued, redirecting the subject, "She does not speak Westron, or at least pretends she cannot. But she spoke of Lady Clasa." His eyes wandered to the empty chair. "... Who appears to be absent." 

"Aye," the same dwarf lord replied. "She was sent for, but was not in her study."

The Captain paused, his anger flickering. "Should we reconvene?"

The lord shook his head, looking at the others. "I see no reason to. What is one voice out of ten? Besides," he said, gesturing at the council. "I'm sure we're all quite busy and would like to return to our duties." A few other dwarves nodded in agreement. The lord stood, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "It's only a human. Not worth our trouble." He said, circling around the dais to get a better look at the girl. "I say we set her outside the walls and be done with it." A few dwarves grunted in agreement, but some were silent. One of the ladies took out a hand-fan and began to fan herself, her brow furrowed in thought.

Captain frowned. "With all due respect, Lord Leadroch, her knowledge of Lady Clasa concerns me." He looked at the girl. "I..." Careful, he thought. "... I have cause to believe that the lady may have something to do with the human's appearance." 

Leadroch cocked an eyebrow, something the Captain found incredibly annoying. Leadroch was only a minor lord, as where all on the council, but he above all acted like he reigned solely over the Iron Hills. The lord laughed. "That's quite an accusation, Guard Captain."

"Not an accusation; just a suspicion." Captain found his thumb grazing over the fabric of Kamal's sleeve. "She wears dwarven clothes. Do you not find that a bit odd?"

Leadroch shrugged. "Could've very easily swiped them from a clothes line." He sighed, turning partially to address both the Captain and the council. "What is the point of this? She's a stray... humans have more children than they know what to do with. I'm sure she can find her own way back home—"

Suddenly the door slammed open. The guards moved to receive the intruder, but backed off when a scowling Clasa storm in. Loose strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her eyes were blazing. Her younger brother followed closely at her heels but was blocked my the guard's pikes as they crossed in front of him. He didn't protest, only watching as his sister barreled up the stairs of the dais. 

"Lady Clasa," Leadroch remarked, surprised, "I see you—"

"Shut up, Leadroch." Clasa snapped. She shoved her way between the Captain and the girl, pulling Kamal protectively to her side. "Would you let go of her!" She spit. The Captain released her arm, slinking a step back like a kicked puppy. Clasa took Kamal's face between her hands, lifting it to look into her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Kamal stared up at Clasa's worried expression. She felt like she was going to melt with relief. She nodded, a small smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

Clasa turned on the council. "How dare you." Clasa snarled. "Not even out of the first decade of her life, and you put her on trial like a criminal. Shame on you." Almost a dozen pairs of eyes found themselves wandering around the room, trying to avoid contact with the fuming Lady. 

Clasa's head swiveled. "Captain." She greeted coldly. The Captain cleared his throat, trying to not make his unease too obvious. "My Lady... nothing has been decided. I — we — chose to hold on our decision until your arrival."

"Kiss-ass." Leadroch mumbled under his breath, but the Captain ignored him. Clasa glowered at the Captain. "There is no decision to make." She took a steadying breath, her brow smoothing slightly. She returned her gaze to the council. "I was going to call a meeting this evening. But now's as good a time as any." She hugged Kamal a little closer to her hip. "Hasdran and his hunting party found the child in the wilds. There was no evidence of any others with her. They brought her here, to me, so that we could protect her."

Leadroch's eyes narrowed. "Protect her? From what?

"From Sverne, the skin-changer."

A cold silence fell over the room. Clasa went on. "Hasdran had the misfortune of running into him upon returning." She swallowed thickly. "He has seen the girl, and has her scent." She scanned the council with fierce intensity. "If we release her into the wilds, she is as good as dead." 

The dwarf Lady with the fan folded it in her lap. "What do you propose?" She asked cautiously. 

Clasa lifted her chin. "That I take the child as my ward."

There was a chorus of soft gasps. Leadroch guffawed. "Pardon?" One of the other lords stood. "My Lady, that isn't—"

"I am not asking for permission," Clasa replied curtly, her look cutting him down. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her blood flushed white-hot. "I will love her like my own, and raise her to the best of my abilities. It is final."

The others stared at her, dumbfounded. Leadroch crossed his arms, gnawing the inside of his cheek. "Do you really think it's wise, Lady Clasa, to come between the beast-man and his prize?" He took a step forward. "Lest you forget, he is an invaluable defender against the scourges of Mordor."

Clasa's gaze turned lethal. "Oh, I'm quite aware of your opinion on the skin-changer, Lord." She sneered. "Does he ever tell you how he uses the metals you sell him, or do you prefer to ignore it?" Her head tilted slightly. "Though I doubt you have the spine to ever trade directly with him... better to have some other poor dwarf bring you the coin he's plundered." Her face crinkled in a mock smile. "Don't want to get your own hands dirty..."

Leadroch's face turned scarlet-red. His mouth screwed into a thin line, the vein in his temple popping. But he said nothing. 

Clasa's heart fluttered triumphantly as she wrapped her arm around Kamal. She looked at the girl, her face softening. "Mark this day; I take you, Kamal, as my own. You will bear my name." She faced the council one last time, lancing them with a warning glare. "And should any harm befall you, no force in the Iron Hills will keep me from razing this place to the ground." 

Chapter Text

"Kamal?"

Kamal looked up. She saw Clasa's reflection in the mirror. The dwarf was standing a few paces behind her vanity. The attendant dressing the girl stepped back, nodding politely to the Lady. Kamal turned, clasping her hands in front of her. Clasa's face split into a wide grin. The clothes were tailored perfectly; a knee-length black frock with a broad red stripe down the front, the skirt embroidered with geometric patterns. The flared sleeves fell just past the girl's elbows. Beneath the dress she wore fitted cotton pants tucked into the moccasins gifted to her by Wit. 

Clasa stepped forward and gripped Kamal's shoulder. "You look like a gem." She beamed proudly. She nodded back to the attendant. "I'll have to give the tailor my thanks." The attendant dipped their head. "I'll make a note of it, Lady Clasa."

Clasa's eyebrows arched. "How do you feel?" Kamal looked back at her, studying her expression for clues. Then she smiled, and did her funny little hand signal. Clasa clenched her own hand, sticking up the thumb to the ceiling. She showed Kamal. "Good?" Kamal's smile widened. "Good." The girl parroted in Westron.

While revealing the girl had been nerve-wracking, particularly given the circumstances, both the dwarf and the human felt as if a weight had been lifted. Clasa was able to make arrangements to have the girl moved closer to her own quarters. She also ensured that Kamal's room had a window to the outside. As it turned out, the only room that met those needs was a broom closet. So while the child slept in her temporary underground chamber, Clasa helped the staff clear out and rearrange the space into a passable bedroom. 

The new room had everything Clasa thought the girl would need— a bed (an adult sized one), a dresser and a vanity. She would need to have a bath installed, but the water could be pre-boiled in the meantime. Clasa also brought books to the room. Although the girl obviously couldn't read them, Clasa encouraged her to familiarize herself, pushing illustrated copies at Kamal every time she got her hands on one. A substantial pile was already forming near Kamal's bed. It warmed Clasa's heart when she saw Kamal flip through the pages, soaking up the drawings, making her own interpretations. 

After two days of letting the girl adjust, Clasa decided it was time to begin tutoring. "You're smart, I know you'll pick up the language quickly." Clasa ensured Kamal as they walked her arm-in-arm down the great hall. Kamal was a little on edge, constantly adjusting her skirt. Only a short time ago she had fled down this hall in full-blown panic. But now she had Clasa at her side. She looked sideways at the dwarf; it was still weird not having to look up at an adult. At least she was pretty sure Clasa was grown up... she had long sideburns brushed back with a comb. All of the adult dwarves seemed to have a lot of facial hair, even the women. Her mom and older sister sometimes had dark hair on their upper lips, but nothing like this. Kamal touched her own cheek, feeling naked in comparison. 

The pair received the occasional stare, but nobody stopped them. Clasa turned before they entered the Grand Courtyard and led her up up a spiral staircase. The whole palace seemed to be made up of only stairs and halls. They must have a lot of endurance, Kamal thought as Clasa brought her up to a massive set of double doors. The exterior wood was carved with interlocking lines that twisted around each other in infinite knots. Kamal marveled at the carvings as Clasa took the door knocker and struck the metal plate three times. They stepped back, waiting. 

Then, to Kamal's surprise, a dwarf-sized door opened up out of the body of the right door. A head sporting a shock of white hair poked out. "Hullo?" 

"Thevra," Clasa greeted warmly. "Is this still a good time?"

The old dwarf woman squinted at the pair. "You've brought the human thing?"

Clasa stiffened. "The human girl, yes. Kamal, this is Thevra. Thevra, Kamal." Kamal smiled quickly to the old dwarf, who did not return the greeting. Instead, Thevra reached into her smock's pocket and pulled out a pair of dainty eyeglasses. She held them up to her eyes and peered through the glass. "Ah. There you are." She muttered. Finally, she peeled herself from the door into the small hallway. She scrutinized Kamal closely. "You have her playing dress up..." Thevra observed, giving Clasa a look. Clasa fought the urge to say something snarky in return. "She needed clothes." She replied flatly. 

"Hmph." Thevra waved for them to follow. "Come in." She glanced back at Kamal. "Watch your head, human." 

Although Kamal stood only a fraction shorter than Clasa, she ducked under the doorframe into the room. The room within matched the main doors in size; the ceiling soaring overhead. The walls were lines with fully-stocked bookshelves at least two stories high. A ladder on a horizontal track leaned against the library wall. At the center of the room were two cushioned chairs facing each other. Thevra took a seat in one, then motioned to the other. Clasa nudged Kamal's back. "Go on."

Kamal sat down, smoothing her skirt nervously. Thevra regarded her cooly, her glasses perched on the brim of her nose. She pursed her lips in thought. "We start slow." She spoke. "Simple phrases, basic sentences... pronunciation." She said all of this directly to Kamal, as if the girl was already fluent in Westron. Thevra eyed Clasa. "You are staying for the lesson?"

Clasa jolted slightly. "I was planning on it." She said, ready to protest if necessary. But Thevra seemed to have dropped it. Instead, she reached under her chair and pulled out a blackboard. She fished a piece of white chalk from another secret dress pocket and made a few marks on the board. She turned the board to show Kamal. "This is 'Greetings'." She waved her hand. "Greetings."

"Greetings." Kamal mimicked. Clasa moved in closer to Kamal's chair, placing a hand on the rim but remaining silent. 

Thevra nodded. She wiped the board with her sleeve and wrote a new word. "Goodbye."

"Good-hi."

Thevra sighed. "Goodbye." Kamal flushed and attempted the word again, getting it on the second try. She stumbled her way through more phrases; "My name is..." "Where is..." "Please" and "Thank you". Thevra went too fast, but every time Kamal stuttered she saw irritation flash across the dwarf's face. Clasa dug her fingers into the fabric of the chair, wanting to say something. But she knew Thevra had a short temper, and that she hated to be interrupted. 

After a half-hour of repetition, Thevra began to quiz the girl. She pointed at Kamal. "What is your name?" Kamal heard the Westron word for 'name.' "Kamal", she replied. Thevra shook her head. "Use full sentences", she said, rolling her hand expectantly. Kamal stuttered, "H-her name is Kamal."

"You are the subject." Said Thevra. " It's 'I', not 'her'. Again."

Clasa watched anxiously as the girl struggled with dictation. She could track Thevra's patience slowly draining away as the lesson dragged on. After another half-hour, Theva seemed over it and Kamal looked close to tears. Thevra shook her head. "This will take more work than I thought," She said, standing and placing the board and chalk on her seat. "At this rate, the girl will be full grown and still illiterate."

Kamal glared up at the old dwarf. She could sense Thevra was talking down to her by the tone of her voice. Her mouth felt dry. I can speak two languages, jerk, she thought bitterly. I'm not dumb.

Clasa's voice barely concealed her own annoyance. "It's lesson one, Thevra. I came to you to educate her, not berate her." Clasa gently slipped her fingers under Kamal's elbow and guided her to her feet. "I'd hoped you would show her the same patience you showed me as a child." 

To Clasa's surprise, Thevra looked taken aback. "I meant no insult, my Lady." She said, bowing slightly. "I apologize." She looked at Kamal. "It's been a while since I've had to start from the basics. Perhaps I have been too rushed." Her eyes returned to her old pupil. "You can entrust me with her education. She will learn, I promise you."

Clasa nodded firmly. "Thank you." She squeezed Kamal's arm. "We'll return tomorrow." As she turned with the girl to leave, Clasa paused. "I appreciate your help, Thevra, I do." A small smirk curled at the corners of her mouth. "Just please don't make her cry."

Thevra's stern expression fell at ease. A small chuckled escaped her. "That I can't promise."

✶

Clasa led Kamal out of the study back into the dim hallway. She looked down the corridor, noting the light in the great hall. "Well, it's about dinnertime." She smiled at Kamal. "And I think you've earned a drink."

Chapter Text

It felt like a summer evening; the sun was warm, the air cool and fresh. The shadows stretched long. Birds chimed and twittered in the trees planted in the courtyard. Orange light glowed through their leaves. Kamal lifted her nose to the air. Sage. Sun-baked soil. She closed her eyes. Flowers. She hadn't noticed how nice the court garden smelled when she was running for her life. 

"Kamal, this way." Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Clasa's voice. She hurried after the dwarf as they crossed the yard to the cobblestone building. The doors were on swinging hinges like an old fashioned saloon. Pushing through, Kamal was immediately caught off guard by how packed the place was. Dwarves stood shoulder to shoulder, their loud voices overlapping into a cacophony. Servers jostled between bodies, dexterously balancing huge mugs on platters as they danced from table to table. Although a few windows were open, the dining hall was exceptionally dim. Clasa took Kamal by the hand and walked her through the crowd to an empty booth. Very few dwarves were sitting down to eat; most were happy milling about with a drink in their hand. 

They had barely sat down when Hasdran came bounding through the fray. His cheeks were rosy and he had a huge grin plastered on his face. He pointed at Kamal with a meaty finger. "My girl!" He hollered, elbowing his way to the table. He reached down and wrapped Kamal in a tight hug, nearly lifting her off the seat. Kamal's nose wrinkled. He smelled weird. He released her and she plopped back down, blinking in surprise. "Have you eaten? Let me order you something, scoot over." He said, dropping his weight onto the bench. Kamal hadn't realized until that moment that she hadn't seen Hasdran in two days, and none of the other dwarves from the hunting party since they'd first arrived. 

Clasa exhaled loudly. "Nice to see you too." One eyebrow slanted downward. "How long have you been here?"

Hasdran shrugged happily, throwing an arm out across the back of the bench. "Dunno. Few hours."

Clasa frowned. "The sun's still up."

"And?" His head swiveled to Kamal, his goofy smile never faltering. "I'm celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

Hasdran flashed his teeth. He took his hand and planted it on top of Kamal's head, ruffling her hair. "This little one's new freedom!" With his other hand he gestured with his mug, the contents nearly sloshing out. "You, missy, are officially a denizen of the Iron Hills." He slammed his cup on the table, making her jump. He held up his hand, extending a finger. "You gave the guards a run for their money." He put up another finger. "You faced the whole council", then a third, "and now, you're one of us!" His fingers carefully gripped her skull, rocking her head side to side. "A skinny, skinny dwarf with no beard and teeny ears." He squinched his face.

Kamal could only stare at him, bewildered. The dwarf rambled on, letting her go and calling for a server. He gave instructions then sent them off, turning back to his drink. Soon, two more mugs arrived, one for Clasa and one for Kamal. Kamal peered inside. The drink was topped in a white foam. Her interest peaked. Steamed milk? She smelled the contents and gagged. No, not milk... or if it is, very off milk.

Clasa smiled into her stein. Hasdran pouted. "You don't like it?" He asked Kamal. She shook her head. Hasdran nodded slowly, his eyes sleepy. "Well, I'll take it—" "Nuh uh." Clasa interjected, reaching across the table and dragging the cup to her side. "You've had plenty."

Hasdran blew a raspberry and stood. He pointed at Kamal again. "You seem like a mead kind of gal." He turned and stomped away, pointing to the ceiling. "I've got your back!" He hollered, voice lost in the murmur of the crowd.  

The food arrived before Hasdran returned from the bar; A shank of some mystery animal, probably lamb, two pies, and a plate of pickles. Clasa looked at he pickles, disgruntled. "Oh, he's been drinking alright..." She laughed. She took a serving plate and filled it with a little of everything before passing it to Kamal. "Help yourself to a pickle, there are... a lot." 

Hasdran returned with another mug, and company. Darestrum was caught under the younger's arm, leaning to accommodate Hasdran's awkward hug. "Look who I fo-ound!" Hasdran sing-songed. Darestrum looked up at Clasa. "Evening." He noticed Kamal and smiled warmly. "Hello, Reed." Hasdran released Darestrum and slid back into the booth next to Kamal. He placed the cup heavily in front of her. "Mead for the lil'un."

Darestrum sat next to Clasa. "What's with the pickles?" He asked. Hasdran reached out and put three on his plate. "I had a hankerin'." He said, crunching into one. His voice was noticeably more slurred. Darestrum smirked knowingly at Clasa. "Well..." he said, holding out his hand. Clasa passed him the extra mug of beer. Darestrum took a swig, a line of foam coating his mustache. "I'm not about to get outpaced by you, boy."

✶

"I. Am. Your. Elder!" Darestrum grunted, the muscles in his forearm straining. Hasdran pushed back, sweat beading on his forehead. "You brought this on yourself, old man!" He laughed, voice cracking with effort. The bar patrons gathered around them, mumbling excitedly. Kamal had moved next to Clasa, her legs tucked up onto the seat. Her head rolled back onto Clasa's shoulder. The drink that Hasdran brought for her tasted like the spicy apple juice she had every morning for breakfast, but this time it burned in the back of her throat. It wasn't a warm drink, yet it settled hot in her belly. Her brain felt fuzzy.

The energy of the room was boisterous as the crowd watched the arm-wrestlers. They seemed to be evenly matched, until Darestrum suddenly dug his elbow into the table and heaved. Caught off guard, Hasdran went flying off his seat, toppling in a drunk pile on the ground. The patrons cheered, smacking Darestrum heartily on the back. Darestrum stood, throwing up his arms triumphantly as the crowd rallied behind him. "See? Darestrum chuckled, reaching down to hoist Hasdran to his feet. He brushed off the younger dwarf's coat. "Been doing this for a lot longer than you, lad." By this point, Darestrum was also a few drinks in, his face flushed bright red. 

Clasa laughed, polishing off the beer she'd been nursing. She craned her neck to look at Kamal. The girl didn't seem to be handling her drink well. Kamal's lips curled in a lopsided smile, and her eyes seemed glazed over. Clasa leaned close to the girl's ear. "You alright?"

"Mmph." Kamal mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes over. She felt Clasa's body move, and something heavy and warm draped over her. Before she could even see what it was, Kamal's head fell back and she passed out, oblivious the deafening celebration.  

✶

"What if mom finds out?"

"She's not gonna find out." Her sister reached for her. "Take my hand." Kamal did, wedging herself between the driver and passenger seat. Pranani let go and opened the sun roof. She gripped the steering wheel, beaming with excitement. "I'll say when it's good. Ready?"

Kamal nodded. Pranani turned on her blinker and edged onto the empty road. The sun was low behind the trees, glowing orange through the leaves. Cicadas sang in the canopy. The humid air made Kamal's shirt stick to her back. The car began to pick up speed. The wind whistled above them. Left hand on the wheel, with her right Pranani took hold of Kamal's ankle. The car went faster, faster...

"Now."

Kamal grabbed the edge of the sunroof and slowly rose to meet the sky. The wind was forceful and she squinted against the sting. She felt Pranani squeeze her ankle reassuringly. Eyes watering, Kamal leaned forward into the gale. Everything else fell away. The wind muted the hum of the engine, the soft voices on the radio, even her sister's joyous laughter. The world came towards her at a blinding speed. Hands shaking, she slowly let go of the sides of the sun roof. She leaned her stomach against the opening and spread her arms. The airstream slipped through her fingers, almost soft to the touch. She closed her eyes, half-terrified and half-entranced. She inhaled deeply. Rain. Campfires. She turned her palms to the clouds, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye. Flowers. A blissful smile spread from ear to ear as they sped into the summer night.

Chapter Text

The night was alive with the song of insects. The farmer paused, resting a hand on the gate of the paddock. His cows were already moved into the barn by his young son, Oswin, who was now in the house helping his mother prepare food. The farmer figured he should go in and help, but he was tired. For just a moment, he wanted to enjoy the peace of the night, uninterrupted by chatter or livestock or the baby's mewling.

He smiled to himself as the wind caressed his bearded face. This life was not easy, but it was far better than eeking out a meager living in Laketown. He didn't have the knack for being a fishmonger, but he knew cattle, swine and sheep. His family were of Dale, their ancient homestead on the outskirts of the city. When the dragon attacked, his father's father had escaped and reestablished themselves. Ever since, his family had provided prime cuts for the Master of Laketown, or anyone else who was willing to buy.

The farmer jolted as one of the guard dogs started baying. He paused, listening intently. This wasn't a warning bark; this was frantic. He heard the other two dogs at opposite ends of the property join in. The farmer took off running towards the first hound, an uneasy feeling riling in his gut. He raced as fast as his legs could carry him.

The cows in the stable watched him curiously as he rounded the bend towards the entry gate. The light was dimming but the farmer could see the fence line just a few meters ahead. Beyond that stretched rolling grasslands turned red by the lowering sun. His largest dog, Gil, was tied to the post at the west-facing entrance. The dog yelped and snapped, straining at his lead. The farmer whistled. "Gil! Gil, c'mere!" The dog ignored him. White foam flew from his jowls. His eyes were blown open. He almost looked rabid. The farmer slowed, clapping his hands and whistling again for the dog's attention. "Gil! What is it?" 

Suddenly a yelp cut through the air. Gil changed direction, now pulling towards the east-side of the farm. The farmer's blood flushed cold. "What the..." He hurried to Gil and undid the chain. Immediately the dog went bounding towards the sound until he was out of sight. The farmer took a deep breath, gathering himself, and took off jogging. He doubled back to the stables, grabbed a pitchfork, and headed after Gil.

Heading east, he passed his family cottage. The door swung open, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the silhouette of his son in the orange glow of the doorway. "Da? What's going on?"

The farmer waved Oswin away. "Stay inside! Watch your mother and brother!"

"Da?"

"Stay there!" The farmer ordered, pointing with the pitchfork. "Dunna come out unless I say." Oswin nodded, slinking back into the house. The farmer quickened his pace, listening for Gil. But both dogs had fallen silent. His heart thundered in his chest. He put his thumb and forefinger between his lips and let loose a loud trill. No response.

He passed the granary and turned to the post where the second dog, Archer, was tied. He slowed, almost stumbling to a halt. His breath came out in thin puffs. His knuckles turned white on the makeshift weapon. 

The dogs were unrecognizable; a heap of shredded limbs, white bone catching the fading light. Intestines lay flung in every direction. The earth was soaked with dark blood. The farmer froze. He couldn't tell which dog was which in the carnage; they'd been reduced to piles of viscera. Orcs, he thought, his brain buzzing. It has to be. The last dog on the south-side had also gone quiet. Even the buzz of insects had died. He turned around, a cold sweat breaking out along his forehead. The children. Walda. He wanted to call for them but decided against it. They have to hide. 

Out of nowhere, a dark figure reached across him and ripped the pitchfork from his hands. Before he could even think, he felt the cold metal prongs pierce his side. The points sunk through his clothes and into his flesh, squelching through his insides. White-hot pain lanced through him. His jaw dropped open in agony, his scream catching in his throat as it filled with blood. He gargled, red spilling from his mouth. A great force heaved beneath him and he was lifted into the sky, skewered even deeper on the metal spikes. Black edged into his vision. Unable to hold his own head up, the farmer went limp on the pitchfork. His eyes fell upon his home one last time before he lurched and fell completely still. 

✶

"Take the grey pony." His mother whispered hastily, shoving the parcel of food into his arms. Oswin stared at her, his lip trembling. "But..." His mother grabbed his shoulder painfully. Her face contorted into a terrifying mix of anger and terror. "You ride for Laketown. Do not stop for anything or anybody. Do you understand?" When Oswin hesitated, she shook the boy hard. "Tell me!" She snapped. Oswin could only nod, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

Walda released him. Her eyes went misty as she fought back the urge to sob. "When you arrive, have them send men. Your father and I will follow after you." She leaned in and planted a firm, desperate kiss on his blonde mop of hair. Behind her, the baby made a soft noise in his crib. The chicken stew boiled in the pot over the fire. She jutted her chin towards the door. "Go." She choked. Wiping his eyes, Oswin turned on his heels and slipped into the night like a shadow.

Oswin led the pony out of the barn as quietly as he could. He'd saddled it impressively fast. His hands twisted around the halter over and over as he scanned every inch of night for danger. The pony snorted softly, ears pressed flat to its head. Draped in the cloak of twilight, the boy mounted the pony. He lay low across its back, nudging it to walk with his heels. He craned back over his shoulder to the house. One by one, the windows went dark as his mother put out the candles. 

The boy looked ahead and saw the east gate. At the same time, an acrid smell surrounded him like smoke. He gagged, covering his nose with his arm. The gate lanterns were not lit, and the sun was almost under the horizon. As the stench grew stronger, Oswin noticed something strange and black splattered across the dirt. His eyes followed the trail to a mound of unrecognizable mush. The boy retched. Then something else caught his attention... Against the pole of the gate leaned a slumped-over figure. It was propped up with the pointed end of a pitchfork, the handle dug into the ground. Black liquid pooled into a puddle at its feet.

The boy saw the thinning hair on the dome of its head and knew. He kicked the horse's sides as hard as he could. "Yah!" He cried, his voice cracking sharply as the pony launched into a gallop. They hurdled through the gate, the fields opening up like an ocean ahead. 

Oswin caught a whistle on the wind. He sat up mid stride. It sounded like his father's whistle. But that was his father's body on the—

Oswin gasped as a sharp pain spiked through his back. The horse whinnied but kept running. The boy looked down at his chest. Protruding from his ribs was the long bar of an arrow. The tip has sunk completely into the pommel. It had run right through him.

Gripping the reins in one hand, with the other he shakily reached for the arrow. A stream of red ran down the length of the wood. He tried to move but found himself trapped. Each movement of the pony was like a white-hot poker against his innards.

Oswin looked ahead at the sea of grass. The light transformed the fields from red to purple as the sun touched the horizon. Pretty, he thought. He felt himself keel over the saddle, and the world went dark as the horse sped eastward. 

✶

A hulking mass moved out of the shadows, lowering his bow. He smiled. Good shot. Straight through the boy's heart. Practicing on a moving target was always better. He watched as the horse carried the body away. With the man and the dogs dead, there remained no more defenses. The creature turned to the house. The lights were out, but he'd scouted the farm from a distance that day. There were more.

He took a deep sniff. The air was tinged with the metallic tang of blood. It made his mouth water. Slipping his bow back over his shoulder, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing massive hands with fingernails filed into claw-like points. "Let's go the old fashioned way," he chuckled, making his way to the cottage. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed. Clasa took Kamal on daily escorted walks as often as she could, but for the most part the girl stuck to her room, studying. Her little apartment was slowly filling with clutter; mainly notebooks and pencils and loose scraps of paper. Almost every page was marked with runes transcribed into english. Working with Thevra was proving difficult. Although the old dwarf promised Clasa to be gentler, Kamal could feel the animosity towards her every time she stepped into the room. 

Kamal hadn't been this stressed about learning the alphabet since she was toddler. Thevra called the letters "Cirth", and the written language Angerthas Erebor. She thought it was called "Westron", but maybe the speech had a different name than the written word. She lay out her letters A through Z, and beneath each practiced the runes. They were tricky, especially using a quill instead of a pencil or ball-point pen. Some of the symbols looked suspiciously close to English letters, but others were way off. An F-shape was actually pronounced "D", and so on. 

Kamal was tired. But she had to learn. It wasn't just the pressure from Thevra— she was sick of not understanding. It had been so long since she'd had a real conversation with anyone but herself. I can do this. She thought as her mind clouded with exhaustion. I have to, or I'm gonna go crazy. She stayed up late looking through the books Clasa gave her, inventing her own stories for the illustrations. She pretended to read to her schoolmates in English, then imagined her grandparents listening and read in Punjabi. More than once she fell asleep on the stone floor, her fingers stained with ink. In the morning she would awake in her bed, her papers mysteriously stacked neatly to the side. 

It was the 18th day at the castle— Kamal had kept track— and the girl met with her tutor once again. Clasa took her seat along the library wall, sipping tea as the lesson began. Thevra went through simple phrases first. When Kamal did well, Thevra showed no sign of approval. She simply moved on to writing. She retrieved the dreaded blackboard and chalk and wrote out a rune. An R-shape; "B" Kamal said. A line with a left facing diagonal; "Sh". After running through most of the alphabet, Thevra wrote out several runes in a row, underlining them. Kamal stared at the board, picking at her fingers nervously. Thevra pointed to the first rune. "Kh" She sounded out. She ran down the line. "Ah-Mhm-Ah-L." Then she pointed to the girl. Kamal echoed her own name. 

Thevra handed Kamal the board. "Copy that below." She said, making a writing motion before passing over the chalk. As Kamal attentively copied the letters, Thevra caught Clasa staring at the girl. The lady was leaning one elbow on the table, radiating pride. Thevra snorted softly through her nose. Clasa was treating the human like her own child. It was endearing to watch, but Thevra couldn't shake a nagging feeling in the back of her head. Teaching the child to read and write. Spoiling her with her own room. Watching her day in and day out like she was incapable of doing anything alone. It didn't sit right with Thevra.

As they rounded up the lesson, Thevra granted Kamal the smallest nod. "You did well today." She said. The girl's eyebrows lifted hopefully. "But don't fall behind on your homework." Thevra finished, hoisting another pile of books into Kamal's hands. Kamal nearly buckled under the weight. 

Clasa walked up to take Kamal's arm and lead her back to her room, but Thevra stepped between them. "I would like to speak with you." She eyed the girl. "Privately, if possible."

Clasa looked worriedly at Kamal. "I don't know... I don't want her alone. Can't she not understand us?"

Thevra placed her hand over her heart in mock insult. "You wound me! You think two weeks with me and she hasn't picked up anything?" Clasa couldn't help but smile. "Alright, alright." She motioned for Kamal and opened the door. "You stay here." She said firmly, pointing at the wall just outside. The corridor was abandoned. She gestured to herself, then to Thevra, and used her hand to make a talking motion. "We're going to speak. I will be back soon."

Kamal nodded slowly. Clasa titled her head. "Can you give me your sign, just so I'm sure?" Kamal smiled and produced a thumbs up. Clasa's eyes glittered. "Atta girl. I won't be long." 

Clasa left the door open just a crack. She turned to Thevra, who was still seated in her armchair, hands folded across her lap. Unease fluttered in Clasa's gut. "What is it?" She asked softly. Thevra pulled her spectacles from her nose, polishing them with her skirt. She sighed as she perched them back on her nose. "You are... committing many of your hours to the care of this child." Clasa frowned, but didn't interrupt. Thevra continued. "With this responsibility loaded atop your normal duties... I worry it'll be too much."

Clasa's jaw tightened. "I know how to manage my own time." She muttered. Thevra pursed her lips. "You look tired, Clasa."

Clasa's frown darkened. "Says who?"

"I say so. But other's have noticed as well." Thevra cocked an eyebrow. "And no, I will not mention names." Thevra stood, pacing around the back walls of bookshelves. She ran her fingers absentmindedly over the book spines. "You are putting in quite a bit of effort into educating her." She looked back at Clasa. "And I do not mind teaching her, but..." Thevra paused to find the right words. "She is human. Their life-span is nearly half of ours. I just don't know if... if it's worth it."

Something flinty flashed in Clasa's eyes. "Not worth it?" She repeated, as if she didn't hear her correctly. 

Thevra held up her hands placatingly. "Please, just hear me out. I know you care for her deeply." Thevra's hands fell to her sides. "You treat her like your successor... but she will be dead before you reach old age. She is a seed that cannot be harvested." 

Clasa was silent. Her eyes had landed on the carpet, immobile.

Thevra frowned. "If you act like she is your own, she will break your heart." 

But Clasa didn't hear her. She was focusing on keeping her breath even. A pounding hammer slammed against her skull. Not now. She thought, wincing as the throbbing increased. She grabbed her skirt in a tight fist. The room started to spin. She turned for the door. "Clasa?" Thevra exclaimed, reaching out, but before she could cross the room Clasa was out in the hallway. She slammed the door shut behind her. To her relief, Thevra didn't follow. Clasa stumbled to the opposite wall, clinging to the stone for dear life. She pressed her forehead to the cool surface. "Stop," she groaned. "Stop. Stop." Her face twisted into a grimace. 

She opened one eye. "Kamal?" There was no response. Pushing through the pain, Clasa turned and looked around. Her heart dropped when she saw no one there. "Kamal?!"

Her spine prickled as a shout echoed from down the hallway. "Shit." She hissed, stumbling towards the stairs to the main corridor. Why did she run? Did she not learn from last time? A spike of pain shot through her skull, almost sending her to the floor. She reached out for the wall and pushed forward. Finally she made it to the top of the spiral staircase. From her position, she could look out the window onto the grand courtyard.

Something was happening. A crowd had gathered near the gate, which to her surprise was opened. Her eyes darted across the yard. Like an eagle, she zeroed in on a head of sleek black hair. "What are you doing?" She whispered furiously, but of course the girl didn't hear. At least two stories apart, Clasa could only watch as Kamal slowly approached the dwarves communing near the gate. A horse's whinny echoed through the air. Clasa peered down, moving automatically to the first few steps. A pony? No one keeps ponies here. As she rounded the second set of steps, she looked through the next window. A bit closer, she could see something on the pony's back. She gasped, her eyes flickering back to Kamal, who was completely unaware as she inched closer to the scene. 

Clasa hurried down the stairs, her heavy steps nearly blinding her with pain. She winced, stumbling to the main floor. The sun seared her vision as she exited the building. "Kamal!" She cried, arms lifting to shield her eyes. A keening wail shrieked in her eyes. Eyes watering, she moved her arms just enough to see ahead. 

Kamal stood just outside the crowd. Sunlight glowed red through loose strands of her hair. Clasa slowed to a stop, breathing heavily. Hearing her labored breaths, Kamal turned slowly, eyes finding the dwarf. Her face was drawn tight as if paralyzed.

As it dawned on her, Clasa's hands flew to her mouth in horror. She was too late. The girl had seen. 

Chapter Text

Kamal didn't mean to wander, but the lure of shouts from the courtyard was too hard to resist. She put the book stack on the floor. Sparrows fluttered in the rafters as she padded to the top of the stairs. She peeked over her shoulder. The double doors to Thevra's study were still in eyeshot. Standing on her toes, she peeked through the window facing out onto the courtyard. 

From up above, she had a nice view of the yard's layout. The cliffside stood opposite to the gate; a massive portcullis made of latticed metal. The gate was flanked by two towers in either side; the ones she'd run up in an attempt to escape. That seemed like forever ago, but she still got antsy whenever she and Clasa passed by the guards. Thankfully she hadn't seen Red-Face since... she could go the rest of her life without running into him again.

From the portcullis stretched the semi-circular wall connected to the cliffside. The courtyard itself was quite large, maybe the width of three school buses and the length of five. A wooden pergola covered nearly the entire yard, laced with vines that blocked the harshest rays of the sun. The bar where she had reunited with Hasdran and Darestrum stood to the far left, an unobtrusive stone building seemingly built into the wall, with stairs leading down into its roof from the ramparts. On the right were two more buildings, although these were fashioned more like apartment complexes, with multiple windows and at least two stories. Armored dwarves milled in and out of its door. A few were sparing in a fenced-in arena. Maybe that's Red-Face's office, she thought, remembering the dim room and the ill-fitting handcuffs. 

Suddenly, her eyes caught movement near the gate. It was being raised. A handful of guards filed out of the towers onto the ground level as the the gate stopped halfway drawn. To her surprise, a horse trotted through. There was a figure was on its back slumped over the saddle. As soon as the horse and rider where within the walls, the portcullis dropped with a clang. The horse snorted, pummeling the dirt as it spun. 

Drawn to the excitement, Kamal hurried down the stairs, completely forgetting to stay near her guardian. She hopped down the last two steps, landing with a grunt. Jogging through the swaying shadows of the vines, she looked ahead and saw a crowd accumulating. The horse's whinnies shrieked through the air like a whistle. Kamal slowed to a stop a few feet behind the dwarves. A least a dozen heads stood between her and the strange visitor, but she didn't want them to notice her. She went up on her tip toes again, straining her neck to see. 

One of the guards had finally gotten a hold of the horse's halter. He was trying and failing to calm it down as the animal wrenched its head back. Another guard yelled at the crowd, and people backed away. She heard a gasp, followed by a soft cry. The crowd began to mutter nervously. 

Up on her toes, Kamal finally got a good view. The horse paced anxiously as the dwarf with its halter cooed in a low voice. As the horse turned its body, Kamal saw the rider. Cold rushed through her. The rider was small, clearly a child. His face was pressed into the saddle, an arm draped around the pommel and another hanging at his side. A slight breeze rustled his straw colored hair. The long shaft of an arrow protruded from his back, like a pin in a butterfly. Flies buzzed around his head. The horse's withers and sides were stained with dry rivulets of crimson. Another guard slowly approached, taking his helmet off and setting it on the ground. He reached up, touching the boy's head. His body blocked the boy from view he tried to pull the arrow out, but it was firmly stuck. He called for help, and with two other guards keeping the horse steady he undid the saddle straps. The three guards eased the boy and saddle down to the dirt. There was a dark impression of sweat on the horse's grey coat. Foaming saliva dripped from its mouth as it gnawed on the metal bridle. Its ribs pressed up through its sides. 

As the horse was led away, Kamal could see the boy clearly again. He was lain awkwardly on his side, his legs still wrapped around the saddle. One of the guards propped his head up in his gloved hands as the others tried to detach the arrowhead from the pommel. The spectators looked on in disbelief at what must have once been the features of a little boy. Now all that remained was ashen skin drawn taught over skeletal features. Where there should have been eyes were now two bottomless holes, boring the crowd with an empty stare. 

Kamal's throat felt bone dry. She couldn't feel the warmth of the sun. The frightened voices of the dwarves drifted away on a current as she stared back into the child's vacant eye sockets. She almost forgot to breathe. 

A sharp spike of unease jolted through her as she heard her name on the wind. She turned slowly, the courtyard spinning as she did. Her eyes took a second to focus in. Clasa stood behind her, her hand clasped over her mouth. She looked behind Kamal, then right at her. She lowered her hand, her mouth hanging open in shock.

The crowd exclaimed simultaneously as, with a sickening sound, the guards pulled the arrow out of the boy's chest. Some mumbled prayers under their breath, looking down at their shoes or away to the cliff walls. 

Kamal stood frozen. Her vision pulsed. When she blinked, all she saw were the black holes in the boy's face.

She didn't remember being led out of the court yard. Or being brought to Hasdran, who watched her worriedly as his sister screamed into the room about arrows and monsters and cowards. Or the male dwarf trying to talk to her as Clasa stormed off. The day slipped away like water down a drain. Kamal found a spot on the floor and focused on it, everything else receding into a fog. 

She was silent as Clasa washed her hair and helped her change for bed. But as Kamal lay supine on the mattress, she felt the shadows of the bedroom creeping in. Cold sweat breaking out along her brow, she shot up and slipped out from under the covers. She opened her bedroom door. The hallway was pitch black save for a few mounted candles. She crept to the neighboring door. She took hold of the cold brass handle and pushed. To her surprise, it opened easily.

Clasa sat on the edge of her bed. She lifted her face from her hands, quickly wiping at her eyes. Her face was puffy in the faint light from the doorway. She sniffed, speaking softly.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Clasa asked, clearing her throat. The girl stared back at her with an unreadable expression. Her sleeping clothes looked too big on her, one pant leg tucked awkwardly into her socks. Clasa's smiled weakly. Her headache had faded, but sleep had evaded her too. She reached out a hand. "Come here."

Kamal closed the door and quickly climbed into bed, settling next to Clasa. Clasa lay on her side, taking slow breaths to calm her shaking nerves. They lay separated for a moment. As the minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, Clasa caught Kamal shivering. The room was not cold. She lifted her fingers to Kamal's face and tucked her hair behind her ear. She let her fingers sit on the crook of Kamal's neck as the child's face scrunched up. A hiccuping sound escaped her throat, but her mouth was sealed into a firm line. 

Before Clasa could say a word, Kamal suddenly moved closer to her, curling into her chest. Clasa covered the child's shaking shoulders, pressing her lips to the top of her black hair. Neither spoke. But as Kamal eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, Clasa stayed awake, her anger broiling within her like dragon fire. 

Chapter Text

"What the fuck is the point of being on the council if no one fucking listens to me?!"

Hasdran watched her pace like an angry animal. His chin was tucked into his chest, looking up through his dark brows with worried eyes. Darestrum sat across from him on Kamal's bed, rubbing his forefinger back and forth under his mustache. It was in the wee hours of the morning. Clasa, unable to sleep, had sent for them. They arrived in their robes and gathered in the child's bedroom. Clasa didn't want to be far from her own room, where Kamal was fast asleep. 

Leaning against the dresser, Hasdran scratched the back of his neck, gathering the courage to speak. "What do you propose?"

Clasa threw out his hands in an exasperated motion. "That we send a small force. But they'll shut it down, of course." She bent her fingers in quotation marks. "We'll not waste our soldiers on a useless endeavor." She gave him a side-eye. "Same answer as always."

"I don't think you give enough credit to the power you hold as member." Darestrum interjected.

Clasa huffed. "It's a sympathy seat."

Darestrum frowned. "You have done more than enough to earn your spot, even without your family name." 

The dwarf woman stopped pacing. Her eyes landed on one of the lit candles, watching the flame sway and flicker. Darestrum sighed heavily. "If I can make a suggestion..." The younger dwarves turned to him. "Going through the council only ensures nothing will ever be done." A half-smile tugged at his lips. "Trust me, a room full of bull-headed dwarves is not prone to making quick decisions. The girl is safe here, but you'd be a fool to think that there is no danger outside these walls. Not only Sverne..." He counted on his fingers. "Orcs, wolves... other humans. And there are plenty of dwarves in the castle who are still not keen on having an outsiders in our midst."

Clasa placed a hand on the belt of her robe, rubbing at it anxiously. Darestrum continued. "It's in her best interest that she learns how to defend herself. That we educate her not only in our texts and language, but combat."

Hasdran's eyebrows lifted. "Do you think she can even lift a sword?" He laughed softly before noticing Clasa's glare and shutting up. 

"We will find the tools that best serve her." Darestrum said. He put his hand over his heart. "I will be her teacher. I've taught plenty of young dwarves in my time... I'm sure teaching a human is no different." The smile lines around his eyes crinkled. "At least I hope so."

Hasdran glanced at his sister to gage her interest. But Clasa was staring at the floor, her eyes glazed over. Her eyebrows knotted together. "Her education..." She mumbled, as if in a trance. She blinked. "She will not be continuing with Thevra."

Hasdran leaned off the dresser. "What? Why? I thought it was going well." 

Clasa's face hardened. "She doesn't see the value is teaching someone who is not a dwarf." She shook her head. "Made that quite clear..." Darestrum and Hasdran looked at each other uncomfortably. Clasa straightened up, smoothing the skirts of her sleep clothes. "But it doesn't matter. I'll tutor her myself."

Hasdran made a face. "Clasa, that's..." "That's going to be quite a handful." Darestrum finished.

"I don't trust anyone else." Clasa declared stubbornly. "She's my responsibility."

There was a pause. Hasdran gazed into the candle. "I'm sorry." He muttered. 

Clasa and Darestrum both turned on him. "What?" Clasa asked. Hasdran flicked the side of his nose, crossing his arms. "I feel like I've brought this on you. All this shit started when I brought her back." He shook his head. "I just... I didn't mean to saddle you with a burden."

Clasa gawked at him. She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. Then she swung her arm back and punched him in the shoulder. Hasdran cringed. "OW." He whined. "What was that?"

Clasa smirked. "For being a sap." She looked down, snorting softly. "And a dumbass." She looked at her hand, flexing her fingers. "That kid is the best thing that's happened to me for a long time. From now on, we don't bother with the council. We're gonna do everything in our power to keep her safe and make her strong. She'll have a full life here, no matter how short."

Hasdran seemed surprised by her answer, yet also relieved. "Never thought I'd be an uncle so soon." He quipped.

Darestrum stood from the bed. "You two are like kin to me. And as far as I'm concerned, so is that little girl." He held out an arm to each of them. "I will raise her with you. Blood of my blood." Hasdran took one arm and Clasa the other, clasping his elbows and pressing their forearms to his. "Blood of my blood." They repeated in unison. Some of the tension lifted from Clasa's face, her eyes glittering with hope. "When we're done with her, that child will be a force to reckon with." 

Chapter Text

The candles were still snuffed out when Clasa shook Kamal awake. She'd woken up confused, slowly realizing that she wasn't in her own room. To her surprise Darestrum was also there, fully dressed and waiting patiently by the door. For a moment, Kamal wondered if there was an emergency. But Clasa was all smiles as she found clothes for the girl and helped her lace her moccasins. Clasa threw a coat waxed with some sort of oil over the girl's shoulders before the three of them moved out into the hallway. They walked in the opposite direction of the grand courtyard, deeper into the hill. Kamal peeked over the railing onto the floor below, her blood tingling when she saw how high up they were. With every outing, the castle seemed to grow deeper and deeper. 

Darestrum led them through the labyrinth and down half a flight of stairs. Soon, the light of early morning was visible in the vestibule ahead. Darestrum stepped aside, letting the Lady and her ward walk out onto the open-air square. The cold weather had returned with rain, the clouds casting the yard in a grey haze. Kamal looked up at the sky through bleary eyes, a few droplets of water splashing her coat. On all sides were stone walls carved with arcades. It was like someone had taken a cookie-cutter and cut a square straight out of the stone. The ground was covered in decorative terra cotta tiles. In the center of the square was a wooden rack stacked with weapons; swords, spears, axes and more. The metal glinted temptingly. 

Darestrum approached the rack, gesturing at it. He said something to Clasa in a proud, almost boastful tone. Clasa joked back. Kamal blinked sleepily. What time is it? Why are we out here?

Despite the light drizzle, Darestrum took off his coat and draped it over the rack. He rolled up his sleeves. As he surveyed the weapons, Kamal expected him to pick up a dagger, or a hatchet, or any one of the deadly objects. But instead he grabbed two plain wooden sticks, both the length of his forearms. Without warning he threw one at Kamal. The girl jumped, too groggy to catch it in time. It smacked her in the chest, tumbling out of her hands as she flailed in an attempt to grab it. Darestrum blenched. "Sorry, lass." He apologized, avoiding Clasa's look. He flipped the stick in his hand like a baton. "Get a feel of the weight." He said, nodding at Kamal. 

Kamal pick up the stick. It's hollow, she realized. She swung it around like a tennis racket, enjoying the swishing sound. "Alright, alright, 'nuff of that." Darestrum laughed. "It's not a toy." He straightened out his arm, fingers firmly gripping the wood. "First we're going to work on posture. No more slouching." He flipped the stick and tucked it into his belt. He approaching Kamal, placing his arm on her front and his other on the small of her back. He pushed, instantly straightening her spine. "Stand tall, but don't lock your knees." He gently knocked the back of her right kneecap with his knuckles. "Stagger your feet." 

Kamal widened her stance, bending slightly at the knees. Darestrum nodded. He stood opposite and took the same position. He slid back on his left foot, bending low. "See? Even weight..." He said, digging his heels into the stone and stomping once for good measure. "... Makes you harder to knock down." He leaned forward and demonstrated by giving her shoulder a little push. Kamal almost stumbled back. "Go lower." Darestrum instructed, gesturing down. Kamal did. When Darestrum tried to move her again, she was steady.

He smiled. "Good." He pulled the stick from his belt. "See how I hold it?" Kamal tried to copy his grip; but his hands were much bigger than hers. He took her hand in his, adjusting her fingers. "Don't hold it too tight," he said, letting out the stick about three fingers. "It's not a claymore. If you're too rigid, you'll tire out too fast." He pulled back. "It this the hand you write with?" Kamal looked at him with a confused expression. He made a writing motion. "Do you favor this side?" Kamal shook her head, still lost.

Darestrum looked at Clasa, who was seated under the shade of the arcade. She shrugged unhelpfully. "Nevermind," Darestrum muttered. He tapped her arm and her leg. "If your right hand is forward, your right leg is forward too." Kamal adjusted her position, nodding. 

"So when I move," Darestrum explained, sliding his right foot forward. "I move my front leg and arm together." With a step, he thrust his arm from an angle to straight, the stick rigid in his grasp. His movement was so sharp that it moved the air around Kamal. He returned to position. "Now you try."

Kamal saw his expectant face and prepared herself. Her fingers flexed. Taking a quick breath, she lunged forward and snapped her arm. "Huh!"

Darestrum came up close. Tapping her with his knee, he moved her front leg back an inch. He showed her how he'd moved his arm; bend the elbow 45 degrees, then swing hard. He swung once, stopping halfway through and shaking his head. He repeated the motion, swinging hard like a hitter in baseball, his arm curling around his body. 

"All the way through!" He said. "Don't stop at the target; strike through."

Kamal tried again, swinging harder this time. Wobbling a bit on the landing, she looked to the old dwarf for approval. Instead of criticizing her, he lined up at her side. Together they practiced the motion, again and again and again until her arm became sore.

Her hands were cold, her face slick with rain. She sniffed as her nose began to dribble. It was wet and miserable out, but Kamal's heart was pounding. It felt good to lash out. She'd been itching to get her blood pumping. It was a nice distraction from... what happened yesterday. The sticks must just be practice, she thought, eyeing the weapons excitedly. Morgan and Stella are gonna flip when I show them how to sword-fight. I can even show Pranani.

After more than two weeks, Kamal had resolved to make herself at home in this place. She'd enjoyed learning, and now she was getting to do cool stuff like fight. So what if the soccer ball hadn't transported her back? There's gonna be another way. There's always another way. She swung hard, and Darestrum remarked positively. Kamal broke out in a huge grin. I'll find my way home. I just have to be patient. 

Chapter Text

Kamal ate lunch on the floor in front of a communal hearth. She tore a chunk of bread from the loaf with her teeth, chewing heartily. She was tired, but in the good kind of way. Her arms ached. The fire was slowly melting away the cold in her bones. She had gotten so caught up in training that she'd been able to ignore her growling stomach, but now she was tearing through her second small loaf of bread.

Clasa had to leave to deal with something, so Kamal was left with Darestrum. Clasa always seemed busy, but with what Kamal couldn't guess. It felt a little like she was being passed off to a babysitter. Darestrum sat a few feet away at a table with another old dwarf. They were engaged in some sort of board game. It looked like chess but with different pieces. Neither spoke, hands on their chins in matched concentration. Kamal used the last bite of bread to soak up her soup before shoving it in her mouth. She stood, brushing the crumbs off her tunic, and walked a little closer to the table. Darestrum didn't even acknowledge her. He lifted a hand to the board, his fingers hesitating over a wooden piece. His opponent looked up, eyes narrowing, waiting for Darestrum to make his move. Darestrum's calloused fingers twitched. Then he moved his hand back to his beard, stroking it thoughtfully. The other dwarf harrumphed, sinking into his chair. 

Kamal watched as the old dwarves battled it out. After a morning of vigorous exercise, it was interesting to see her trainer so still. Each movement was painfully slow, calculated. Kamal stood by for a bit, then returned to the floor, stretching her arms and legs in front of the fire. She was eager to get back outside, but every time she checked the table the pieces had barely moved. 

She listened to the fire crackle and pop. She let her eyes close against the heat. The light glowed red through her eyelids. But in the red appeared two black dots; shivering like a mirage. The dots stretched and morphed, growing wider. Dark and empty, like... like... 

The face of the dead boy flashed before her as Darestrum erupted in laughter, the sound nearly sending Kamal flying out of her skin. The dwarf slapped the table top triumphantly, sending pieces scattering to the ground. "That's how you do it!" He roared. The other dwarf rolled his eyes. "Such a sore winner." He grumbled. 

Darestrum looked to Kamal with a boastful grin. "What do ya think of that?" Kamal regarded him with confusion. Darestrum waved him hand dismissively. "C'mon, girl, let's get back to it."

As Kamal got to her feet, the other dwarf rose. "What are you two up to?"

"None of your business. Don't you have a bookshelf to stock?"

"It's called a library, oaf. Ever been to one?"

Darestrum shoved the other dwarf playfully. The fake punched at each other, chortling. Darestrum smoothed his hair back, moving towards the door. Kamal gave the losing dwarf a polite smile before following closely behind her guardian. She didn't see his head tilt curiously as they walked out of the common room. 

✶

To her surprise, they didn't go back to the training square. They walked into grand courtyard. For a second, Kamal wondered if they were going to Tully's Bar; the place where she had reunited with Hasdran and Darestrum, and where she drank the funny tasting juice. But the old dwarf kept moving towards the gate. He stopped right at the base, craning his neck up to the towers. Kamal squinted up with him. The rain had slowed down, but the air was still thick with humidity. The towers were partially obscured by fog. Darestrum put two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. 

A helmeted head poked out of one of the tower's windows. An arm followed and the guard waved. Darestrum waved back as the guard slipped back inside. Within the walls there came a series of clanks and the squeal of metal. The portcullis shifted with a bang, then slowly began to rise.

The gate shuddered to a halt just a foot over Darestrum's head. He nodded for Kamal and they walked through. The wall must've been at least as thick 5 men shoulder to shoulder. As they emerged on the other side, the gate dropped with an earth-shaking thud. 

Kamal hadn't seen the other side of the wall since she had arrived. The sun shone weakly through the heavy clouds. In the pale light, Kamal could see a great expanse of land; grassland stretching endlessly into the horizon. A smattering of red hills rolled into the low hanging fog. The wind, undeterred by trees or walls, whipped harshly through her hair. She spat a lock out of her mouth. Should've brought a hair tie.

On their right lay a low wooden building; the first one she'd seen here. Every other structure was stone. Darestrum led her through an open side passage. Upon entering, Kamal realized that the whole stretch of the building seemed to be one single corridor lined with gated rooms. Something tickled her nose. She sniffed the air and winced. That smells like...

A goat bleated loudly from its pen. At least 20 more looked up momentarily, only to ignore the visitors and go back to munching on hay. As the girl and the dwarf walked down the aisle, the large pens gave way to individual stalls. Each stall door was fashioned with a hearty iron lock. Rams the size of horses poked their heads out of the openings above their doors, their curved horns barely fitting through. They jostled and bucked against the wooden sides of their enclosures. 

At the end of the stalls was a large space filled floor to ceiling with hay. Dust particles floated in the air like gnats. Darestrum grabbed two pitchforks leaning against the wall, passing one to Kamal. She frowned at it.

Hasdran cocked an eyebrow. "You think this is all fun and fighting?" He laughed, turning the pitchfork like a spear in his hand. "If I'm takin' the time to train you, you're gonna make up that time." He gestured at the mountains of hay. "Welcome to my work."

✶

After three hours of shoveling straw and shit around, Kamal was about ready to pass out. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. Loose pieces of fodder stuck out of her hair. Darestrum had worked her down to the bone; they'd mucked every stall, even the big pens, and replaced the hay. She had bruises forming where cranky goats had butted her with their horns when she'd tried to work around them. 

Kamal leaned on the staff of the pitchfork, trying to ignore the ache in her arms. This was not the good kind of sore.

Darestrum didn't even seemed phased. He finished up sweeping the remnants of hay out of the storage room, tapping the broom on the stone floor for good measure. He set the broom back on the wall and looked at her. "How you holding up, Reed?"

Kamal looked at him through her matted hair, unable to catch her breath to answer. She gave a weak thumbs up. Darestrum said something else, but she didn't recognize the words. He dusted off his hands on his front. Kamal straightened slowly, popping her spine. The dwarf swept in and took the pitchfork from her, leaving her staggering. The loose particles of hay made her throat itch with thirst. Darestrum turned to the back on the now empty room, the cleared walls revealing another door. He waved for her to follow.

The wind was a god-send. Breathing fresh air into her clogged lungs, Kamal rubbed the grime from her face with an equally dirty arm. Just outside the back door was a metal pump erupting from the earth. Darestrum grabbed a small bucket beside the fixture and started pumping until water poured from the spout. He kept going until the bucket was full, then gave it to the girl. She drank deeply, liquid spilling out of the corners of her mouth. Darestrum refilled it when she was done and drank his fill. Wiping her mouth, Kamal's eyes landed on a small paddock nearby. Inside stood a lone grey pony eyeing her cautiously with flattened ears. Her heart skipped a beat. The pony from yesterday. It had been cleaned, but its ribs were still visible. Darestrum caught her staring. He hooked the bucket on the pump and reached into his pocket. "Reed."

She turned and saw him holding something out to her. He turned it over into her open hand; it looked like a small oat cookie. He smiled at the pony. "Go on." 

The pony flicked it's ears as she approached the fence. She slipped her hand through the slots, the treat pinched between her fingers. The pony reached forward with its head, but flinched as Darestrum moved. He came up next to Kamal, taking her arm gently. Plucking the cookie out of her hand, he flattened her fingers and placed the cookie on top of her palm. He bobbed his head and let her go. Kamal put her hand back through, keeping her hand flat. Nostrils flaring, the pony plodded closer, its hot breath tickling Kamal's fingertips. Slowly, it planted its velvet snout on her hand. She felt its smooth teeth on her skin as it snuffled her palm, taking the cookie into its mouth. Kamal giggled at the tickling sensation. It lifted its head, crunching loudly, ears twisting this way and that at attention. 

Darestrum smiled warmly. He leaned on the fence. "I haven't named her yet. What should we call her?"

Kamal looked at him, giving a little shake of her head. Darestrum pressed his hand to his chest. "Name. Darestrum." He pointed to her. "Kamal." His finger gestured to the horse. He shrugged meaningfully. "Name?"

Name? Kamal eyed the pony. I get to name it? The pony snorted, twisting its neck to chew at its flank. It's dapple grey coat looked sleek like seal-fur in the pale sunlight. Kamal was close enough to reach out and pet it, but she didn't want to spook the animal. She looked down at her chest. Her metal buttons were a similar grey. She lifted her collar and tapped the button. "What's this color?"

"Button?" Darestrum mused. Kamal tapped her button again, then gestured at the pony. Darestrum squinted. The color of the horses' hide did have a nice shine to it, like a freshly printed coin. "Silver?" He asked. He hummed. "I like that."

Kamal repeated the word. "Silver." She put her arms on the plank like the old dwarf, leaning forward and watching the pony as it began to graze. "Silver is good." 

Chapter Text

Days alternated between sparring and studying. Although she'd never tell Clasa, Kamal definitely preferred her time with Darestrum, just because she got to hit something. She went to bed sore, woke up sore, and worked sore. But for the first time, she saw a little muscle forming on her arms. 

The hardest work with in the barn. Darestrum was in charge of the stables, and every time she went something needed cleaning or fixing. He always worked with her, helping her muck stalls, brush the goats, sweep the floors. Hay was delivered every week on a cart. She struggled to keep up with Darestrum and the delivery dwarf as they hauled bales of hay into the storage room. When they carried two bales each, Kamal could barely drag one off the back of the wagon. As hard as she tried, the dwarves were simply stronger than she was. 

The lowering orange sun signaled the approaching evening. Kamal sipped from the water pail as she watched Silver graze in the paddock. The pony's tail swatted at horseflies. She was noticeably gaining weight back, and had become less skittish around Kamal's presence. Kamal reached into her pocket and retrieved an oat cookie. Darestrum noticed that she always checked on the grey pony at the end of the day, so he'd taken to bringing her treats from the kitchens to offer. 

Kamal looked over her shoulder. Darestrum was still paying the cart driver. Ducking low, she dipped between two planks in the fence. Silver looked up, sniffing the air cautiously. Kamal lay the cookie on her flattened palm, clicking her tongue. "C'mon." She cooed. "It's ok." She stretched out, shuffling slowly towards the pony. Silver eyed her wearily. Kamal tutted. "Come here." 

Finally, Silver gave in. She walked to Kamal and took the food gently from her. As the pony chewed, Kamal ran her hand up and down the horse's nose. "Good girl." She whispered, her hand traveling up Silver's head and grabbing hold of her mane. "E-easy."  Squeezing her body between Silver and the fence, Kamal planted her heel on one of the lower planks. Her grip on the mane tightened. 

With a heave, she pushed with her right leg and swung her left over the pony's back. Immediately, Silver panicked. She squealed, taking off in a canter around the loop of the paddock. Kamal wrapped her arms around the pony's neck, clinging for dear life. "Whoa! It's ok! Slow down!" Kamal's heart jumped into her throat as Silver arched her back, trying to buck her off. Kamal's legs strained around the horse's sides. She wrapped her fingers tighter into the hair, pulling herself close to Silver's neck. "Easy!" 

Suddenly the pony threw her weight into the fence. Kamal felt her calf press against the wood painfully. She winced, pulling the mane like reins towards the center of the paddock. Air gust from Silver's nostrils as she jerked her head to the side, but she followed Kamal's direction. She turned towards the middle of the ring, almost tripping over her own hooves. Catching her breath, Kamal pulled right. Silver turned again.

Kamal slowly readjusted her seat, sitting up straight. "Ok, we're good. We're ok." She'd never been on a horse; not even those half-dead miniature ponies at carnivals. But how could she not try? And now that she was up here, she felt amazing. 

"Kamal?!"

Kamal's head turned, her blood rushing cold. Darestrum never used her real name. He stood bristling at the fence, his eyes wide and angry. Silver jumped at the loud noise. Darestrum shouted something else. Kamal's brain translated as fast as she could; Now-something-off!

But Silver was already on full alert. She bucked, whinnying frantically, and Kamal completely lost her hold. For a second, she was flying.

She slammed onto the ground, the force knocking the wind out of her lungs. Her body froze in shock. She barely had time to register the painful throbbing in her back when she heard Darestrum shout again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement from above, and she instinctively rolled to the side. As she did, Silver's hooves came slamming down, barely missing her head. The world blurred in a rush of dust and chaos. She felt strong hands wrap under her arms and drag her to safety as the pony kicked and stamped, snorting angrily. 

Kamal saw Darestrum's grey beard before his face. His lips were pulled back in a grimace. "What were you thinking?" He scolded, although his anger barely concealed relief. He sat the girl up, brushing off her back. "You don't just jump on a strange animal. Did you wanna get your head caved in?" 

Kamal blinked the stars out of her eyes. Something bubbled up out of her stomach. Her laugh started low, a sort of surprised huff. Then she doubled over, snickering uncontrollably. Darestrum stared at the girl as she fell into a fit of giggles. He brought a knee up, resting an arm on his thigh. Despite himself, he gave an exasperated smile. Kamal fell back into the dust, her face crinkling with laughter. Darestrum wiped at his brow with his forearm. "What am I going to do with you?" 

Chapter Text

Something was going on— Kamal could feel it in the air. Everyone was rushing around; moving furniture, dusting fixtures, rolling out carpets the length of football fields. She'd tried asking Clasa what was happening, but the dwarf seemed particularly flustered the last few days. She didn't even have time for language lessons.

Kamal sat on her bed, fanning through vocabulary cards. She rubbed absentmindedly at the bruise forming on her calf. Nothing was broken, thank goodness, but having the full force of a horse pressing her leg against wood definitely hurt.

The afternoon sun shone through her small window. She worked and read in her room, but hadn't slept in her own bed since the incident. Clasa's room was slowly becoming her own, her papers and drawings migrating to Clasa's floor. The dwarf didn't seem to mind, or maybe she just didn't voice it. Kamal just couldn't be alone in the dark. She'd tried to make it through a night alone, but every time failed miserably. She'd never had problems with the dark before. At home she'd slept in her own room ever since Pranani was old enough to complain about sharing with her little sister. 

It wasn't the shadows that bothered her... it was what she saw in them. The dark was never empty; as she would stare, shapes would appear. White eyes would blink from the ceiling above. Hands clawed their way along the walls. She never, ever, looked at the foot of her bed. She could feel a cold presence there, and knew if she dared look something would jump at her. 

There was a loud knock at the door. "Hello?" Kamal asked in Westron. Clasa was adamant about her using the new language as much as possible. In the month or so since she'd arrived, she had improved dramatically. Anything simple she could reply to, or at the very least translate in her head. It was when dwarves started rattling off long statements when her brain turned to mush.

Clasa's attendant, a blond dwarf named Agathaire, stepped into the room. Agathaire blanched. "Why aren't you dressed?"

Kamal looked down at her bedclothes. She hadn't bothered to change, given that both Clasa and Darestrum were too busy for her today. She looked at Agathaire. "Why?" Not quite the right reply, but close enough.

"The Gathering? Tonight? In the grand hall?"

Kamal shook her head. Agathaire sighed heavily. "Of course Clasa forgot to tell you." She crossed the floor to the dresser, swinging open the doors and rifling inside. "Not a damn thing to wear..." 

"What gathering?" Kamal asked. 

Agathaire started pulling items from the dresser, tossing the ones she deemed unacceptable onto the bed. Kamal ducked as a pair of trouser flew at her face. "The meeting of the Iron Hill's great families." Agathaire replied. "And the Lord of the Hills, Dain Ironfoot." 

Kamal frowned. "He's on the council?:

Agahaire scoffed. "No, of course not. What use would he have for a council?"

"But he's a lord, I thought—"

"He's THE Lord. The others... what would a human equivalent be..." Agathaire wondered, examining a dress but deciding against it. "It's like a king versus a duke." 

"So he's King?"

"No, no. There is no king."

Kamal sat back, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. I must've mistranslated. She decided not to press. Agahaire groaned in frustration. "How do you not have a single presentable dress?" She scowled at Kamal. "Get up. We're going to have to improvise."

✶

Agathaire stepped back from her work, pulling the sewing pin from her tightly clenched lips. She smirked proudly. "You're a friggin' miracle worker..." She muttered to herself. She scooped forward, cinching the belt tighter around Kamal's waist. "Take a look." She said.

Kamal turned and looked into Clasa's full length mirror. Agathaire had constructed a suitable outfit out of random articles of clothing. The long sleeve white linen under-dress was hers, as was forest green the jumper-dress. The dress was plain except for an intricately embroidered border along the hem. Everything else was ransacked from Clasa's room; a wide leather belt (that Agathaire had to punch notches in to fit Kamal), a short decorative jacket that fashioned diagonally across her chest, and a grey woolen scarf tucked into her neckline.

"You'd be surprised how cold the Hall get." Agathaire explained as she looked through Clasa's jewelry box. She'd taken a few items and put them on the vanity table; mostly hair pieces and rings. Clasa's hair was always intricately done, adorned with silver and gold clips. Kamal's ears weren't pierced, but Clasa's earrings looked too heavy to wear anyway. One item was larger than the others; a tortoiseshell hairpin with five teeth. The top was fan-shaped, decorated with ornamental brass to look like curling goat horns. Kamal picked it up to inspect, but Agathaire suddenly turned on her. "Don't touch that!" She snapped, grabbing it from her hands. Kamal's tongue tingled. "I'm sorry."

Agathaire quickly hid the hairpin away in the box. "Don't apologize. It's just... that's an heirloom."

Kamal swallowed down the anxious spike. "A what?"

"It was her mother's. It's been in their family for a very long time." Clearing her throat awkwardly, Agathaire held up another hair piece. "This one she's fine sharing. I think it'll go well with the jacket." She had Kamal sit and set to braiding her hair, her fingers working like machinery. She braided under-hand, making two plaits and twisting them together to make a bun. She pinned it in place with simple silver clips. Kamal felt her fit the hair piece between her bun and the back of her skull. "Perfect." Agathaire said. "Wait! Shoes!" They returned to Kamal's room. The shoe collection left a lot to be desired. "Argh. Just wear these," Agathaire relented, giving Kamal her plain felt boots. 

The attendant was already heading for the door as Kamal slipped her last boot on. She looked back and inspected Kamal, cocking an eyebrow. "It'll have to do. Now come, we need to find our Lady." 

✶

They arrived just as the party was getting underway. The Hall was at the heart of the castle. The ceiling so high up it was barely visible. The floor was multi-tiered with three levels so that visitors walked onto the highest concentric square, only to make their way down steps to the dance floor at the base. The walls were uncut stone, the true face of the mountain framed by polished walkways and arching corbels supporting balconies fixed directly to hidden passageways in the hill. 

Braziers burned with tall fires, illuminating the colossal space in a warm glow. At last 100 dwarves milled about, but the Hall still looked practically empty. A band of musicians were setting up their instruments in an orchestra pit situated near the dance floor. 

Agathaire ushered Kamal down the first flight of stairs to the second level. Agathaire scanned the hall. "She's got to be here somewhere..." But they didn't have to look long; Clasa came jogging towards them, lifting her long maroon skirts. Her short heels clicked on the stone. "There you are!" She smiled. She slowed, smoothing out her skirts and taking hold of Kamal's shoulder. "You look very nice." Kamal smiled back.

"You didn't tell her about the Gathering." Agathaire butt in. "She wasn't even dressed. I had to scavenge this together."

Clasa flushed. "Ah, whoops. My apologies." She nodded at the girl, then Agathaire. "If it's worth anything, thank you for saving my ass. Again."

Agathaire snorted. "That's what I'm here for. Now if you ladies are all set, I have other chores to attend to."

Clasa pouted. "No, you should stay! At least for a little bit."

Agathaire eyed her, then shrugged. "... maybe I'll drop by, once the party's really in the swing of things."

Clasa grinned. "Good. I'm holding you to that." Agathaire waved at her dismissively, chuckling softly as she ascended the stairs. Clasa turned to Kamal. "So, what do you think?" She asked, gesturing to the Hall. 

"It's... big." Kamal replied, eyes traveling up to the towering ceiling. "Hm." Clasa agreed. "Did Aga explain what's happening?"

"A little." Kamal dug her thumbnail into her pointer finger. "Do I have to talk to people?"

"You will, but I'll be with you." She held out her elbow, and Kamal slipped her arm into the gap. They walked slowly along the second floor. "I don't want you to worry." Immediately, Kamal started to worry. Clasa continued, "Think of it as a formal introduction. Everyone from the council will be here tonight, including Lord Dain. You don't have to do much, just a simple 'hello'." 

Wait, introduction? Kamal's heart hammered. She flashed back to her trial, being surrounded by distrusting eyes on every side. Her skin crawled. This isn't a party — this is a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Kamal stood like a wallflower at the edge of the party. It was all so overwhelming; the crowd, the music, the cacophony all echoed by the stone chamber. It was like a whole town had been invited. Guests filled every level of the tiered room, drinking copious amounts of beer, wine and mead. Servers ran in and out of the hall with platters upon platters of every food imaginable. While there was a draft like Agathaire had warned, the closeness of hundreds of bodies generated quite a bit of heat. Kamal loosened the scarf around her neck. 

A handful of dwarves arrived as couples, but the majority came in small packs 5 to 10 strong. There were fare more male than female dwarves; Kamal could guess from their different clothes. The girl dwarves wore dresses and styled their hair more intricately. Their beards were also a lot shorter. The couples took to the dance floor while most of the groups stuck together like cliques in a school cafeteria. Luckily, no one seemed to notice the girl in the din of the orchestra. She took a small sip from her goblet. Clasa called the drink 'clary'."It won't make you dizzy." She'd promised. Kamal liked the taste; cinnamon, clove, ginger and honey.

Clasa was close by speaking to a trio of dwarves. She'd spent the last hour or so talking to anyone who approached. She was a natural, greeting each visitor like an old friend. At some points in the evening a line actually formed in front of her. So far Clasa hadn't called on Kamal, much to her relief. She was perfectly happy standing in the shadows and people-watching.

She jumped as a horn sounded through the Hall. The music stopped. Heads turned towards the entrance as an awed hush fell over the room. 

Kamal stepped away from the wall, craning her neck to see. Under the 3-pointed arch, she could make out a mass of shadows moving towards the Hall. The leader of the procession stepped into the light. "Whoa", Kamal whispered. 

The head of the group was a tank, even by dwarven standards. His rust colored mane and beard glowed like copper in the light of the braziers. He stopped at the top of the stairs.  Glittering dark eyes gazed out across the hall as his mustache twitched in a smile. 

Someone began to stomp their foot on the floor. Other's joined, until the cavern filled with a drum-like beat. A chorus erupted from the mass; their voices deep and bassy. Kamal glanced at Clasa and saw her looking up at the red-headed dwarf, loudly reciting alongside her brethren. It did not sound like Westron; Kamal didn't recognize a single word. Hundreds of voices sang out guttural, almost harsh, sounds that blended almost lyrically. 

"—Mashmakhthi, Uzbad Zirin-basn." 

Kamal watched the dwarves as they greeted the Lord with their voices. In the back of her mind, she had a feeling that she was witnessing something sacred. 

The Lord, Dáin, held up his hand. "Shamukh! Khazdâna, khazdân utmân Gazaz Bhanad, dolzekh menu. Gayyadmâ!" 

Everyone raised their drink off choice in unison, cheering and whooping before tipping their mugs back. Clasa shotgunned her wine, wiping her lips and laughing with the others. Kamal realized she was behind and tried to chug, immediately chocking and falling into a spasm of coughing. 

The music rose again and the dwarves returned to chattering. Kamal watched Dáin descend the stairs, his posse fanning out behind him. The red-haired dwarf was decked out in ornamental armor. His torso was covered in a tunic of iron rectangular plates set in rows. Long auburn hair draped across a black pelt, fastened across his collarbone with a gold clasp. A knee-length maroon kaftan fell down to his metal studded boots, the gold embroidery in the fabric shimmering as he moved. 

Kamal nearly dropped her cup as Clasa teleported at her side, taking hold of her bicep. "Its time." She whispered ominously, snatching Kamal's drink out of her hand and setting it on a nearby table. "I'll do the talking. Just say hello." Kamal nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. Clasa waved her hand, and the movement caught the Lord's attention. He stopped on the second level, turning and approaching her. "Is that who I think it is?" He bellowed, a broad smile appearing under his beard. He threw out his arms. "My Raven-Hair beauty! How are you!"

Beaming, Clasa nearly jogged to him, pulling Kamal alongside her. She released the girl's arm and wrapped her fingers around Dáin's meaty forearm, squeezing it tightly in greeting. Kamal slid behind Clasa, trying to hide herself behind the dwarf woman's tall hairdo. 

"I am well." Clasa smiled. "You seem in high spirits."

Dáin chortled. "You know I love a good Gathering. And what a turn out!" He grinned at the room. "The whole of the Iron Hills out in force. Almost makes me want to cry—" 

"Please don't." Her shoulders lifted with a deep breath. "I don't want to keep you, but we need to talk." 

Dáin's eyes twinkled knowingly. "Is this about the human?"

Clasa's mouth fell open. She guffawed. "I..."

Dáin nodded behind her. "Is that them there?"

Clasa stepped aside, revealing Kamal. Kamal stiffened. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she pressed them at her sides and stood straight like a toy solider. Dáin stood a few inches over her head. His body was at least three times as wide as her's. Up close, she could see his mustache and chin were greying. His high forehead was decorated with tattoos, and he had a crooked nose. There were two pearly tusks attached to the ends of his upturned mustache. He eyed her up and down, not speaking.

Panicking, Kamal gave a small bow. "It's very nice to meet you." She recited woodenly, speaking to the floor. 

Her spine tingled as Dáin broke out in throaty laughter. The other's behind him chuckled. She nearly toppled to the ground as a massive force slammed down on her back. It was Dáin's hand patting her. She looked up at him, backing up a step. Her face burned red hot. 

"No need to be so formal!" Dáin said. "This is no mannish court." His eyebrows lifted as Kamal stood. "Sweet Mahal, you're tall!" He eyed Clasa. His voice changed, switching to the mysterious alien language. "So this sprout is your daughter, I hear. Ya didn't think to run that by me before officiating it?"

The dwarf woman took hold of her belt. "I would've, Lord, but time was of the essence. Leadroch was threatening to expel her from the castle."

Dáin snorted with distain. "Why doesn't that surprise me... what say the small council?"

"Haven't hear any complaints, at least not to my face." She lifted her chin. "But I would like your blessing, to make it official."

Dáin cocked an eyebrow. "Do ya now... and what if you have child of your own, or yer brother finds a wife? Do I need to worry about the human competing with 'em for inheritance of your line?

Clasa's expression turned somber. "You know their lifetimes are a sliver of ours. She will be in the twilight of her life long before any child of mine is old enough to take my seat. I do this not for security of my family title on the council." She put a hand on Kamal's shoulder. "If I'm to raise her, I want her protected by dwarven law. You know I would not give my name lightly..."

Dáin was silent, reading Clasa with an indecipherable look. One of his posse leaned close to him, whispering in Westron. "Lord Dáin, is it wise to speak Khuzdul in front of a foreigner?" 

The Lord turned on him, replying in Khuzdul. "What's it matter? She's lived with us for—" He looked at Clasa. "How long?"

"One and a half months." She replied.

"Aye, that. Sure she's heard it before." He slipped his thumbs in his belt loops. "And she ain't a foreigner anymore."

Clasa's heart skipped a beat. The Lord dipped his head to her. "I see no harm in giving the girl a home. It's a righteous thing, Lady Clasa, to take her in." He whistled over his shoulder. "Bram! Get your arse up here!" 

A relatively young dwarf holding a binder spilling over with loose parchment poked his head out of the back of the line. He hurried to the front, opening the binder and pulling a quill from his pocket. He lifted one hand, a watch-like instrument around his wrist popping open to reveal a vial of ink. "Yessir, ready." He panted. 

Dáin switched to Westron, his gaze falling on Kamal. "Put it in the records; what's your name, child?"

Kamal swallowed. "Kamal Rajora."

Bram scribbled the name down. Dáin reached out to her, his hand outstretched. Looking at it uncertainly, Kamal waited for Clasa's nod of approval before taking it. Dáin did not shake, only holding her hand in his. Bram wrote furious as he spoke. "I, Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, grant you the name 'Kamal Rajora of Linnar's Folk' ." His grip tightened slightly. "From here on, you are joined to the lineage of the Broadbeams, and have every right and honor of a natural born dwarf." 

Clasa inhaled shakily, barely bottling her overwhelming joy. It was finally happening. By all accounts, the human was now considered a dwarf. She would be granted protection by the Lord of the Iron Hills. And if Sverne ever came for her, he would be breaking their already shaky treaty. If he attacked someone who, in the eyes of their law, is a dwarf, he's dead on sight. She felt like she was floating on clouds.

Dáin released Kamal's hand, smiling down at her warmly. "I welcome you, Dwarf-Kin."

Kamal smiled. She could feel Clasa radiating with joy behind her. Dáin glanced at his scribe. "You get all that?"

Bram nodded, blowing on the ink to dry. 

The welcome horn sounded again and they all looked up. Kamal saw a male dwarf with wavy jet black hair. He was dressed rather plainly compared to the other guests; only wearing a simple blue tunic over dark trousers. Even from some distance away, Kamal could make out his icy blue eyes surveying the hall. Dáin sighed "Tardy as always." He winked at Clasa. "Family calls. Save a dance for me?"

Clasa, distracted by the newcomer, jolted out of her stupor. "Course. Thank you, Lord Dáin."

Dáin grinned and turned back to the stairs, his pack following him like sheep after a shepherd.

Kamal gave Clasa a look. She was fixated on the blue-coated dwarf. "Clasa?" Clasa turned bright red. Then she smiled, the unease lifting from her eyes. She leaned her head to Kamal's, pressing her forehead to the girl's. "Nâthuê kurdu..." She whispered. Butterflies floated in Kamal's stomach.

Clasa pulled away, gesturing with her head towards the dance floor. "Come. Let's dance!" 

Chapter Text

Kamal could sense eyes on her back as Clasa pulled her onto the packed dance floor. Bodies swayed and bounced to the music, clustering together in a spinning vortex of beards and body heat. A musician squeezed an air-filled bag under her elbow, fingers dancing along the pipe as she tapped her heel to the rhythm. The other musicians accompanied her with drums, a mandolin, a fiddle and an accordion. 

Clasa spun Kamal about, drawing a surprised giggle out of the girl. Kamal watched Clasa's feet jig and hop. She tried to copy her movements. The music heightened, and Clasa dipped down and lifted Kamal by her waist. Kamal shrieked in delight, surprised how strong Clasa was. The dwarf plopped her back down, grabbing her hand and reaching out with her other. 

One of the other dancers swept in and took Clasa's outstretched hand. They joined a a chain of dancers hand-in hand. The partiers turned in time to the music, energetically rollicking right then left. Sweat beading on Kamal's forehead. Her skirts rustled around her legs as she tried to keep up. 

As soon as it had started the line broke, dwarves spinning out in every direction. Some hit Kamal accidentally on the shoulder and she slipped out of Clasa's grasp. She stumbled, her smile fading as she looked and didn't see her guardian. She called out, her voice lost entirely in the noise. She grunted; another dwarf had jostled against her. She ping ponged between bodies, barely missing having her soft-toed shoes squashed by heavy boots. 

Just when she was starting to worry, an arm laced around her waist. Clasa drew her close to her side. Her face glowed with exertion. Kamal smiled with relief, wrapping her own arm around Clasa and whirling with her back into the fray.

✶

Kamal absentmindedly swung her legs as she munched on an apple tart. She'd found an open chair on the perimeter of the dance floor and was taking a moment to catch her breath. She'd danced with Clasa for a while; could've been thirty minutes, could've been hours. Her skin was flushed. She was dead tired, and hungry, but the pastry was helping. 

Clasa had wandered to one of the tables for a drink. But she was lingering, talking to seemingly every dwarf in her vicinity. Kamal watched the drinking mugs pile up around her as the night dragged on. 

Kamal's eyes fluttered. It was warm, and the voices and music had blended into a comforting thrum. As her head started to roll sleepily, she caught a sudden strange movement in her periphery. Clasa was making her way sloppily towards one of the serving doors. Kamal got up, instantly on alert. Something's wrong. She put her plate on the chair and hurried after Clasa. 

Slipping through the doorway, she was surprised to see that the hallway was quite long. The noise of the party was muffled in the narrow space. A faint line shone down the hall, so Kamal followed it. "Clasa?" She picked up the pace, her footsteps echoing. "Cla-a-sa?" 

The hallway suddenly turned. Kamal nearly went tumbling as she skidded to a stop. At the base of an ascending staircase, Clasa lay groaning in a heap. Kamal ran to her. She fell on her knees at her side, gagging as a sour smell hit her nose. The front of Clasa's dress was coated in vomit. 

Clasa wiped at her mouth with a shaking hand. "I're gone want the Gathering..." She slurred.

Grimacing, Kamal ducked under her and helped her to her feet. "We'll get help." She turned to head back outside, but Clasa dragged her feet. "Nuhh... I can't. Duh'n let'em see me like... like..." Her face twisted. She almost looked like she was going to cry. 

"Ok, ok." Kamal relented. She turned her head to the stairs. She couldn't even see the end. She sighed. "Don't worry. Let's go to bed."

✶

Kamal's body ached as she dragged Clasa's half-limp form up the stairs. If only she had Agathaire; she could really use the extra pair of hands. Clasa could barely lift her own feet. If she fell asleep now, Kamal wouldn't be able to stop her from falling backwards.

Finally, she came to a door. She leaned against the wall, heaving. She took hold of the handle and turned. 

The other side of the door was illuminated by the candle at the top of the stairs. Two pairs of eyes turned on her, squinting in the sudden burst of light. Kamal gasped. It was Dáin and the blue-coat dwarf from earlier. They seemed to have been in the middle of a conversation. They stared at her with equally bewildered and angry expressions. 

Kamal shrank back. She gathered her breath from the initial shock. "C-Clasa got sick."

Blue-Coat cursed under his breath. "What has she done now?" He muttered, storming towards her with alarming urgency. He slipped one of Clasa's arms around his shoulder, instantly relieving Kamal from the weight. "Thorin, have the girl show you to the Lady's room," Dáin ordered. "I need to get back to the others. Thorin nodded, exchanging a final glance with the Lord as he led Clasa after the human child.

✶

Clasa nearly toppled onto her bed as Thorin eased her onto the comforter. She groaned, rolling onto her back. Thorin took her shoulder and pulled her so she leaned on her side, propping her body with pillows. "I need a bowl, or chamberpot." He said.

Kamal found the small tin basin Clasa used to wash her face in the morning and evening. She handed it to the dwarf, who placed on the floor just within reach of Clasa. To catch throw up, Kamal thought squeamishly. "Will she be ok?" She asked.

"She will be fine, given time. All she'll have in the morning is a vague memory and a pounding head ache."

Kamal tugged at the end of her sleeve. "What if she gets sick again?"

"She shouldn't." He sat up, looking over Clasa. "She's fast asleep." Thorin glanced at the girl. Kamal was watching over her guardian with a nervous expression. He sighed. "Do you want me to stay?"

Kamal nodded.

"I will watch her until she wakes. You did well; you should rest."

Kamal's gaze fell to the floor. "No thank you."

Thorin frowned. "Are you sure?" Kamal nodded again. 

Thorin exhaled through his nose. "Alright." He walked a few steps, scanning the walls. A low fire crackled in the fireplace. He stopped in front of it, lifting his hands to warm them. His bulky frame cast the room in shadow. Kamal's stomach flipped. She realized only now that she was in a room, practically alone, with a strange man. But she didn't want to leave Clasa.

"So tell me..." Thorin spoke, his voice low. "What brings a human to the Iron Hills."

Kamal shrugged, although he wasn't facing her. "It's kind of a long story."

The dwarf turned, his ink-black waves falling over his shoulder. He regarded her with pale blue eyes. "It is a while until the sun rises." He gestured at one of Clasa's reading chairs. "And I'm curious to know."

Kamal stopped fiddling with her sleeve. He seemed genuinely curious, and who knew when Clasa would wake up. Kamal took a seat across from the stranger, settling in for a long evening. 

Chapter Text

Kamal shifted under Thorin's scrutinizing gaze. The fire on her right made her side uncomfortably warm. Thorin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "They say you are an outlander." Kamal snapped to at the sound of Thorin's deep voice. "Westron is not your first language?" He continued.

"You've heard of me?" Kamal asked, forgetting his questions. Thorin smiled half-heartedly. "Of course." Kamal crossed her legs up on the chair, tucking her skirt under her shins. Word spreads fast. "Where is your home?" The dwarf asked. 

Kamal's mouth turned dry. "I think... it's really far away." He peeked at her from the under his dark eyebrows. "You think?" "The maps here don't look like the maps I see. Saw." She corrected, unsure of the tense.

He was quiet for a moment. "This 'far away' land... does it have a name?"

"Maryland."

"Merry Land? Sounds lovely."

"It's fine." Kamal shrugged offhandedly. Thorin looked at her quizzically. "You don't seem fond of it."

Kamal's jaw tightened, suddenly defensive. "My family is there. I miss them."

"Then why not return?"

"I can't." She stared down at her hands. "I don't know how."

Thorin didn't respond for a moment. Kamal sat very still. Thorin spoke quietly. "Tell me of your family." He prompted. Kamal's eyes lifted. "I have an older sister, Pranani. She's 16. Mom and Dad both work..." She couldn't think of any Westron word even close to describing 'Information Technology', so she decided to leave it. 

"Do they know you are here?"

Kamal swallowed thickly. She shook her head. She had tucked thoughts of her family back into the recesses of her mind just so she could make it through each day. Now all she saw were their faces. Her heart sunk, and tears pressed behind her eyes. "I was at soccer practice," She sniffed. "And the ball went out of bounds, so I went to go get it, and then it was cold and the woods were different. And I tried to go back but I couldn't find the field..." 

Thorin was silent as the girl rattled on, trying to be patient but not quite following. Soccer? He could see the emotion rising behind her eyes. He had to distract her fast before the conversation turned into crying. "I have a sister as well." He said. Kamal brightened, looking up at him. "And a brother. I am the eldest of three." His eyes shifted to the fire. "Dís and Frerin. Frerin was... lost in combat. Dís is the mother of my sister-sons, Fili and Kili." He chuckled. "They're spitfires, just like their mother."

Thorin ran his thumb quickly under his nose. A dark cloud settled over the dwarf. His eyes seemed to glaze over. "My home is very far away, like yours... and I too cannot return. Not yet." One of his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Kamal sniffled. "Why not?"

A furrow formed between Thorin's brows. His head tilted slightly, the metal beads in his braids clinking together. "You do not know?" Kamal shook her head sheepishly. "It was taken by Smaug, a fire-drake." Thorin's lips pressed together in a thin line. "He ravaged Erebor and our neighboring city, Dale. He drove us from our land, and has remained there ever since."

Fire-drake? Kamal realized with a start. There are dragons here?  "I'm really sorry." She offered weakly. 

To her surprise, Thorin smiled. "That is kind of you to say." Suddenly he stood. He turned to Clasa's bookshelf. "Seems we are both lost..." he whispered, reaching out and grabbing a box stored horizontally under a small pile of texts. He twisted it, looking at the engraving on top. "Do you play?"

Kamal sat up a little. "What is it?" 

"Striking Guard."

Kamal shook her head. 

Thorin took the chair across from her, pulling a nightstand between them. He slid the top panel off the box, pulling out a board and rectangular container filled with wooden pieces. Kamal recognized it as the game Darestrum was playing the other day. Thorin set up the pieces; half on his side, half on Kamal's. As he showed her how to move them; she realized it was more like checkers, not chess. Some of the vocabulary was lost on her, but she could follow his movements well enough. The board was painted with interlocking lines, each meeting point overlapped by a white or tan tile. Thorin moved his piece diagonally. He never lifted the game-piece; they had to travel along the lines.

Kamal felt his glacial eyes on her as she tried to make her own move. She went diagonally too, but he shook his head. "Only the North-facing move at an angle." He explained. "You have to move forward or back." Kamal did as he said, but as soon as she moved he crossed his marker over hers and stole the peice. Kamal scowled at the board. Thorin tried to hide his amusement. "This is practice. Don't take it too seriously." 

They went back and forth for several minutes, Kamal repeatedly losing pieces to him and getting more annoyed. Clasa mumbled in her dreams. Kamal's attention was drawn to the sleeping dwarf by her soft sounds. Thorin noticed. "You act as if you've never seen a drunk person."

Kamal began to shake her head, but paused. "I went to Tully's bar; people were drinking there. And one time my sister came home and she was falling around, but she made me keep it a secret from my mom and dad." Her nose wrinkled a little. "It makes them smell weird." Thorin chuckled under his breath. "It can be unpleasant." 

After a few more turns, he asked unprompted. "What is your true language?"  Kamal shook her head. "I don't know the Westron words." "Then what are your words?" Kamal looked up at him. "English." She said. "And Punjabi with my family." 

Thorin hummed. "I've never heard of those dialects. And two, along with learning Common speak..." He nodded approvingly. "You are very talented." Kamal blushed. "Sometimes your words sound like English. I can guess some of them."

"And the other? Your family tongue?" "Not really." Kamal made a move on the board. Thorin followed suit. "May I try speaking your tongue?" He asked.

Kamal blinked. "Oh... s-sure. Um." Her mind went fuzzy as she tried to think of something simple. "Hello in English is 'Hello'." Thorin sat up straight like a student at attention. "Hu-llo." Close enough. Kamal nodded. "And in Punjabi, say 'Sat sri Akaal '."

"Sus... ris..."

"Sri." Kamal corrected.

"Sat Sri Akaal." Thorin lifted his eyebrows. "How was that?" 

"Good." The corners of her mouth dipped, and she fell back into silence. Thorin frowned. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing. Just... you're the first one to ask about what I speak."

"That surprises me." Thorin took a wooden piece between his thumb and forefinger, but hesitated. "So, Clasa is the one who has cared for you, I take it?" Kamal's eyes fell on Clasa's sleeping form once more. She smiled. "Yeah." She fiddled with one of the few pieces she'd won from Thorin's side. "Are you her friend?"

Thorin's head jerked up. "What makes you say that?" Kamal was alarmed by his knee-jerk reaction. "I... I dunno, you just... seem like you know her." Thorin drew his cheek between his teeth, gnawing thoughtfully. Then he took another one of her pawns, much to her dismay. He spoke lowly, almost like he didn't want Clasa to overhear. "I know her family. They used to live in Erebor as well. After the dragon came, they moved here along with most of our people."

"But you didn't?" Kamal asked.

Thorin shook his head. "No. Some..." his eyes flitted about as he searched for the right words. "Some of us needed more space. The memory of it was still raw. But as I was saying," he continued, deftly switching topics, "It was years before she was born... but the majority of her clan was lost to the fire. Grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunts. A clan 100 strong, reduced to a mere 15. Like so many others." His voice trailed off. Slowly, he peeked over his shoulder. Clasa still had not opened her eyes. Thorin's face grew grim. "And as far as I know, now only she and her brother remain."

A knot formed in Kamal's stomach. "You said 15 made it."

Thorin turned back to the board. "15 arrived here, yes, but 13 lives were taken; whether it be illness, or accident, or attacks from orcs. Some think their lineage is unlucky... perhaps even cursed. Like some evil from that day followed them. But she will return home with all of the other inhabitants of Erebor." He grit his jaw. "Do you ever feel an ache for it? For home?"

"Sometimes," Kamal replied quietly. The flames in the hearth dipped for a moment, shivering as if disturbed by a breeze.

"For so long, I thought I could make a new life in Eriador. I thought I had found some peace," he shook his head, "but the mountain calls for me. For all of us."

Kamal stared at him. Something about him had changed. As his dark hair framed his face, a shadow lay over his brow. The look in his eyes seemed pained but determined. Though he only had a few streaks of silver in his mane, he suddenly carried the weight of something far older than he looked. "Promise me something." He said suddenly. His gaze bore into her. "No matter what happens, we will both find our way home; to our true homes."

For a second, she couldn't tell if he was being serious. But he extended his arm to her. She took it, as she had seen dwarves do, holding his elbow with her slender fingers. "I promise." She uttered. 

Chapter Text

Kamal's eyes snapped open at the sound of a knock on the door. "Clasa?" The muffled voice came through. Kamal sat up, her muscles sore from sleeping in the chair. Thorin was gone, and Clasa was still asleep. Luckily, nothing from her stomach was in the wash basin. Kamal slid to her feet, padding to the door and opening it.

Agathaire looked at her, then peered into the dim room. "Mahal's Balls." She cursed. "What happened?" She pushed passed the girl, quickly running to relight the hearth. Clasa groaned as the light from the hall hit her eyes. Kamal went to her side. "Are you ok?" She asked.

Clasa ran a hand down her face. "I would welcome death." She muttered, turning away from the brightness. Then she sniffed and shot up. "Ugh!" She looked down at her soiled dress. "Fuckin' disgusting!" She squinted at Kamal. "You let me sleep like this?"

Kamal pulled away. "Thorin didn't want to take your dress off."

Clasa gawked at her. Agathaire snapped her head around. The log in her hand toppled ungracefully into the coals, shooting up sparks. There was dead silence.

Clasa swallowed. "Who?" She choked.

Kamal looked between the two dwarf women, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. "T-the guy in the blue jacket. Dáin's friend. He helped bring you back here, and he stayed up with me in case you threw up." She paused and added softly, "again."

Clasa turned beet-red. The blond dwarf by the hearth clapped her hand over her mouth, suppressing shocked laughter. Clasa glared at her. "Laugh, and I'm banishing you." Agathaire wiped a tear from her eye. "Sorry, Lady." She snickered. Clasa looked back at Kamal. "So you're telling me he saw... this?" She asked, gesturing to herself. "All of this?" Kamal nodded.

Taking a pillow stained with eye make up in her hands, Clasa pressed it into her face and screamed. Kamal watched her, unsure of what to do with herself, while Agathaire awkwardly poked at the fire. 

They all jumped as there was another knock at the door. With astonishing speed, Agathaire crossed the room, pressing her weight against the wood. "Who is it?" 

"Thorin, miss. I wanted to check on the Lady. Is she well?"

Clasa threw the pillow back on the bed. "FuckmeFuckmeFuckme." She leapt to the floor, gesturing wildly at Kamal and Aga. What do I do? She mouthed. Kamal clammed up. Agathaire waved at Clasa to move. "Get behind the screen! " She hissed under her breath. 

"Pardon?" Came the male voice as Clasa dove behind the changing screen. Agathaire peeked through the crack in the doorway. She smiled warmly. "Hello, sir, how are you this fine morning?"

"I'm well." He replied curtly. Kamal could see his shadow moving in the sliver of light. "I'm sorry I stepped out for a moment; is she awake?"

"Oh, she's just risen," Agathaire said, laying down the honeyed tone. 

"How is her, um, condition?"

Agathaire smiled. "Just dandy."

Kamal heard Clasa groaning behind the screen. "Oh no..." As Agathaire kept Thorin busy at the door, Kamal stepped to the screen. "You okay?"

"I-I think I'm going to be sick again."

Kamal blanched. Clasa retched, and the girl's stomach twisted with nausea at the sound. She darted to the bed and grabbed the basin, swinging it around the screen into Clasa's hands. She caught a glimpse of her as she did. Clasa's dress was half peeled off, her underclothes sticking to her damp skin. Her face had gone from red to greenish. She gripped the edges of the basin for dear life.

"Lady Clasa?" Kamal spun around. Thorin was trying to look past Agathaire, who despite her best efforts was too short to block his veiw. "Are you alright?" Thinking fast, Kamal went to Agathaire's side. "Hi Mr. Thorin."

Thorin's worried expression faltered. He smiled. "Good morning. Did you get any sleep?"

"A little." Thorin nodded. "How is your guardian?" Kamal opened her mouth, but as she did they all heard the unmistakable sound of someone's guts emptying out. Thorin grimaced. "Ah." He muttered, looking away, abashed. Kamal forced a smile, doing her best Agathaire impersonation as the real Aga looked on. "Can you come back later, maybe?"

Thorin nodded, blushing with discomfort. "Yes, that's... that's probably for the best." He nodded to the girl and attendant and walked briskly away. Agathaire closed the door, locking it and exhaling. Down on the floor, Clasa moved the screen a little ways to look out at them. Sweat dripped down her forehead. "Kamal?" Kamal looked at her. The dwarf sighed shakily. "When I throw myself off the cliffside, don't try to stop me." 

Chapter Text

Clasa refused to leave her room until the evening when she was forced out by an invitation to dinner. Mosts of the guest from the night before, many of whom were in as bad a shape as her, had lingered. What was the rush to return to their own holds? Why not enjoy the hospitality and wait out their hangovers.

Clasa slurked through the hall. She squinted against the soft light of the candles. A splitting migraine threatened to rise. Of all people, she thought groggily. Of all the people I could've stumbled on, he was the one. She groaned. She'd been so damn nervous that night; First talking to Dáin, then he walked in. She should've suspected Oakenshield would show up, but he had grown more distant over the years. Apparently he'd taken to wandering, taking odd jobs far below his rank just to survive. 

She'd seen him only once before at another meeting of the exiled families. He was young, she far younger. It was stupid... a crush. But she was taken by him; his pitch-dark waves, stern eyes, noble features. The way the atmosphere shifted when he was in a room. Her infatuation only grew as she read about him in history texts. 

And now her idol had seen her drunk. Blitzed. Sloshed. It was her worst fear come to life. 

She didn't acknowledge the guards on either side of the entryway to the dining room. She paused at the entrance. The dim room was suspiciously quiet. She peered into the shadows, barely making out the forms backlit by the fire. The one of them rose. The flaming red hair gave him away instantly. Clasa's already sensitive stomach twisted. "Don't you dare..."

'WELCOME BACK, DRUNKARD

WELCOME BACK TO DAY!

WON'T YOU TAKE A NIBBLE

OF THESE RUNNY, SOGGY EGGS?"

Clasa winced against the assaulting song as Darestrum, Hasdran, and a handful of other male dwarves joined their leader. They could barely sing through their fits of giggles, snickering like little boys. 

"TAKE A SIP, CURE YOUR AILS

NOTHING FIGHTS ALE LIKE ALE!"

Dáin raised his mug in a toast as the others slapped the table top, whooping and cheering. Clasa glared at them. At least the gauntlet was over— "Clasa, come over here! Sit between us!" Dáin scooted out of his seat and moved to the empty one next to him. In the chair next to his original spot was a certain dark-hair dwarf in blue. The color drained from Clasa's face. Before she could protest, Dáin was at her side, guiding/forcing her between him and Thorin. Thorin politely looked down at the table. Hasdran and Darestrum sat across from her. Hasdran's grin was so wide it looked like his face would split in half. 

Clasa forced a bitter smile. "What's this about? Did something happen?"

All of the others, save Thorin, roared with laughter. Clasa flushed as she sensed him leaning closer to her. "All is well." She heard some humor in his voice. "I think this is their idea of torture."

Despite her embarrassment, Clasa snorted. "Ha ha. Funny." 

Now that they'd had their fun, the others had returned to casual conversation. But that left her with Thorin, who knew no one at the table but Dáin. He started picking at his food. "Where is your young ward?" Clasa was usually on Kamal like a fly on a goat. "She's with my attendant." She cleared her throat. "You know, the blonde from earlier?" "Yes, I... I remember."

Clasa took a roll from the bread basket. She tore a bite-size chunk off with her fingers, eyeing it wearily. All she'd eaten today was bread, but she wasn't sure she could handle anything else. She chewed slowly. 

"I'm sorry if I caused you any embarrassment." Thorin said. Clasa nearly choked. Hasdran saw her sputtering and nudged her shin with the toe of his boot. She kicked him hard. He grimaced, tucking his legs under his chair. Thorin didn't seem to notice. "Your child is actually the one who found me." He continued. "She's quite something. You're lucky to have her."

Clasa smiled. "Don't I know it," she said. "You know how she came to live here?" She asked, hoping to divert the conversation from herself as fast as possible.

"Dáin filled me in." Thorin glanced at his cousin, who was caught up in an argument with Darestrum. 

Clasa gathered her breath. "My Lord..."

"Thorin is fine."

She thanked Mahal that the room was too dark for him to see her face flush deep red. "Thorin... I'm curious. What brings you here?" She focused on the bread in her hands. "I never see you at the Gathering."

Thorin drew his lower lips between his teeth for a moment. "I suppose I longed for company. To see family." He smirked at Dáin. "As wild as they may be. I've been on the road for quite sometime." His eyes fell on her again. "And..." His voice trailed. "Have you ever seen the Mountain, Lady Clasa? Erebor?"

Clasa met his gaze. "No, I haven't. I only have stories." His pale blue stare was hard to look away from. "I know you were there, the day the dragon came." Thorin put his fork down. She flushed cold, worried she'd hit a nerve.

He spoke. "I intend to return to it."

Clasa blinked. "To visit?"

"No." His eyes focused in on the wall, lost in thought. "To expel the dragon, and rebuild." Clasa's heart started pounding in her chest. We could go home? Thorin continued, "That was my true intent, to speak with Dáin about the possibility of sending a force West."

Clasa breathed slowly from her parted lips. "What did he say?"

Thorin shook his head. "The risk is too great. If we wanted to retake the mountain, we would need a smaller company, not an army."

Clasa couldn't believe what she was hearing. Returning to Erebor; to live in the city her ancestors had helped build. She was born in the Iron Hills. She'd never even been past the Red River. But the allure of her homeland had always compelled her. "Why are you telling me this?"

Thorin cocked an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I? You are a child of the Mountain, like all of the exiled." He briefly looked at Hasdran. "I know that your family has suffered especially." He looked back to her and smiled empathetically. Her heart almost stopped. "I don't want to raise your hopes on false claims, but I will not let our people down. We are going home." 

Chapter Text

Thorin's words had taken roost in Kamal's head; "... we will both find our way home; to our true homes." A whole dragon was keeping him from going back. What excuse did she have? Sure, when she had tried to return to the spot she had dropped it didn't work, but there had to be a way. She looked over the books and scrolls sprawled out on a floor in a fan-shape around her. She'd found a private aisle in one of castle's libraries. She'd had to convince Agathaire to let her stay, promising she wouldn't wander while the dwarf dealt with Clasa's laundry. 

She opened the leather wrappings around her study notes. The librarian, Darestrum's friend, had loaned her a quill and ink. Kamal opened the first text. Ooh, that's dense. Lines and lines of runes were packed onto each page with no breaks. She could barely make out individual words; they seemed to blend into each other. She turned the book slightly to catch the light of the candles. Having open flames around paper still put her on edge. She went to the chapter index, searching for recognizable words. A few runes looked familiar. She checked her notes. "Lin-- Lineage of..." She squinted. "Longbeards?" Lineage... that means family, right? She shook her head. She didn't need a family tree. 

She flipped to the next page of the index. Firebeards, Broadbeams, Ironfists... She sighed and snapped the book shut. This would be so much easier if she could just ask the librarian for help; but something told her to keep it secret. The dwarves were kind, and she found she'd grown to like them quite a bit. But she couldn't stay forever. Some small part of her feared that if she revealed her intention to leave, they would try to stop her. 

What she was looking for, she wasn't exactly sure. A portal to Earth would be good. Maybe some magic spell, or a solar eclipse. That's usually how it works, right?

Her gaze randomly landed on a small book bound in black leather. She didn't recognize the runes in the title. She took it in her hands, thumbing through the crisp pages. It looks brand new. She dipped her nose to inhale the scent of the paper. Smells new too. The index wasn't much help either. But as she ran through the pages, she realized there were drawings. The figures were blocky and straight-edged, just like the text. They depicted figures; dwarves, obviously. She turned three pages and saw a group of dwarves interacting with a much taller figure; one with pointed ears. Her breath caught in her throat. An elf? Elves are magical, aren't they? She looked at the next page. Another elf, backed by rows of armored soldiers, facing off a stout army of iron clad dwarves. 

Another page; a lone elf drawn in ink, framed by curling vines. Their hair was long and straight. In their elegant hands, they tipped a wide vessel into what looked like a bird bath. The artist drew stars around the basin. Kamal stared at the illustration. At the base of the page was a single word. She racked her brain, then her notes. It's not a word. It's a name. She lay out her alphabet, then took the quill and dipped it in ink. She put her finger on the first letter. Her eyes danced back and forth between the notes and the book. She translated on her page: "G...A...L...A...D..." 

She finished, setting the quill in the vial. "Galadriel." She whispered. She looked at the print. The elf woman wore a dress that cascaded like water. Her eyes were half-lidded, and a closed smile played on her lips. 

"Kamal." Kamal squeaked in surprise, clutching the booklet to her chest. Agathaire stood over her, a candle in her hand. "What're you up to?"

"Reading."

"I thought you were just looking around. You can read already?"

Kamal shrugged. "A little."

"Hm." Agathaire looked over the sprawl of books. "You don't need more clutter in your room; I can barely sweep your floor as it is. Come, let's stack them for the librarian. He has a special system." Then her eyes narrowed. "What do you have there?"

"N-nothing."

Agathaire put her hand on her hip. "I don't tolerate lying, missy. Hand it over." Reluctantly, Kamal passed her the black book. Aga slipped her thumb between the pages she'd been reading and looked. Her nose crinkled as if she'd smelled something rotting. "Elves?" She gave Kamal a look. "Why're you reading above elves?"

"I don't know. I just found it." She was surprised by Agathaire's strong reaction. Before she could stop herself, she blurted. "Who's Galadriel?" 

"Some fancy-shmancy elf woman. She rules over the Golden Wood." Agathaire's expressed hardened. "She's a witch. She controls a terrible power." 

Kamal frowned worriedly. "Is she a good witch or a bad witch?"

Agathaire huffed. "What kind of question is that? She's elven. They're not to be trusted." She leaned forward. "Between you and me, if it came between saving a goblin and an elf, I think I might lean towards the goblin." She winked. "Least they keep the rats away." 

As they walked back to her room to prepare for bed, Kamal's mind was racing. So I'm right; elves are magic. Agathaire obviously had her issues with them, but technically she didn't say Galadriel was a bad witch. Witches trick people, that's like their thing. So no surprise there. But if magic brought me here, magic can take me home. Kamal tried to hide her smile, but she couldn't help but grin. It's happening; I'm finding the Witch of the Golden Wood, and I'm getting out of here. 

Chapter Text

Days became weeks, weeks became another month. Kamal would leave her academic lessons with a headache, only to go straight for either the stables or the square to train in basic combat. Every night she crashed into her bed (now permanently moved into Clasa's room). Kamal's old bedroom became her study. She had two piles; her notes, and her secret notes. Her binder of maps and citations was safely stored at the bottom of her dresser under blankets. When she was alone, she would study the maps in library, copying them onto a piece of parchment. She pieced the land together like a puzzle; The castle lay in a mountain range, "The Iron Hills" situated in the farthest northeast corner of the map. Everything else lay in the West; Thorin's home the Lonely Mountain, sandwiched between more mountains and a lake. Southwest of the lake was a huge swath of forest, the dark mark looking a lot like an ink-stain on an otherwise clean page. But there was a road cutting straight through the woods, letting out on the west side. Then she could follow the river, "The Great River", and it would drop her off right at the Golden Wood. 

✶

After her barn chores were finished, Darestrum let her take Silver out for a walk. "But NO climbing on." He ordered. Kamal led the horse but the halter to the edge of the property were the stables gave way to grassland. The sun was beginning its descent into evening; falling West, straight ahead. As Silver grazed, Kamal looked longing towards the horizon. 

She didn't know how to read the mileage on the maps, but everything had seemed relatively close. I bet I can get to the lake in a day, the Old Forest Road in two days. If the Road is a straight shot another day, and then the river maybe a week? That's not so bad. It'll be like camping... Not she'd ever gone camping, or even slept outside alone overnight. 

She glanced back to the horse. Silver had filled in to a healthy weight. She'd taken to the saddle, after a lot of coercing, and she'd grown accustomed to Kamal's presence. The few times Kamal had ridden her, Darestrum was there keeping an eye, but there hadn't been any incidences like the first time. 

Kamal reached out and stroked the pony's neck. Dust clung to her hand as the animal's flank shuddered off flies. Kamal smiled. "I think you'll like stretching your legs." 

✶

"Alright, Reed," Darestrum finished his drink and stood up, bending his fingers in a beckoning motion. "Time to show these smart-asses what we've been working on." 

Tully's had moved some tables outside so the patrons could enjoy another particularly warm evening. Coats and furs were shed for loose linen shirts. Torches blazed for light at the end of each table, making the atmosphere a little toasty. Crickets chirruped nearby. Sweat dewed on Darestrum's temple as he held up a wooden spoon like a weapon. Clasa, Hasdran, Wit and Kaer looked on expectantly. Thorin had left days ago, otherwise Hasdran would've invited him so he could continue torturing his sister.

Sitting next to Clasa, Kamal stood. She cocked her head at the old dwarf. He shrugged. "Look, I don't carry my sparring sticks on my person, so this'll have to do." 

Kamal reached back and took a serving spoon from the table. "Oooooh." Kaer gawped jokingly. " 'Ere we go. Now 's serious." Darestrum took position and Kamal followed suit. He nodded to her. "Just like practice." He spoke softly, as if they were the only two in the courtyard. Kamal nodded back.

Spoons en garde, Darestrum moved first. 'Weapon' in his right hand, he lunged with his right leg and swung inwards from on high. Also right handed, Kamal lifted her right arm and blocked. She danced backwards, never switching feet. Darestrum recovered from the block, continuing forward and lunging with another lower hit. With her free hand, Kamal redirected his arm, shoving it just enough to miss her. As she pushed him, she attacked with her right. Her spoon whizzed past his middle as he sucked in his gut. He laughed in surprise. "Good try!"

Kamal smiled, her brow crinkling as she zeroed in. The spark of competition got her heart racing. As Darestrum pulled back to reposition, she went full offense. She jabbed forward. The dwarf moved amazingly fast. He ducked out of the way, and in a split second he arced his arm back and swung down towards her head. Gasping, Kamal jumped out of the way.

Clasa sat up in her seat. "Careful." She warned. 

Darestum threw up his hands innocently. "C'mon, it's fine! Whoa!" He dropped his head as Kamal's spoon went swinging over it with enough force to bruise. She was breathing heavily, mouth stretched in an ecstatic grin. Darestrum did a little jog around her, smiling but lowering his stance. "I think it's me you should worry about." He chuckled. 

They dueled back and forth, switching between attacker and defender. Kamal didn't hold back. She was small and fast enough to dodge his moves. When she hit, she did so with all the force she could muster. And although the dwarf was experienced enough to evade most of them, the times the spoon struck his arm or gut he winced. 

Hasdran howled. "You gave her a taste for blood, Dare! You're screwed now!"

A few other tables were rubber-necking to see the action. Kamal's footwork was messy, her throws flailing, but she was giving it her all. As she swung down, Darestrum swung up. Their spoons locked. Stalemate. 

Their party clapped, signaling the end of the match. Darestrum stepped back, breathing a little hard. He gave a little bow. "Good match." He looked at the other's. "Not bad, right?" Wit nodded. "Not bad at all." He commended. His eyebrows raised as he looked to Kamal. "You've come a long way, girl. You should be proud." 

Kamal looked at her feet, beaming. "Thank you," she mumbled. She took her seat back at Clasa's side, plopping the spoon on the tabletop. Clasa nudged her playfully. Kamal giggled, her heart still jack hammering. Her hands tingled with adrenaline. Hasdran hopped up, grabbing his own utensil. "Alright, old man, round two!" He hollered as he set upon Darestrum. 

Kamal watched them with a warm smile. This is how she wanted to remember them; Not as the strangers in the woods, but as friends. A part of her felt guilty for what she was about to do. But she had to set it aside; for her mom, dad, Pranani, everyone.  

Chapter Text

This morning was language. Kamal poked Clasa's shoulder. "Can I go to the kitchens?" Clasa lifted her head off the pillow. She squinted sleepily at the girl, then face-planted back into the pillow. "The lever's by the door, you can call Aga if you're hungry." "She said she was going to show me how to make scones." Clasa groaned. "We have lessons." "Please? I'll be fast."

Clasa's head rolled slightly until one eye peered out at her. "If I let you go, will you let me sleep in?" Kamal nodded. Snorting softly, Clasa lifted a limp hand, pushing at Kamal's head gently. "Go have fun."

Kamal scampered to the door, pausing in the threshold to look back at the bed. Clasa had turned to face the wall, her black hair cascading over the mattress. She shifted as she cringed against the light. Kamal closed the door, soaking in the last view of Clasa as she left her to sleep. 

✶

Kamal adjusted her pack on her shoulder. She'd tried to pack light; food, blankets, extra clothes and a bar of soap, and her hand-drawn, perhaps not entirely accurate, map. 

She looked up at the tower. A small head poked out. "Where's Darestrum?" They called down. Kamal cupped her hands around her mouth. "He told me to go on ahead!"

There was a pause. "Weren't ya here yesterday?" "He said it's a big shipment!" She called. C'mon, man. "We need to get the hay inside before it rains!" "Alright! Alright." She saw their hand waving at her. "Don't need a story... stay put."

She breathed a sigh of relief as the gears began to churn. The morning wind brushed her face as the portcullis lifted. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Maybe she was imagining it, but the air felt cleaner outside the walls. Her skin prickled with nerves as she crossed under the walkway. She looked behind her and waved up to the tower. No one waved back. 

The stables were relatively quiet save for the shuffling and snorting of sleeping animals. Silver's ears pricked as Kamal approached the paddock. The girl was struggling to lug a saddle across the yard. She heaved it over the fence, pausing to catch her breath. Then she slipped between the slots. She patted Silver's shoulder. "Morning." Silver snorted back. 

Kamal put the saddle pad on Silver's back. She gathered herself, grabbing the saddle again. After a few failed attempts, she finally swung it onto the pad. The saddle was technically for a goat, but it fit the pony well enough. She tightened the strap and secured it. She'd done this a few time with Darestrum when they were breaking in the younger goats. Then she slipped on the bridle, fitting the strap over silver's muzzle rather than putting a bit in her mouth.

Kamal opened the paddock door and led Silver by the halter. She used her old trick of climbing up the fence and got her leg over, settling onto the saddle. Silver barely moved, ears twisting around to hear the sounds of morning. Kamal readjusted the reins in her hands, her palms already sweating. The tall grass shimmered like water as the wind picked up. The girl nudged the pony with her heels, and they headed into the west.

✶

Silver high-stepped through the lea. The red hills rose from the grass like arching whales surfacing from the sea. With the sun in the East, Kamal gratefully thanked whoever was listening that is wasn't in her eyes. Her stomach tingled with nerves. The land was broad and flat; more sky than ground. She periodically checked over her shoulder, half expecting to see an army of dwarves chasing after her. But as the cliff-side disappeared from sight, no one came.

She rode at a steady pace through the grasslands until the red hills were far behind her. Tawny reeds gave way to short, green grass; the first spot of green she'd seen outside the palace gardens. She scanned the horizon. There was no sign up any mountain. The back of her neck itched under the sun as it reached its pinnacle. I can stop at the lake. We should get there by night time.

But she did not get there by nighttime. It was just grass, grass, grass. She practically fell off of Silver, her legs shaking from lack of use. She spun in a circle. There was nothing to tie Silver's reins to. If the pony took off running, there was no chance Kamal could catch her. But her butt was sore, and her body was tired, and she couldn't keep going. Not to mention the sky was already darkening. Kamal slipped her pack off her aching shoulders. She wrapped the reins around one of the straps. It was a pathetic weight, but it was the best she had. She stuck a finger in the pony's face. "Don't run away."

✶

She lay on the blanket she'd brought, staring up at the cloudless night sky. Her arms were wrapped close around her body, shivering even under the furs. Silver rested while standing at her side. She silently hope the pony wouldn't move in her sleep and step on her.

She looked up at the stars, searching for familiar patterns. The Big Dipper. The Little Dipper. But she couldn't find any constellations. She sighed. Little movements in the grass kept her on edge. Probably won't get any sleep, she thought bitterly, trying not to imagine snakes or gross bugs that might be crawling into her makeshift sleeping bag. Suddenly, under the blue-black blanket of the sky, she realized that she was without Clasa for the first time in weeks. She tucked herself deeper into her blanket. She saw ghosts in the castle. Would they wander the plains too?

Her eyes traveled to Silver. The pony was breathing softly. She seemed so unbothered. Maybe she didn't even remember her last rider, or his dry blood crusted on her coat. Kamal frowned. If I die, would you care? Silver huffed in her sleep. Kamal turned her gaze back to the stars. Maybe it's better that you're not smart enough to know. She blinked slowly, her eyelids growing heavy. "You probably don't see him, do you?" She asked under her breath. "You're not scared of the dark." 

Just then, like a bolt of electricity, something rushed cold through her blood and she shot up. Move. Her head snapped around. "What?" She breathed.

She stood up. The grass glowed silver under the moonlight. The breeze fell away, leaving the plain deathly still. Kamal held her breath. Suddenly, in a flash of beating wings and harsh squawking, a bird exploded from the brush right in front of her. Kamal screamed, scrambling backwards. Silver lurched awake. She squealed in alarm. Kamal turned. "No!" She charged after the pony, leaping head first and snatching the reins up. The leather burned as it nearly slipped through her hands. She slammed into the earth, wrapping the reins around her wrists as Silver started into a canter. Grass whipped her in the face as the pony dragged her through the field. "Silver, stop! Silv-BLEH!" She spit out a mouthful of grass. She bumped and jostled painfully as the horse sprinted forward. She squeezed her eyes shut, terrified that she'd lose an eye on the sharp stalks. Silver's hooves came dangerously close to her head.

All of a sudden, the reins came loose around her raw wrists. She spun out, flipping head over heels and crashing with a thud on her stomach.

Groaning, she lifted herself up onto her elbows. She felt like the skin on her face had been peeled off. In the dim light of the moon, she could see Silver's pale form as she raced away. "No, Silver, stop!" Her cry echoed across the flats, but Silver was gone. Kamal climbed to her feet, cringing as a sharp pain lanced through her middle. She pressed her hand to her hip tenderly. Quickly, she scanned the ground for her backpack. To her relief, it had also come undone from Silver's reins; but the contents were scattered. 

She heard flapping in her left ear. The bird, a large black raven, had landed nearby, tilting its head curiously. It squawked at her. Kamal sneered back. "You stupid bird! Jerk!" She reached down and ripped blades of grass from the ground. She threw it at the raven, only to have the grass rain gently over its head. "Jerk-wad!" The raven shook it's head, then it hopped towards her. To her surprise, it snagged her pant leg in its beak and tugged. She kicked at it. "Go away." But the raven pecked at her again. It danced around her, it's wing beats soft on the bare skin of her arms. 

Trying to ignore it, Kamal set to regathering her supplies. The bird watched her. Once she had everything back in her back, she swung it on her shoulder. Silver had left a trail of trampled grass behind her. Kamal started in that direction, but again the raven grabbed at her pants. She kicked wildly, trying to punt it. "Stop!" The raven looked up at her. It croaked turning it's beak like a nod in the other direction. Kamal frowned. It was gesturing back the way they came, towards the Iron Hills. No, that's crazy. She spun on her heels, grumbling angrily as she headed after her ride. 

Chapter Text

Kamal trudged through the grass, huffing and puffing while cursing under her breath. The raven followed overhead, occasionally dipping to peck at her. She’d tried to shoo it away, but to no avail. It was determined to pester her, it seemed. 

With a beat of its wings it flew ahead of her, gracefully riding the air. Kamal glared at it. “This is your fault, you know.” She spat. She had pulled a long reed up and was currently swinging it back and forth like a sword. “You did it on purpose.” She called after the bird. The raven turned mid-flight, swooping at her head and croaking loudly. She swung the reed at it and missed. “Butt-face.”

By now it was well into the night. Insects sang in the grass. The waning moon was high above. Her eyes itched for sleep, but it was as if the pony had disappeared off the face of the earth. Not only that, but the grass was growing lower, and the trail was more difficult to follow. And having a loud bird pestering her didn’t help either. 

She tried to hold back a yawn. “You—Hh— are gonna help me find Silver.” She ordered the raven, who had landed and was bouncing around a few paces away. It squawked at her. Kamal sighed. “Dumb bird. Where did you come from?” She’d seen sparrows, maybe some pigeons, in the castle courtyards, but she felt like she would’ve noticed something as boisterous as a raven around. 

CRAWK! the raven answered. Kamal’s tongue balled up in her mouth. It was too dark to see much, even with the moonlight. But from what she could tell it was flat. It looked a little like Pennsylvania, where she’d had a few tournaments; the middle of the state was nothing but corn and soy beans for miles and miles around. Just flat nothing-ness, she grumbled in her head. 

She stopped. The raven made a noise in the back of its throat. “Shh!” She hissed, putting a finger to her lips and listening. She could hear something; it sounded close. She took off at a jog. The raven launched into the sky, trailing her from up above. 

Her pack bounced on her shoulder blades as she ran forward. She suddenly skidded to a stop, holding her breath so she could hear better. Water? She felt out the ground with her feet, easing into the decline as the earth suddenly sloped. She worked her way to the base of a shallow ravine, and as she turned around the bank of the small hill she’d climbed down, there it was; shining like a silver-fish in the light of the moon. It was a small stream, maybe only four paces wide. She dipped her fingers in. It was chilly to the touch. Shaking her hand, she narrowed her eyes. Which way is it going? She took a clump of grass and rained it over the stream. Right to left. She looked up towards the west-ward horizon. Streams come from rivers, rivers come from lakes. She smiled. She may have lost the horse, but at least she could follow the water. 

✶

She walked for what felt like hours. Several times she almost teetered over into the stream. When she couldn’t take another step she collapsed, laying back over her backpack, too tired to remove it. She looked a bit like an overturned turtle. The raven hopping to the riverbank started to bathe itself, splashing its feathers as it used its beak like a scoop. Kamal’s spine started to ache, so she rolled onto her side. Her eyes drooped. Just a few minutes... she thought. I’ll keep going, I just... and she was out cold.

She awoke to a sharp jab between her eyes. “Ow!” Her vision blurred by exhaustion, she rubbed at her eyes to make out the black blob hovering in front of her. “Did you peck me?” She growled in frustration. She swiped at it, but the raven was too fast. It cawed in her face, the volume making her wince. 

She looked around. It was still dark out. Kamal started to get up, but the raven hissed. She looked at it quizzically. “What?” She asked, lowering her voice. Instead of standing, she peeked up over the grass. She gave the raven a glance. “I don’t see anything.”

The bird squatted, neck craned as its beady eyes scanned the sky. In a sudden rush of feathers and wind, it took off, leaving her in the shadows. She lifted a hand in disbelief. “Seriously?” What’s it doing now? She raised her head again to check the plain. The raven had flown off a few meters away, circling something on the ground. On its fifth pass, it headed back towards her, cawing down to her. She got to her feet, this time without disruption. The raven flew upstream, paused and turned to look at her, churning air as it stared at her. 

Kamal’s head tilted. “Are... are you helping me?” She took a step forward. The raven continued to flap in place. After a moment, Kamal walked towards it. As she did, it turned and continued forward. “You’re not gonna make me go back anymore?” She asked, but of course it didn’t respond. 

She followed its silhouette against the moon. Everything ached. Her legs moved robotically, as if she were no longer attached to them. The raven coasted along, finding an air current and riding it out as the human below plodded after it.

Boulders taller than a full-grown man rose from the earth up ahead. The ground finally ebbed away from flatlands to rolling hills, with a few sudden sinkholes and drop offs Kamal quickly learned to avoid. 

The stream intersected with other streams, growing in size and strength. Soon Kamal found herself beside a formidable river. The water churned white as it rolled off of submerged rocks. Kamal was forced to climb through the rocky terrain, making her way downwards as the river diverted into a series of falls and pools. 

Her heart leapt in her throat as she grabbed for a handhold, only to find a slick mossy surface and lose her grip. She floundered for a second, splaying her arms and catching herself just in time before tumbling down the rocky outcrop. She shuddered, clinging to the stone. The raven had landed on a nearby pine, watching her. The waterfalls roared all around her. 

Maybe it’s good I don’t have Silver, she thought as she slowly made her way to the next foothold. There’s no road; she could’ve twisted a leg. But she still wondered where the pony had run off to. 

When she reached the bottom, she stopped to catch her breath. A small fall dribbled from the stones at her side. Holding her hair back, she tilted her head and let it splash her face. It was frigid, but it did the trick. She wiped her face with the hem of her shirt. Then she rolled her bag off her back and opened it, fishing out a roll and her bladder of water. 

The raven cawed at her from their perch. Kamal took a huge mouthful of bread, “Wfth ‘s ih?” She mumbled through stuffed cheeks. The bird’s head jerked around, taking in their surroundings. Its claws flexed on the branch. It rasped again.

Kamal swallowed. “Just give me a second, ok?” She looked at the half-eaten bread in her hand. “Do you want some?” She asked, begrudgingly. The raven’s head poked up, its interest peaking. Kamal tore off a small piece. She eyed it for a moment, then looked past the raven into the dark grove. She arched her arm back. “Fetch!” She chucked it with all of her might. The piece of bread went flying past the raven and into the trees. The raven looked at the woods, then at her. It squawked.

Kamal’s hopeful smile dropped. “You’re killing me Butt-Face.” 

Chapter Text

Kamal walked carefully down the enormous rocks bordering the wild rapids. Mist plumed from the water as it churned and roared. The sky was turning a vibrant blue as night began to ebb away. Kamal was so tired she didn't even feel tired. She barely noticed the first notes of birdsong as the world woke up.  

B.F. hopped along the stones; even they were too tired to fly. They pecked at crevices in the rock, searching for worms. Kamal walked to the edge of a large boulder. 20 feet below her the land evened out and the water became less choppy. A pale creature stood at the edge of the river, leaning down to drink. Kamal gasped. "Silver!" She galloped down hill. Silver's head snapped up, and she stomped nervously. Kamal slowed down, holding her hands up. "Shh, it's ok." Her eyes fell on Silver's reins, which hung like a necklace under her neck. "Easy girl." She whispered. She inched closer, as still and calm as possible. She finally remembered to breathe as her fingers took hold of the leather. Silver pressed her wet nose to Kamal's shoulder, snuffling. Kamal rubbed the horse's neck, her fair pelt now caked with mud and grime. "I can't believe it..." 

Silver followed her docilely as Kamal led her a few feet down the river, tying the reins around the sturdy branch of an overturned willow. Checking the knot, Kamal stepped back, hands on her hips. "How'd you make it down here?" She wondered aloud, looking back at the treacherous slope. Silver butted her chest with her snout. Kamal laughed, pushing back at her. B.F. landed on a higher branch, warbling curiously. Silver looked up at them. She snorted, her breath blasted the raven in the face. B.F. ruffled their feathers, squawking indignantly and shuffling to a higher spot. 

Kamal shed her backpack and went to the water. She scooped handfuls to her mouth, drinking deeply. She washed her face and arms. The icy water left her hair standing on end. Moving sluggishly, she ladled water with her hands and walked to the pony, pouring it over her coat. She wiped the muddy residue down her side, trying in vain to get her clean. B.F. roosted on their chosen branch, nestling their head down into their shoulders. Kamal continued to bathe Silver as the sun crested over the horizon. 

Kamal re-washed her hands in the river. When she finished, she sat at the base of the tree trunk. The wood was bumpy on her spine, but she didn't care. Her head rolled as her eyes closed and she surrendered to exhaustion.

✶

A nervous whinny jolted her awake. She sat up, reaching out instinctively for Silver. The horse was a few paces away. She still tied to the branch, but something was wrong. Silver pulled against her reins, her ears flat against her head. Her nostrils flared. Kamal looked for the raven and found it had left the tree. Skin prickling, she raised herself on her knees. 

Silver pulled harder, lifting her head high. Her eyes rolled wildly. Her ears swiveled forward, pointing towards the southern stones. Kamal's heart clenched in her chest like a fist. 

What happened next was so fast she could barely process it; a whistle-note, a sickening thud, then the pony bucked to one side squealing in pain. Ten more notes, ten more thuds. The arrows stuck out of Silver's side like a pincushion. Silver reared and fell sideways, the branch straining and reins snapping taught. Her legs quaked and kicked. She wheezed gutturally, her lungs filling with blood as she struggled rise.

There was a blood-curdling roar. Kamal whirled around in the direction of the sound. From the shadows of the stones, a creature appeared; it was shaped like a human, but monstrous. Its skin was deathly grey. A filthy scrap of leather hung between its legs; its armor was a mishmash of sinew-stitched animal hide and chain mail. Greasy strands of hair framed lopsided, pointed ears. In its hand was a menacing cutlass, the metal chipped on the blade. Sickly yellow eyes turned on her, and her heart dropped. 

Kamal stumbled back, accidentally walking into the freezing water. More mutated creatures poured from over the hill, all of them armed to the teeth. There had to be at least 15. How had she missed them coming? Any escape ahead was blocked by the oncoming hoard. She turned and waded further in. If she could reach the other bank, she could make a break for it. Harsh voices screeched after her. Her breath escaped in thin bursts, her lungs seizing up in the cold. She cried out as an arrow struck the surface of the river an inch to her right. Inhaling, she dove forward. The frigid temperature nearly petrified her with shock. She tried to open her eyes but it was too murky to see. She twisted and turned as more arrows plunged into the river around her. Her chest ached for air. When she couldn't hold it any more she resurfaced, gasping. 

As she struggled to keep her head over the waves, she saw the creatures at the shoreline. Strangely, they weren't coming in after her. They paced along the river's edge, jeering and barking like animals. A flash of white and red drew her eyes to the tree. Her mouth fell open in shock as she struggled to breathe. 

An open seam of exposed muscle marred Silver's pale neck. Her kicking legs had fallen still. Creatures were ripping the arrows from her side, throwing them to the ground and returning to hack at her belly with large knives. One approached her body with a saw-toothed sword. Although Silver's back was to her, Kamal saw the creature thrust the point into the pony's navel. His arm jabbed back and forth as her sawed through her tough coat. Blood flecked his exposed chest. Kamal head dipped briefly underwater. When she reemerged, steam poured from Silver's belly. A gelatinous pile of pink and purple cords rolled out of its split middle. The monster's set upon the animal, tearing and clawing through her flesh.

Kamal could barely keep herself afloat. She treaded water, paddling backwards as she stared at the creatures eviscerate the pony. She did not notice the current pick up speed, until she was suddenly sucked under the water. Bubbles exploded from her mouth as she reached sightlessly for the sky. She grimaced as her shoulder struck the hard surface of a boulder. After a terrifying minute of being thrown about blindly, she felt herself falling as the river headed downhill. She swam towards what she prayed was up, stealing whatever breath she could. Spray erupted from her mouth as she spit up some of the river. "Help!" She wailed, choking as water flooded her throat. But the channel pulled her back under.

She flipped and spun in the darkness like an astronaut floating in space. Her lungs burned. A terrified voice screamed in her head; Up! Out! Air! 

She used to have nightmares about getting caught in avalanches. It was a ridiculous fear, given she lived nowhere near snowy mountains. But she after saw a documentary about avalanche survivors it became her obsession. She hated the idea of being stuck, not knowing which way was up or down. That you could scream and cry and no one would hear you. She kept the trick of spitting to use gravity to determine direction in the back of her mind at all times. And now she was in a void, without any way to find her footing. She couldn't bide her time taking small breathes, or pray that a search dog would sniff her out. She was going to die in darkness, alone. 

Kamal floated. She looked up at her hands as she drifted. They seemed pale in the water. She opened her mouth. Bubbles lifted from her lips, shivering and dancing up. Kamal's heart pounded in her ears. Up. She reached forward with one arm, and then the other. She kicked her feet weakly. No. It's so close. Please... Her fingers strained as black clouded her vision. Please.

Half asleep, she felt something move into the water. A strong limb gathered her around the middle and lifted. Water rushed in her ears as she was pulled from the depths. The air was like ice on her skin. She coughed hoarsely, grappling the thing that held her. She felt hot, fetid breath on her face. Kamal couldn't see; she was too dizzy. Her hair fell over her eyes. Her stomach roiled.

She heard an amused chuckle from above. "Hello, Rabbit."

Chapter Text

Kamal rolled onto her side, groaning. She opened her eyes to see it was dark again. Her shoulder ached. My bag. What happened? She tried to stretch her arm, but her hands were trapped between her knees. She pulled her elbows in and flexed her wrists. Leather wrappings bound her hands together. Kamal gasped sharply. She squirmed onto the seat of her pants and looked at her feet. A metal cuff locked around her left ankle. It was attached by a short chain to a stake, the point driven into the thick root of a tree. Shaking, she grabbed the head of the stake and tried to yank it out, but it wouldn't budge. 

"That won't work."

Kamal sat up straight, her fingers clenched. Her eyes darted across the dark clearing, but they hadn't adjusted yet. She flinched as flint sparked a few feet away from her. The spark took to the brushwood, setting the kindling aflame. As the orange light bloomed, a face appeared from the shadow. Kamal's throat constricted as she recognized him. Deep-set grey eyes stared at her. The fire lit up every wrinkle, every scar, on his battered face. Dark circles hung under his eyes like two bruises. His head was enormous; at least twice the size of her own. His frame blocked her entire view of the woods behind him. 

Oversized canine teeth flashed in the light. "Welcome back. You were out for a while." Sverne said. 

Kamal glanced at her bound hands, and immediately wished she hadn't. Sverne snorted. He stood, his massive body looming over her. "Can't have you running off on me, yet." He reached down and added another branch to the fire. He circled the pit, stopping when she was nearly under foot. She looked up at him with eyes the size of dinner plates, her heart racing. As Sverne squatted, his weight shifted the air around him. The flames flickered for a moment. Kamal curled inward, trying to make her body as small as possible. She stared at her bindings, unable to meet his steady gaze. Sverne hummed in the back of his throat. "The little outlander..." Kamal flinched as she felt something brush against her head. She realized to her horror that he was touching her hair. She cringed. "Stop." She whimpered. To her surprise, the fingers pulled away. "What did you say?" 

Kamal's breath hitched. She pressed back against the tree. "I said stop." She mumbled acidly. Sverne moved his hand, then sniggered. "So, you're not a mute after all." Kamal pressed her eyes to her knees, but she could sense him leering into her space. She felt him breathe in her skin. "Who taught you Westron, hm?" He asked blackly. "Was it those dwarves?" Kamal stiffened. Sverne made a sound like a growl. "Just like a dwarf to lie. You weren't in fuckin' Laketown..." He muttered, trailing off. Kamal peeked over her kneecaps as Sverne reached behind him and picked up a metal skewer. Her blood flushed cold at the sight of it's spiked-end. But he dug the tip into the fire, moving the wood around to keep it burning. Her short-lived relief died as he pulled the poker from the flames. He lowered the blistering hot end too close to her legs, tracing the dirt with the searing-red metal. She tried to turn away but he jutted the poker in front of her, forcing her to face him. The prod hovered inches from her cheek; The heat radiating against her face. She looked at him with dark, terrified eyes, her body visibly shaking. Sverne observed her cooly. For the life of her, she couldn't read his expression. 

"I didn't think I would see you this soon," he spoke. His head tilted curiously. "But then you made a run for it." Kamal inhaled sharply. He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "You think you gave them the slip, huh?" The fire-poker hovered a fraction of an inch closer, but it was enough to make Kamal's skin tingle uncomfortably. She brought her hands close to her face, as if that would help. Sverne continued, "You not as smart as you think you are, little one." 

Kamal screwed her eyes shut in fear. They catch you, they will kill you. They catch you, they will kill you. Suddenly the heat pulled away, and a massive first gathered her shirt by the collar and jerked her head up. An involuntary squeak escaped before she could stop herself. Her eyes opened and she was forced to take all of him in. His black beard bristled. His pupils were blown wide, like a cat zeroing in. His lips curled back, and she was subjected again to the foul smell from his mouth. "Look at me when I speak." He snarled. Kamal spotted a brown, rotting molar. Fingers as thick as her wrists tightened on the fabric of her shirt. 

Kamal swallowed. "W-what... they... they killed my horse."

Sverne frowned. "What?"

"The monsters. They killed Silver." 

"Silver." His eyes darted away for a moment. "Ah... the pony. I remember." As quickly as he had grabbed her, he released the cloth, sending Kamal crumpling into a pile. She landed painfully on her wrists. The metal chain around her ankle clinked. "You remember?" She winced.

Sverne stood again. He tossed the poker to the other side of the camp. He picked up a covered pot  and metal contraption set off to the side near what appeared to be a sleeping pelt. The metal was a portable grill, with four legs he stuck into the ground. He placed the cast iron pot on top of the grill. Clearly it was filled with something, as the weight sunk the legs a little deeper into the soft dirt. The flames licked at the metal. Sverne's gaze returned to the cowering girl. "I figured the river would be the first place you'd stop, if you had any sense." The corner of his mouth crooked up. "I didn't figure the horse would get here without you. I would've taken it, if the orcs hadn't beaten me to it." He took a bladder from his belt, popped off the cap with his teeth, and added a bit of water to the contents of the pot. "But it doesn't matter." He set the lid back on the pot with a clank. "It's not the horse I'm after." His eyes seemed to glow menacingly from under the shadow of his brow. He recapped the bladder. "I was disappointed. You haven't grown as much as I've hoped. But you've made it this far, even after losing your mount. And you escaped a band of orcs... almost successfully." 

"Y-you followed me?" She asked, sounding more disturbed than surprised.

"I saved your hide." He paced back over to her. He was so tall that at full height the firelight didn't reach his face. His eyes narrowed. "And I wasn't about to have orc-scum take what's mine." Kamal's heart skipped a beat. Mine? She'd only met him only once, and it was months ago. None of the dwarves had even mentioned him, at least not in her presence. But it was as if he was waiting for her. 

Her eyes fell on the pot. Sverne followed her gaze and smirked. "Ah, no. That's not for you." She looked up at him, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. His eyes landed on hers, glowing like a nocturnal creature. "I prefer raw."

Suddenly one of his enormous, clawed hands was moving towards her. She sprung to her feet, jumping back, but the chain snapped. The metal cuff dug painfully into her ankle as she gasped and tripped onto her back. A palm as wide as her chest pressed her down, completely incapacitating her. Black claws curled around her sides. An anguished sob caught in her throat, her body shaking. But she was not gutted then and there. Instead, she heard the rattle of keys. There was pressure around her ankle and a click. The cuff fell away, the air cool on her chaffed skin. She glanced at her foot, utterly perplexed. The thin skin over her ankle bone was already bruising. She recoiled as Sverne took one of his nails and lifted her hands up by the leather wrappings. He snapped through the bindings like they were cobwebs. Sverne drew back and nodded. "Stand."

Kamal staggered to her feet. Even kneeling, the beast-man was taller than her. Kamal hiccuped, her eyes flooding with tears. "Let me go home. I-I don't even k-know you."

"But I know you." He pressed his index finger into her belly, twisting his nail with just enough pressure to hurt. "The Iron Hills are not your home. You're no dwarf-kin." His eyes widened as he realized something. "They never told you, did they?" Kamal dug her nails into the palms of her hands. "Told me what?" 

"About me." Sverne smiled coldly. He exhaled slowly through his nose. "There used to be mannish warriors here; good fighters. Opponents worth hunting down. Now, nothing but famers and merchants, weaker than puppies. Worthless." The tip of his nail hooked onto her shirt. Kamal instinctively grabbed at it, trying to pull her shirt back. "But when Hasdran found you... an outsider... now that's different." His grey gaze bore into her. "You are small, but fast. You could offer a challenge." Kamal went rigid as Sverne leaned into her ear, his coarse beard scratching against her cheek. "Prove me right." 

He sat back, reaching for something under his enormous cloak. "Ten, nine, eight..." Kamal saw the tell-tale shine of a blade. She spun on her heels and sprinted blindly into the pitch-black forest.

Chapter Text

Branches whipped across her face as she bolted through the trees. She ran like fire was at her heels, her shoes barely touching the forest floor. Like the wind she slipped between tilted ash and jumped over fallen oaks. She thought of nothing but the next footstep. The woods seemed endless; it was almost as disorienting as being underwater. At the very least, a waning moon shone overhead through the thin branches. It seemed to be low in the sky. Morning's on its way. Her throat burned; her lungs were already straining. Her whole body felt hot and cold, as if she was feverish. 

The earth suddenly dropped from underneath her feet. She plummeted, crying out as she slammed into the dirt and rolled several feet. She reached out, vines slipping through her fingers before she found a hold. But the plant was ripped from the earth and barely slowed her. She dug her heels down, skidding to a stop and, miraculously, landing feet-first at the bottom of the hill. Without a moment to breathe she hurried on, ignoring the throbbing in her tailbone. She couldn't hear Sverne following her, but her gut told her he was close. She felt phantom breath on her neck, propelling her faster and faster. Tears leaked from her eyes as she ran. This isn't happening. She stumbled, choking on her sob and catching herself. She couldn't stop, not even for a second. She swore she saw creatures moving among the trees; either following or chasing her, she couldn't tell which. Fur sharp like knives. Teeth gnashing. A thousand enemies.

She screamed and ducked as something leapt at her head. She spared a glance up into the dark canopy. "B.F!"

The raven flapped overhead, barely perceivable against the night sky. They flipped, darting right then doubling back. It flew so close its feathers brushed the top of her head. They croaked, flying right again, and Kamal saw a small path in the copse. Her heart lifted. "I'll follow you!" She called up to them, voice thinned with strain. She crashed through the brush after the bird, struggling to keep her eyes on the bird while also not tripping over roots and uneven terrain. Where were you? She wondered as her head fizzled with adrenaline. She followed B.F. for several minutes. Every time she lost sight of them they would caw and she could follow the sound. They weren't flying randomly; there was a path. It was only wide enough for a single person to walk through, and mostly overgrown, but it was enough. How did you know about this? B.F. suddenly rocketed towards her, talons spread. Seeing the sharp nails, Kamal instinctively ducked. As she did the bird rolled out of the way as an arrow zoomed over her. Kamal looked at it, her heart skipping a beat as she realized how close it was to hitting her. The arrow was almost as long as she was tall. It had sunk deep into the trunk in the tree up ahead. B.F. looped around her, cawing impatiently. Swallowing her fear, she dared not look back and kept moving.

B.F. made a shrill call as another monstrous arrow struck the tree a centimeter from Kamal's left side. She threw her hands over her head and lunged in the other direction. B.F. croaked angrily, scolding her to return to the main path. He sees me! Kamal yelled at the raven in her head. If I stay on the path, I'm gonna get shot. 

She didn't realize she made a huge mistake until she hit a wall of brambles. Moving too fast to turn, she faced planted into the thorns. She threw her arms up in time to keep the plants from piercing her eyeballs. The thorns caught onto her sleeves and front, digging into her skin. She tried to pull away but they had hooked into her flesh. She heard wingbeats; B.F was flying back for her. They tried to land on the bush but the spiny vines pricked at their feet. They hopped to the forest floor, vocalizing nervously and tugging at her pant leg with its beak. "I know!" Kamal snapped, on the verge of full-blown panic. "I'm trying!" 

She heard a twig snap and began thrashing, a muted shriek catching in her throat. She tried to undo her shirt from the spikes, their sharp ends pricking her finger pads. She hissed in pain as the thorns drew blood. C'mon. C'mon! Her neck twisted; a black shadow was moving in behind her. She felt her clothes rip as she bucked and twisted. B.F. cawed in alarm. Kamal gave one final tug and finally snapped free, pieces of fabric clinging to the barbs. As she turned, she caught the hungry grey eyes watching her from the gloom. Then came a low, rumbling growl. "You're making this too easy."

Kamal moved backwards, stopping herself before getting caught in the brambles again. She looked side to side; there was a gap on the right, but he was too close. B.F. poofed up like an angry cat. As Sverne reached for hilt of his sword, the raven suddenly launched from the ground. Sverne grunted in surprise as the bird leapt for his eyes. He moved his head just in time; but B.F. made a pin point turn and latched onto his thick mane. Before Sverne could shake them off, their beak sliced through the air like a knife. Sverne bellowed. He crumpled in half, grabbing at his head and stumbling backwards. His heavy footsteps shook the earth. B.F. jumped from his hair to the nearest branch. They looked at Kamal and squawked. Before Sverne had a chance to collect himself, Kamal jumped through the opening in the thicket. Her shirt was tattered but still in one piece. Her fingers stung from the little cuts the thorns had inflicted. She nearly froze in terror as a hellacious roar boomed behind her. "You little bitch!" Sverne's voice dripped with malice. "You're going to pay for that!" She heard him crashing through the trees after her, slashing at branches with his clawed hands like he was hacking away with a machete. 

B.F. dipped into another ravine, Kamal following close behind. The bird landed and pranced towards what looked like another knot of barbed vines. They ducked and slipped underneath. Kamal skated to a stop, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She dropped to her belly and army-crawled after the raven. B.F shuffled aside to make room for her as she pulled herself under the hidden outcrop. It was like a small cave; the entrance blocked by foliage. Kamal curled next to B.F. Sweat dripped off her forehead. Her palms were clammy. Her heart beat so fast and hard she felt like it was going to explode. She heard movement outside and held her breath. She bit down a scream as a mass moved past the opening, the movement shifting the leaves. B.F nestled close against her leg, their beak clicking quietly. It still felt too loud. Silently, Kamal reached down and pinched their beak between her fingers. Shh, she motioned. B.F's black eyes flicked at her, something almost irritated in their look. They huddled close as their hunter prowled the clearing outside. Kamal could hear his guttural breathing. He huffed, the sound transforming into gravelly laughter. "I know you're here." He called, pacing the area. "You know, I was going to let this go on a little longer." Kamal heard a Hoark and he spit, and she cringed inwardly. "But I don't think you're worth the effort anymore. I'm going to gut you and that winged rat." He stopped moving. Kamal squeezed her eyes shut, acid riling in her stomach. Sverne sniffed the air. For a moment, there was silence.

Kamal screeched as the plant wall was suddenly torn away. B.F leapt into action, springing at the beast-man's face, but this time Sverne was ready. He threw out his arm and seized B.F's leg. In the same fell swoop, he swung the bird towards his mouth and his jaws parted. The raven cried out as Sverne's unnaturally wolfish teeth sunk into their wing. With a jerk of his head, the man-beast tore the bird's wing apart. Kamal watched in horror as the he threw the bird aside, their body striking the stone sticking out of the wall of the hollow with a smack and falling still. 

Sverne spit loose feathers out of his mouth. "Ugh." Then his eyes turned on Kamal. She scrambled forward, but felt his hand grapple her arm. He yanked her out of her hiding spot, holding her to his face triumphantly. "In your warren, hm?" He sneered, eyeing her up and down. He flung her onto the ground, hard. Pain shot through her body. Her back ached from landing on it. Before she could get up he was kneeling over her, blocking out the sky. A nocturnal film glinted in one of his eyes; the other was dull. 

Kamal heaved a wet sob, her body convulsing as she struggled to get up. He grabbed her face with a massive hand and turned it so the side of her head was pressed flat against the earth. The soil was cool on her skin. Sverne's palm was coarse and warm. She kicked and punched upwards, but his knee pushed into her middle, squeezing the air out of her lungs. Hot breath washed over her. 

She wasn't sure if what happened next was real. She felt a great force clamp over her left shoulder. Teeth like rusty nails sunk so deep into her skin she felt their tips graze her shoulder blade. Cold ran through her from head to toe and she went numb. She didn't feel pain, just pressure. The mandible clenched, and she heard popping and wet tearing. Kamal's shaking hands curled at her sides. 

All at once, the jaws unhooked. She felt teeth slide out of her skin. Staring up above, she could see a bit of Sverne's face. Past his dark beard, his mouth and jaw was stained dark red. His head was drawn at attention. He snarled, blood flying off his lip. He swallowed whatever was in his mouth. "What—"

There was a mighty bleat, and a force slammed into Sverne's side, sending him rolling away. He dug his claws into the soft earth, righting himself quickly and looking wildly around with his one working eye. Slowly, Kamal lifted her cheek from the dirt. She squinted. Her vision was blurred, but she could see something circling Sverne. The strange intruder suddenly split into two; the steed and its dismounted rider. Sverne bared his stained teeth, looking more like a rabid wolf than man. 

Thin breath slipped over Kamal's lips. Her eyes pivoted towards were B.F had fallen. In the dim light, she saw the raven flapping their good wing uselessly, spinning like a moth in the throws of its final moments. They're alive. Kamal tried to move, and her vision swayed. Her neck was slick and smelled like pennies. She peeled herself from the ground. Her neck cramped, and something in her head told her to stop moving. But B.F needed help. Propped on her right elbow, she dragged herself towards them. She couldn't feel her legs; they trailed behind her as she inched closer and closer to the bird. Behind her, she was faintly aware of fighting. When she was close enough to reach B.F, she tried to use her left arm, but for some reason she couldn't move it. She fell on her side, wrapping her arm around the frightened bird. B.F. squawked in surprise, spinning and pinning her with a panicked gaze. Kamal opened her mouth to comfort them, but her words died on her tongue. Instead, she curled her arm closer around B.F and drew them close. She shivered. It's cold. Why is it so cold? She ran her trembling fingers gently through B.F's feathers. The bird's torn wing was raised high, as if holding it in normal position was too painful. B.F tucked their beak into Kamal's armpit. It would've tickled if her nerves weren't so fried. 

She tucked her hand under B.F's body and brought them to her chest. The raven settled on her front as she tucked it into the front of her shirt. Kamal lay her hand over B.F, careful not to touch their wing. It's ok, she thought. It's ok, B.F. We're gonna be ok. She felt like her brain was full of static. She heard hooves plodding on the ground followed by a weight landing at her side. A voice cursed. Strong arms gathered her up. As she was lifted from the dirt, she choked down a scream of pain. She felt a spear of white-hot pain lance down her left side. Liquid fire dripped through her veins. She stiffened, but it made it hurt even worse. B.F burrowed deeper into her shirt. The world rocked as the newcomer lifted her up onto their mount. They hopped on behind her, one thick arm enveloping her like a seatbelt. "Lean back, don't strain your shoulder." A male voice spoke into her ear. Kamal leaned back like they asked, worried that she'd topple forward if she tried to support herself. The mount moved and she involuntarily pushed closer into him. The arm around her tightened protectively. "Stay with me. It's going to be ok." Kamal lifted a hand to his forearm and held his sleeve. Tears poured down her face as she realized who had her. Hasdran pressed his lips quickly to the back of her head. "I've got your back."

Chapter Text

The war ram charged through the forest, following the scent of water. Hasdran held Kamal close, trying to ride as smoothly as possible as to not further tear her shoulder. The wound was bad; so bad he feared he may have to stop soon to dress it. But they didn't have time. Darestrum would only be able to hold off the skin changer for so long. They had to get to the lake. If they could get close enough to the border of Esgaroth, the humans might be able to drive Sverne away. But it was only a hope. There was also the chance that the humans would turn the dwarves away, leaving them to die on the mainland. His eyes glanced from the path ahead to the top of Kamal's head. She may be our key. If they pity her, they'll take us in. He felt vile for thinking of her a a bargaining chip, but what choice did they have. 

He could barely look at the gash in her shoulder. The exposed red muscle oozed blood. It was as if a garden rake had been sunken into her skin and dragged up through the tissue. Had they gotten there any later, Sverne would've likely torn into an artery, and it would've been over in seconds. For now she had time, but not much. He kicked the goat hard with his heels. "C'mon!" 

✶

Kamal swayed in and out of consciousness. Blood ran slowly down her back and chest. The wind was cold on her cheeks. She was so tired. The throbbing in her shoulder had died, replaced by an odd tingling in her limbs.

They exploded out of the forest onto a rocky beach. The ram's hooves click-clacked on the stone. Hasdran spun the ram around, looking across the lake. There, right-hand side; dim orange light floated above the water's surface. Lake-Town. And beyond that, a familiar shape from Dwarven legend rose from the horizon. Hasdran's breath hitched. The Lonely Mountain. It was so close.

Kamal groaned in pain, knocking him back to his senses. He nudged the goat onward. The animal had excellent balance, given their species was native to mountains. They trotted over the stones to the sandy shoreline, picking up into a canter once they were on a smoother surface. The lake water sprayed behind them as they rode towards the mannish settlement. Kamal's eyes fluttered open. Moonlight shone silver on the glassy surface of the water. She caught whiffs of mud, plant decay, and rain. "Where..." She mumbled in English. Hasdran spared her a quick glance. "We're almost there." He assured her, his dark curls flying behind him. B.F croaked weakly. Kamal's arms loosely caged the bird, but her hands were going slack as she grew more and more faint. She let her chin drop to her collarbone, her eyelids like weights. "I... I wasn't fast... enough." She spoke again in her native language, and the dwarf didn't understand. 

Hasdran quickly took the arm wrapped around her middle and pressed his hand to her forehead. He hissed through his teeth. She's cold. Too Cold. Ice prickled in his belly as he wondered if they would make it in time before she bled out. He was already pushing the ram as fast as he could without jostling her too much in the saddle. He couldn't have the destroyed muscle tear any more.

A distant bleat sounded from the tree line. Darestrum, astride a black ram, barreled out of the woods. Hasdran noticed his silver helm was missing. As the elder dwarf galloped closer, Hasdran could also see his stricken expression. His heart dropped out of his toes. "What happened?!" He called over his shoulder as Darestrum caught up.

Darestrum reined in the black billy goat, matching Hasdran's pace. His face was pale and speckled with blood and dirt. "Can't hold him off." He said, breathless. "I got a few hits in, but he changed." His eyes met Hasdran's, belaying his dread. He didn't have to say any more. 

They were at half a mile from the Lake-Town bridge. They'd have to drop the goats and carry on on foot once they reached it. This close to the village there were docked dinghies and fishing boats tied along the shoreline. The boats bobbed gently as the water shivered with approaching hoofbeats. In the gloom, Hasdran caught his first glance of the bridge. Suddenly his mount stumbled, snorting nervously and slowing. Hasdran kicked his heels into the ram's sides. "Shit! What's happening?" He kicked again, but the goat was no longer listening. They circled and stamped, huffing as they fought back against Hasdran's command. Darestrum's mount had also stopped, ears pricked northeast towards the forest. 

The dwarves' hearts seized in unison as a terrifying rumble echoed through the dark. A small flock of birds took off from the tree tops, spooked out of their sleep by the oncoming threat. Hasdran tried moving his goat again, but they refused to move forward. Instead they backtracked until their hooves were in the lake. Their sides heaved with panicked breaths. Hasdran's eyes moved to the woods nearest to the bridge. At first, he saw nothing but a black wall of conifers. All of a sudden, a lumbering, quadrupedal creature split from the darkness. It's remaining eye glowed like a silver coin as it patiently ambled towards them.

"He's cutting us off!" Hasdran shouted. He dismounted, dragging Kamal off of the saddle and cradling the girl as her face twisted in a grimace. Strands of her dark hair clung to her clammy forehead. The raven was swaddled in her shirt, poking its head out like a chick peeking out of its nest. He lowered her like she was made of glass into the closest boat; a dinghy with two benches and enough width to fit three people. The dwarf tucked her body in the front of the hull. Once he was sure she wouldn't roll, he ran to the end of boat and grabbed the side. His boots dug into the sand as he pushed with all his might. 

Darestrum was still mounted, his blade drawn as he faced the approaching monster. Hasdran strained, unable to get a foothold. Sverne had already covered some ground. He's not charging. Hasdran thought, his heart pounding. Fucker is playing with us. He'd never seen the skin-changer's animal form. He didn't know what to expect, but what he saw was far more monstrous than anything he could imagine. Sverne's shoulders stood far higher than any normal bear. Even this distance, he could estimate the beast's hackles were at least six feet high. He turned and pushed with his back to the wood. "Dare!" He panted. "Help me!" 

Darestrum looked back, eyes flicking nervously between the bear and the boat. Resolving himself, he flew off the black ram and ran to Hasdran's side. Sheathing his scabbard, he seized the other side and together they pushed the vessel into the shallows. Their spines tingled as Sverne let out an angry rumble. He sped up from a saunter to a loping run. His massive weight shook the earth. The goats bleated and paced, but to their credit they didn't bolt. They were bred for battle after all.

Darestrum peeked into the hull, trying to ignore the pang her felt upon seeing the pitiful form curled up on the floor. "Where're the oars?"

Hasdran's eyes widened. He looked around the hull and back at the beach. "Blast." He scrambled for the nearest boat, but no oars. The owners must've packed them away to keep strangers from stealing their crafts. "Fuck!" Then his eyes landed on a long push pole lying a few paces away in the sand. He snatched it and threw it to Darestrum. The old dwarf displayed amazing reflexes as he caught it in a split second. Darestrum's eyes darted past Hasdran. Sverne was close. Pebbles jumped under his loping run. Hasdran turned and saw the bear in his full glory; his shaggy fur was completely black. His face was not completely ursine; it was still relatively blunt and human, but the bridge of his nose had joined with his heavy brow. It was less hairy than the rest of him, the skin an ugly purple color like it was ravaged by mange. Yellowing tusks protruded from his lower jaw.

Hasdran froze. There was something horribly uncanny about the beast charging towards him. "Hasdran!" He blinked out of his stupor. Lifting his boot, he shoved the boat with his sole, moving it farther into the water. "Get on!" He ordered. Darestrum opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Hasdran shut him up. He waded knee-deep into the water, launching himself over the edge of the boat with a grunt. He stumbled to his feet, one hand gripping the push pole, the other reaching for his sword. But Hasdran beat him to it. He unsheathed his own weapon; a hatchet. Then he ran a few strides to his ram and climbed up.

Bile rose in Darestrum's throat. "What are you doing?" He snapped, his angry tone barely masking his fear. Hasdran clicked his tongue and the goat, finally listening, jumped into action. He steered them away from the water, swinging out around Sverne's left side. He spun his hatchet in his hands. "C'mon, fucker!" He jeered, riding so close to the bear that Darestrum almost cried out in warning. The old dwarf stared, dumbfounded, as the younger charged at a beast that could challenge a small force. Sverne's concentration on reaching the boat broke for an instant as he snapped his jaws at the ram's legs. The ram bucked out of the way, the movement saving his life but making Hasdran miss a downward blow on the bear's head. He rode along the tree line, craning his head back towards the boat. "Go!"

Darestrum suddenly remembered the pole in his hand. Plunging it into the water, he felt the end stick into the silty soil and pushed. The dinghy moved with agonizing slowness, even as he pushed with as much force as his drained could muster. He lifted the pole to repeat the motion, and looked up to check on Hasdran. He was still mounted, still taunting the bear by riding circles around him. Brain clouded by his feral state, Sverne was temporarily distracted. He chuffed and snorted, baring ferocious teeth as Hasdran's hatchet swung a millimeter from his temple. Hasdran's weapon was his disadvantage; he only had the one, and it was best used in close combat. 

"Hasdran!" Darestrum bellowed, looking worriedly as the growing distance between the ship and the beach. "Get on the bloody boat!"

Sverne turned at the sound of his voice, his ears swiveling. He turned as started back towards the water, remembering his purpose. Darestrum's black goat finally submitted to its nerves and took off towards the bridge, passing Hasdran on its way. Hasdran looked at Lake-Town, then Darestrum. If he can swim, they're dead. He looked back at the orange dots of candlelight in the town. He can't take all of them. His lungs swelled with air. "HEY!" His voice echoed across the lake, reverberating back to him. "HELP US! AT THE BRIDGE! HELP!" Throat raw from screaming, Hasdran turned on the bear, who's back was now to him. He slapped his mount's hind. "Get!" He clicked, and he flew into a gallop. He raised his hand high over his head, the silver edge of his hatchet catching the moonlight. Keep him preoccupied. Buy them time. He swung with Herculean effort. We just need more ti—

Sverne turned so fast he didn't have time to process it. A gargantuan paw swiped underneath him, cracking the ram's front legs and immediately crippling it. The goat screamed, flying forward and sending their rider crashing into the sand. Struggling to raise his floppy head, Hasdran's vision blurred as he watched his mount, legs snapped like twigs, die in the bear's jaws. Sverne dropped its head, the neck clearly broken. The ram's glossy eyes looked up towards the stars. 

Hasdran tried to move, but he cried out as agonizing pain speared his lower back. He tried to move his feet, but it was like they were detached from his body. He looked up. The bear was approaching like a shadow, grey eye glowing. The other was a cloudy orb, rendered useless by the raven's well-timed peck. Fell voices chimed through the air. The town's people? He wondered, his shaking breaths disturbing grains of sand as he lay belly down. He wanted to twist his head to seem but his neck hurt too much. The boat. Darestrum, please tell me you got away. He closed his eyes, face scrunching against the sting of tears. Take care of the girl.  An encompassing shadow cast over him, and he knew what was coming. Hot air rushed over his back. A low rumble from the base of Sverne's throat shook his weary bones. Hasdran's lips parted, a shuttering sob rising out of him. With his last exhale, he spoke the name of the last person on his mind. "Clasa."

Chapter Text

Darestrum stood at the stern, hand still hovering by his scabbard. The color drained from his face. He watched the shoreline with an empty stare as water lapped gently at the sides of the boat. 

He didn't want to breathe. He wanted death to come and take him swiftly; to carry him away from the dawning horror that his ward was gone. His boy, not of his blood but of his heart. Dashat kurdu. The sky, so wide and unobscured by trees, felt like it was going to swallow him up. Through watering eyes, he could make out blobs of light trailing out of the village and across the bridge, like molten metal. The damned black shadow on the beach moved back into the safety of the forest. It left behind an unrecognizable body. Blood turned the sand red.

He watched as the golden river of light flowed down the beach. Bipedal figures appeared as they came closer, their torches held high, swinging the light as they scanned the area for danger.

Darestrum's tongue fused to the roof of his mouth as Sverne slinked away into the woods. The dwarf's body trembled. His face contorted in pain, a runaway tear leaking from the corner of his eye. He had at least hoped the people of Lake-Town would confront Sverne; Maybe injure him, ideally, kill him. But the coward wasn't going to face the humans. He was running away. 

Shocked cries resounded across the water as the hoard approached the scene. They didn't seem to notice the missing craft. Even from this distance, Darestrum could hear their horrified gasps. The energy of the crowd grew frantic as they dispersed, some drawing swords and creating a barrier of light between the lake and the timber line. 

Darestrum had pushed the ship far enough from the shore that the torchlight could not reach them. Unfortunately, they were also so far out that his push pole no longer reached the bottom of the lake. 

The dwarf sunk to the seat of his pants, turning so his feet pressed against the opposite side of the hull. He buried his weathered face into his hands. A scream stormed in his lungs, threatening to explode. He wanted to let it out so bad, to go hoarse with agony and collapse.

Then he looked at the girl. Her brown skin had gone unnaturally ashen. She lay with her good shoulder pressed to the floor, the other exposing her brutal wound. Her blouse, weighted with blood, lay heavy on her side, her individual ribs pressing through the cloth with each inhale. Though her eyes were closed, discomfort played on her fatigue-worn features. 

Darestrum leaned over and held two fingers to her neck. Her pulse was there, but faint as a butterfly's beating wings. He almost tore her apart. A defenseless child. He looked at the people on shore. The bite inflicted on the girl was bone deep... Even if they were willing to help, the humans may not have the medical means to treat her if she was taken by infection. His head turned to the other shore. He caught the distant sound of tumbling water. It was familiar; From a different time, when he'd helped menfolk resettle after the desolation. The river's mouth. And up the river... 

"No." He spoke aloud. His hand fell on Kamal's ankle. A deep purple bruise blossomed on her exposed skin. Anger boiled inside of his gut. His mouth tightened into a thin line and his brows bunched with worry. He swallowed thickly. "Mahal damn me." He muttered darkly, lifting his hand from her leg. He knew his rage could turn to sickness; he'd seen it happen many times before. But being so drained, for now he was bent on using it as fuel.

Sniffing back tears, he rolled up his sleeves and removed any extra layers until he was stripped down to just his undershirt and pants. Carefully as he could, he rolled over the edge of the boat and plunged straight into the water. The cold hit him like a sledgehammer. He spit out the bitter lake residue, treading his way to the back. Checking his direction, he pushed against the wood and began to kick. He was lucky he'd learned how to swim, given how common it was for people to accidentally fall into the lake during construction. Those pointy-ear bastards better pull through, he thought begrudgingly as he swam towards the other side. 

✶

It was well into morning when Darestrum reached the river gate. The air was cool, but his body burned with exertion. Sweat poured from his temples. His legs cramped. The rapids roared on his right, frothing white as the current dipped in and around large boulders. Bone-weary from the lengthy swim and the following ascension, the dwarf used all his willpower to put one foot in front of the other. Kamal was slumped on his back like a sack of potatoes, her arms draped over his shoulder. B.F had found a spot on the dwarf's shoulder and settled there, his long claws pricking Darestrum through his thin shirt. But the old dwarf paid the bird no mind; there wasn't time to worry about a little pain. Kamal's skin was disturbingly cool to the touch. Her breathing had become shallow, and when he pulled her from the boat to start the climb she was barely coherent. The very real danger of her dying on him loomed over Darestrum like a thundercloud. 

Grey stone parapets rose overhead. The river flowed through a sluice under the wall, spilling out into a waterfall. Darestrum trudged from the stone to the overgrown heather. His boot landed on a hidden stick, and the snap echoed clear and sharp over the rush of water. A bronze helmet appeared in a gap between the parapets. They shouted. Darestrum froze, heart pounding, one hand reaching for his weapon. Four more guards appeared on the wall, drawing long bows and notching their arrows in one fluid motion. Darestrum thought better and lifted his hand away from the sheath. He held it up placidly, trying to keep each guard in his line of sight. The first one to notice him stepped on the edge of the wall, bending to look down at him. His helm covered the entirety of his head, save for stern eyes peering out over a chainmail veil. His breastplate looked like it was fashioned from dragon scales. He spoke in their strange tongue, but the warning tone wasn't hard to decipher. 

Darestrum moved back half a step. "Don't shoot." He called up, lifting his hand higher so they could see that he held no weapons. The other was tucked under Kamal, supporting the girl on his back. He warily eyed the arrows following him. He didn't trust elves as far as he could spit, but their healing skills were legendary. He had to keep that in mind, lest his distrust get the better of him. 

The elf narrowed his eyes. "You are trespassing dwarf." He sneered in Westron. "Leave this place." 

Darestrum lowered his head in feigned respect, imagining his ancestors scolding him for taking smack from a spineless wood-dweller. "Please. I need a healer."

"There is nothing for you here." The guard snapped back. He twitched his forefinger, and the others drew their arrows. "This is your final warning." 

Darestrum lowered himself onto one knee, looking up at them pleadingly. "Please, don't! I have a child!" Closer to the ground, he slid Kamal from his back. B.F readjusted on his shoulder, looking like he wanted to fly off but couldn't. The girl was fully unconscious. Her head rolled as he brought her close to his chest. Shallow breath squeezed from her lungs. 

The elven guard's hand suddenly lifted. The arrows lowered, and the grip on Darestrum's heart unclenched. The leader's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Darestrum's impatience lurched, and before he could stop himself he barked, "Say something, dammit! She's on death's door!" As soon as he said it, he clenched his teeth down on his tongue. Now you've done it. All of that for an arrow in the skull. 

But the elves did not immediately riddle him with arrows. Instead, the head guard removed their helmet. Auburn hair spilled out, catching the wind and unraveling down past their shoulders. They had a cold, unwelcoming expression that Darestrum had come to associate with elven folk. The guard then launched over the wall, landing light as a cat on the heather below. Two other guards followed. Darestrum pulled Kamal possessively to his breast as the tall strangers approached. She whined in her sleep, a crinkle forming between her brow.

The elf's ears perked at the soft sound. His eyes widened. "A dilthen er." His head whipped around as he addressed the others on the wall. "Arthanar, hir Tulusdir." The elf Arathanar nodded as they disappeared behind the dam. 

The head guard reached for the child, but the dwarf pulled back. Every fibre in his body tensed. How could bring himself to give her up so easily? His eyes lowered as he gazed at Kamal's fragile body. Her hands curled to her chest. Long black lashes fanned over her pallid cheeks. It reminded him of the first night they met; how she shied away from every sound, terrified and vulnerable. He'd stayed up that night, guarding her as the others slept. He watched her cry silently, eventually succumbing to exhaustion. She looked so much like Hasdran when he was little; those long nights of comforting the boy as he cried for his parents. Clasa hid her sorrow, but Hasdran was too young to hold it in. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve. A lump bobbed in Darestrum's throat. At least, he used to. 

The elf looked at him expectantly. "Dwarf. There is little time."

Gathering himself, Darestrum leaned forward and passed the girl into the sinewy guard's outstretched arms. The guard's metal armor clinked as he supported her head against his pauldron. Darestrum hadn't fully realized just how small Kamal was until she was compared to other tall folk. She had walked among his people for months, almost the size of as them, only recognizable as a child upon closer inspection. Now, cradled to the adult elf, she looked miniscule.

The elf lifted her with ease, looking down at her face with soft eyes. His gaze hardened as he looked at the dwarf and gestured his head uphill. "Come." 

Darestrum followed behind, mentally critiquing the elf's carrying technique as the other two guards walked close at his sides. Support her neck better. Don't let her arm droop like that. Quit hopping around like a damn deer. B.F looked back and forth between the elves, clicking pensively. Darestrum shushed them but kept silent, a sinking feeling growing in his belly as they ascended to the halls of the Elven King. 

Chapter Text

She was floating. Kamal reflexively reached out only to find empty air. The darkness rolled around her like an ocean. Her hand lifted to her injured shoulder. The fibrous muscle squished under her fingers, but to her surprise she didn't feel any pain. Her fingers curled and scraped against the bone of her shoulder blade. A chunk of her body was gone. Eaten.

She heard warbled voices in the distance, like she was laying at the bottom of a pool listening to people above. Suddenly, the void turned cold. Something inside Kamal crashed like a gong, rattling up her body. Sweat broke along her forehead and immediately froze over, little marbles of ice rolling off her skin. She watched as they drifted away towards the distant surface. 

Something moved through the darkness below her. She spun, looking down into the deep. A prickle passed through her spine as she thought she spotted a shape swimming in the black. Her mouth fell open in shock as that something started moving swiftly through the shadows, straight for her. She twisted her body vertical, kicking her legs furiously as she swam upward. 

Kamal was met with the full brunt of the mass as it scooped her up. She fell flat on her back as she was spirited upwards, the void flowing around her like water. Heat bloomed against her skin from the form cupping her. Barely able to move under the pressure, her fingers fanned out and grazed the strange creature beneath her. Her chest seized as her fingertips met strange, soft grooves. It feels like... like... 

All at once, the force slowed. Kamal tried to support herself, but the halt was so sudden that her body kept moving. She floated a few feet out of its grip, paddling frantically until she sunk safely back onto its cushion. She lay supine, blinking in surprise as her eyes caught refracting light shining down over her. Mocing far more gently, the form lifted her towards the surface. Cringing, Kamal sealed her mouth shut and braced from impact. 

She broke through the surface of the black sea. As she felt the blessed wind touch her face, she unsealed her lips and swallowed deep gulps of air. She coughed, water catching in her throat, and swept her wet hair out of her eyes. Sputtering, she sat up and looked around, blind as a bat. She rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyelids and glanced down. At first she was confused. She only saw the choppy water below. But there was a pool around her, diverging into rivulets that trailed a few feet away and tumbled off a transparent plane. As her eyes zeroed in, she saw that water clung to parts of the air like dewdrops on a spiderweb.

Hand shaking, she reached down and dipped her fingers into the pool. At the bottom, she felt warmth. Her stomach dropped. A pulse.

Then, as if the universe heard the questions bouncing around her skull, the invisible being revealed itself. With a flex, skin appeared under her. Kamal stared in mute disbelief as fingers almost as long as she was tall curled over her like a shade. Each finger pad was as big as her face. 

Her initial silence turned into ragged, shallow breathing as she realized with a start that she was in a hand. She tried to hop to her feet, but she stumbled and fell on her knees, the padded flesh of the palm dulling the impact. She cried out as an enormous thumb manifested beside her, blocking her from tumbling over the side. The fingers were closing in. There was nowhere to run. She curled up, throwing her hands over her head. The wind shifted. Something big was moving towards her. Shivering, she cracked one eye open to face her doom.

Her heart stopped.

Colossal eyes hovered at the edge of the palm, peering down at her terrifying intensity. The being was so large she could not make out it's whole face. All she saw where those eyes, as bright and icy as distant stars. Kamal exhaled, and white steam plumed from her lips. The cold was back in force, setting her hairs on end. She grit her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Water dripped from her clothes, the droplets raining into the puddle she knelt in. She could see the shadow of her reflection in the milky irises. 

To her relief, the fingers unbent slightly. Stillness filled the space between them. She wanted to look away but found she couldn't. The sky was too dim to see anything beyond the luminous eyes. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame; mesmerized by the light. It was like staring twin moons. Slowly, her racing heart slowed to a calm patter.

But she recoiled into the seat of the giant palm as a thunderclap voice rumbled through her bones. "Almárëa Eru", the stern voice called, eyes thrown heavenward. When he spoke again, she understood. "What fate do you cast?" 

Kamal craned her neck up, trying to see who the eyes were talking to, but there was nothing by empty sky. No response came.

The glinting eyes returned their gaze to girl. Kamal froze, spotlit under their lunar glow. 

A tingle ran up Kamal's arms. She looked down and gasped. To her horror, her hands had begun to disintegrate into silver dust. She turned them over, eyes bulging as her bones appeared through her skin. The dust drifted away on the air. She fell on her backside, trying to rub her hands together to keep them turning to ash. She exclaimed as she looked past what remained for her fingers and saw the tips of her shoes disappearing. Her tear-laden eyes turned up to the giant. "What's happening?" She croaked, her eyebrows drawing together. 

Heavy eyelids dropped over the metallic irises as the giant slowly blinked. Kamal swallowed her fear and stood, grabbing to the thumb for support. The thumb twitched as if surprised. Kamal glared up at the eyes, wiping angry tears from her cheek. "You brought me here, didn't you!" She shouted, her voice dripping with resentment. She was tired of being afraid. She was seething. "You took me away from my family! Why!" She dug her fingernails into the meat of the giant's thumb. "TELL ME!" She screamed, her voice pitching so loud it cracked. 

The hooded gaze suddenly widened and the haunting eyes bore into her. This time, the child held her ground, even as the light burned her eyes. The giant's voice shook her like an earthquake; "Endure what is to come." It wasn't a question; it was a command. The visage regarded her with a ferocity that made her stomach twist in knots. "Alalyë maqueta Eruva indo." 

Their thumb tilted down and Kamal lost her purchase. Although she could stand, she could no longer see her feet. Her bones turned clear as the strange magic crawled up her arms to her shoulders. It covered her wound, erasing it from existence along with her body. She stared at the creature, her nostrils flaring. "Take me home!" She demanded. Out of her periphery, she saw the dust coast away on the breeze. She stretched her neck as it disappeared too; then her jaw, her ears; her mouth and nose. Soon only her eyes remained; comparatively small to the opalescent orbs, but blazing with fury. Soon, those too were gone. It was as if the girl had never existed. 

The giant flattened their palm, and lifted the invisible shell of her soul to the ceiling of stars. They felt the child's feather-light weight lift from their hand and drift skywards, back to the realm of the living. 

Chapter Text

Darestrum's leg bounced anxiously, his forefinger running over his top lip as he watched the elven healer, Tulusdir, hover over Kamal. The girl had not stirred in hours. "Why hasn't she woken up?"

Tulusdir did not look up from his work. He wore a simple set of dark leggings and a tunic. A crisp, white apron was tied to his front. His slender fingers slipped under the back of Kamal's head, tilting her head up so she could drink from a clear vial. He tipped the liquid into her parted lips. She still didn't move. When he was sure the drink went down, Tulusdir lay her gently back on the silk pillow. He sighed. "I cannot work miracles." He responded in Westron.

Heat flushed through Darestrum's cheeks. The hand on his mouth clenched into a fist. "You're an elf. You've had a thousands years to practice your craft, and your stumped by a flesh-wound?"

That seemed to have struck a nerve. Darestrum sat up straight as the elf turned on him, flashing him with a frustrated pout. "The bite happened last evening, yes?" He asked snappily. Darestrum nodded. Tulusdir continued, "It was not treated, and according to your account it was seeping blood for quite a while. How she was not dead upon arrival baffles me." He looked back at the girl. "This may be beyond my abilities..."

"No it fuckin' isn't." Darestrum growled, jumping to his feet. He stuck a meaty finger in the healer's face. "I didn't drag her here just so she can–" His throat suddenly plugged up. He inhaled sharply through his nose. He snatched the inside of his cheek between his teeth, collecting himself. He'd rather be caught dead than cry in front of an elf. "I... I can't lose her."

The elf's brow crept lower. He nodded once. "I will continue to do my best."

Suddenly Darestrum moved in, seizing hold of Tulusir's slender arm. The elf jumped in surprise, mouth falling open soundlessly. Darestrum met his chestnut colored eyes with a stare that could melt metal. "I need better than your best." He rumbled threateningly.

The elf's shock was quickly shadowed by irritation. He yanked his arm free of the dwarf's grip. "Don't forget, dwarf, that you are here as a guest." His eyes narrowed. "Our hospitality is not granted to all; consider yourself lucky."

Darestrum stepped back, glowering. "Aye. I know of your ways." The air crackled between them. The elf harrumphed, turning his back on the dwarf. "When did my attendant last change the bandaging?" He muttered, deftly changing subjects. Darestrum dropped back down on the seat, crossing his arms. "About three hours ago."

"I'll change them now." Tulusir said. He buried his vexation in his work, turning his attention on helping the girl. Several minutes ticked by in silence. Darestrum watched the healer dip his hand in a vessel of clear alcohol and dry them with a clean towel. He pulled Kamal's blanket down to her belly. Her left shoulder was liberally wrapped in strips of cloth; the bandaging stretched across her chest and tied under her right armpit. Tulusir undid the knot and unravelled the long swath. As he carefully unwrapped, Tulusir cleared his throat. "I'm no expert on dwarf lineages..." He spared Darestrum a quick glance. "But I assume she is not your kin."

Darestrum smiled humorlessly. "No." He looked past the elf at the girl. Kamal's bare chest rose with steady breathes. The bite did look better; the skin that remained had been stitched up by nimble hands, and the red tissue no longer stared out at him. An ugly purple bruise blossomed across her shoulder and clavicle. His heart wrenched. "We sort of stumbled upon her, east of Esgaroth."

"We?" Tulusir asked, a frown in his voice.

"My hunting part and I." Darestrum looked down at his feet. He didn't want to talk about Hasdran, not to a stranger. His eyebrows bunched. Tulusir gathered the soiled bandages into a ball as deposited them in a bucket at the base of the cot. "What of her family?"

Darestrum shrugged, even though the elf was turned away. "No one came to collect her."

The healer turned their head, looking at him contemplatively. "And she has lived with you since that day you found her?"

"She was taken in by a minor lord of the Iron Hills. I am close with them." 

Tulusir's eyebrows lifted. "The dwarves of the Iron Hills let a stranger into their midst?" He hummed thoughtfully. "That is a first."

Darestrum eyed the elf cautiously. "She was in very good hands."

The healer met his accusatory gaze. "I accuse you of nothing, dwarf." He returned his attention to wrapping the bandages. "But you must understand my suspicion, given her current state."

"This state is the fault of a skin-changer." Darestrum spit bitterly. He caught the elf's ears twitch to attention.

"Beorn?" 

"No, his bastard son." 

Tulusdir released a sigh he seemed to have been holding in his lungs. "I would've have been shocked; Beorn is wild, but he sticks to a code." Tulusdir's hands paused over Kamal's bite mark, concern staining his features. "I was led to believe this was an orc attack..." 

Unable to sit still, Darestrum stood again and paced the back wall of the room. "It was no orc. Sverne... he hunts the wilds between the Long Lake and the Hills." He shook his head slowly, heat pressing against the back of his eyes. "He's been known to hunt human merchants; the Hills stopped receiving vendors some time ago. The trip became too dangerous."

Tulusdir frowned. "And your people let this... beast... roam freely?"

"No." Darestrum replied blackly. "Some allowed it. He was extremely effective at keeping orcs from the south at bay. There was... indecision."

Tulusdir scoffed. "Dwarven politics are effective as ever, I see." 

Darestrum spun on the heels, looking like he was ready to pounce. "I do not see your people doing anything to stop him." He sneered. 

The elf finished cleaning Kamal's wound, tying the bandages with a knot and covering her again with the blanket. He turned slowly, emanating a threatening glow. He stared down at the old dwarf. "I have never heard of this creature." He said frigidly, eyes glinting. He too looked like he would like nothing better than to slap the other to the ground. Darestrum rolled his eyes, and Tulusdir's face flushed dark red.

But before they could launch at each other, Kamal groaned. They both looked at her, Darestrum jogging across the room to her bedside. Kamal's brow furrowed as her dark eyes cracked open, squinting against the light of the torches. The elf and the dwarf stared at her, bug-eyed, holding their breath. As she blinked and took in her strange new environment, her eyes quickly swiveled and landed on something familiar. Darestrum's anger fell away. The corners of his mouth curled into a relieved smile. "Hello Reed." He whispered, reaching and taking her hand between his.

Kamal looked at him silently for a moment. Then she spoke softly, like she was passing him a secret. "I think I saw something."

Chapter Text

Kamal winced. "My mouth tastes bad."

Tulusdir smiled affectionately. "It's the tonic. I just gave you some." Kamal looked at him as if just realizing he was there. Her eyes quickly trained on his pointed ears. She gasped. Tulusdir's smile crooked awkwardly. "Is something the matter?"

Darestrum cupped her cheek gently in his palm. "What's wrong, Reed?" Kamal shook her head. "H-he's an elf." Tulusdir laughed under his breath. "Of course I am. Have you lived with the dwarves so long you've forgotten other peoples?" But the girl only stared at him, spellbound. He really was the first tall person she had seen in months. His proportions were more like hers; all very human save for the ears. Kamal stuttered, "Is... do you know someone named Galadriel?"

The elf gawked at her. "Galadriel?"

Kamal tried to sit up a little, but when she hissed in pain both dwarf and elf jumped to settle her back down. "You must stay still," Tulusdir said, reaching behind the cot for more pillows to prop behind her. Kamal's shoulder throbbed horribly. Darestrum drew his hand away, watching her worriedly. After adjusting her position, Tulusdir sat on the edge of the bed, his head now level with the dwarf's. "Why do you speak of Lady Galadriel?" 

"I read about her. Is she here?" She asked. 

Tulusdir shook his head. "No." He said, eyeing her sadly as she wilted. "She dwells in Lothlorien. We are in Mirkwood, in the realm of King Thranduil." When the girl gaped at him, he continued, "You were unconscious for quite a while; I suspect you're still hazy. We are on the Western side of the Long Lake."

Her eyes widened. "Then we're close, right?" She said. "We're on the right side of the lake." 

"Hold on," Darestrum interrupted. "You didn't answer him. Why Galadriel?" 

The girl opened her mouth, then faltered. Shame flooded through her. She decided to look at the elf, trying to ignore the growing confusion on Darestrum's face out of the corner of her eye as her plan unraveled before him. Her tongue felt dry. "I-I heard that she's a witch. I thought if she could do magic then she... she..." Her voice trailed off. Darestrum's forehead creased. His jaw set. Kamal took a deep breath. "Maybe she could send me home."

No one spoke. Kamal looked down at her hands. A disquiet feeling settled in her gut. Her eyebrows bunched up, lowering her head a tad. She could only guess what Darestrum was feeling; complete betrayal? Unbridled anger? Or worst of all, disappointment. A weight pressed against her diaphragm. Tulusdir sensed the tense rift between the two and cleared his throat. "You, ah, claimed you saw something. What did you mean?" 

Kamal welcomed the distraction from her guilt. "I dunno. It was probably a nightmare."

Tulusdir's eyebrows crooked sympathetically. "It may make you feel better if you tell us." 

Kamal looked up at him. He was definitely a grown up, but his face looked very smooth and young. He looked like some of the models in Pranani's fashion magazines. Kamal inhaled slowly. "It was really dark. And everything kept moving around me, like I was underwater." She shut her eyes as she tried to recall the details. "And then this... hand picked me up. And there were two giant eyes, but I couldn't see a face."

"Sounds frightening." Tulusdir commented. Darestrum, who'd retreated into himself, folding his arms across his chest, did not respond but was listening. 

"They were so big." Kamal said, her eyes opening wide to mimic them. "Bigger than me. Then they started talking to me, and I turned invisible and then I woke up. Oh, and it was fre-e-ezing. Like I actually felt cold in real life."

Tulusdir smiled. "That's quite a dream." He said, happy to go along with the girl's story. She was awake; that's all that mattered. "And what did this great giant tell you?" He encouraged. Kamal shrugged with her one good shoulder. She rubbed the back of her hand against her nose. "I didn't know some of the words. Um... Eru-something." 

Tulusdir's smile dropped like a stone through water. Darestrum also snapped out of his daze. The adults looked at each other. Tulusdir's eyes swiveled back to the girl. "Eru? As in Eru Ilúvatar."

Kamal shook her head. "I don't know what that is." Darestrum frowned. "You don't know Eru? How?"

Kamal flushed. "I just don't." She mumbled. 

A crease formed between Darestrum's brow. Who hasn't heard of Eru, the father of all? He thought. Has she been living under a rock? But as he pondered over it, a realization dawned on him. Pieces began to fit together; Her appearance in the woods, her naivety, her strange language. "Kamal... why would you need magic to get home?"

Kamal wet her lips nervously. Her stomach dropped under their intense focus. She swallowed. "I'm not from here." When Darestrum and Tulusdir met her with perplexed expressions, she elaborated; "Where I live, it's only people. Like human people. There aren't any dwarves or elves or anything else. I don't know how I got here, I just... fell in." She paused for a breath. "I think it's magic. What else would it be?" Her fingers twisted into her blanket. "This isn't Earth, is it." 

The elf answered first, his voice tentative. "We are in Arda. To my knowledge, there is no place called Earth here." 

Darestrum stared at Kamal. Her odd clothes. No family coming to fetch her. His breath seized in his chest. She's not just an outlander. She's from another world.

Chapter Text

Tulusdir and Darestrum stood together at the end of the room as Kamal was waited on by a handful of elves. The girl ate and drank quietly as they asked her questions in Westron. Nothing unexpected; "How old are you? Where did you come from? You really lived with the dwarves? How could you stand it?" She'd heard most of it before, and gave her answers automatically, keeping details to the bare minimum as the healer had instructed. "Do not strain yourself," Tulusdir had gently asked. But in truth he did not want her sharing her vision. Gossip could spread like a plague. He had no doubt in his mind people were already talking about the newcomers. And once the servants knew...

"You really think it was any more than a nightmare?" Darestrum asked, gnawing on his thumbnail.

Tulusdir eyed his nervous biting with disdain. "I would think it as nothing more than a child's overactive imagination; but the rate at which she is healing is unusual." He scowled at the floor, thinking. "It was as if death was held at bay. I tried not to alarm you before, but she should not be alive. She would've died shortly after being attacked; at the very latest during your climb from the lake." His grimace turned to the dwarf. "It is a medical oddity unlike any I've ever seen."

The dwarf scoffed. "What are you suggesting, then? Divine intervention?"

Tulusdir pursed his lips slightly. "I don't know." He looked down his nose at the top of Darestrum's grey head. "Seems a bit more than a coincidence, does it not?"

"Hrmph." Darestrum grunted dismissively. Tulusdir cocked an eyebrow. "Do you propose a different theory?" 

Darestrum shook his head, glowering at the corner. "It's luck, plain and simple." He muttered. 

Tulusdir's eyes narrowed questioningly. "And what of this 'Earth' she speaks of."

Darestrum's glare darkened even more. "It's news to me too." He sniffed.

The elf sighed. "Are you going to tell me what troubles you, or are you just going to sulk?" 

The old dwarf drew his hand away from his lips. His eyes glazed over. He still refused to look at the healer. "When we came to the lake, we had three." He uttered. "When we left, only two." His hands closed into fists, his thumbs burrowing between his fingers. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened into trenches. "My inùdoy kurdu and I were tasked by her guardian with tracking her down." He drew his cheeks between his teeth, glancing up to check that Kamal hadn't overheard him. She was still occupied with the elves, two of whom were unsuccessfully trying to offer her more sautéed fiddleheads. Darestrum continued, "We feared she'd gotten lost, or been kidnapped, or killed by any number of roaming creatures. But her trail kept going, far longer than we expected. Then Sverne found her." 

He shook his head slowly, a strand of hair falling loose in front of his eyes. "She walked right into his teeth." His fists bunched tighter at his sides. "And her mistake cost my friend his life." Darestrum turned to the wall, unable to hide the pain in his face. Tulusdir swallowed whatever snide comment he had previously had. He felt of twinge of guilt, surprising even himself.

Darestrum's mouth tightened into a thin line as those blasted tears threatened to rise again. He cleared his throat gruffly. "She willingly left safety. She went out into danger, with no thought of her own safety or any else's. My friend is gone... because she was chasing after a witch."

Tulusdir cast his eyes low in respect. He felt like the light of the torches didn't reach their side of the room; that they were suddenly cast in the shadow of the dwarf's loss. He was no friend of dwarves. But he knew heartbreak. "I am sorry." He offered. 

A strange noise rumbled in Darestrum's chest. Suddenly he spun on his heels and bolted out the door, not bothering to close it behind him. The movement caught the elf attendants' and Kamal's attention. Kamal looked at the healer. "Is he ok?" She asked, her voice small. 

Tulusdir switched on his bedside manner and smiled warmly. "I believe he stepped out for air." He walked towards the bed. "Speaking of, all of you out. Give her some space." The elves waved goodbye, politely thanking her for her time and casting her tender glances as they filed outside. When the door finally shut, Tulusdir took his favored position on the edge of the bed. "You must excuse them; children are a rare sight here."

"That's what Clasa said about the dwarves too." She frowned. "Do people not have a lot kids?"

Tulusdir smirked. "They do. But we live far longer than your people. We do not need to have as many as quickly." His forehead puckered inquisitively. "Are there many children from your home?"

Kamal nodded, suppressing a yawn. He couldn't blame her for being tired; the others had probably exhausted her with their queries. As he tucked her in, she all of a sudden asked, "Is he mad at me?"

The elf's heart stopped. He patted her knee over the sheet. "Of course not." He chose his next words carefully. "Why would he be? You are safe and healing. Nothing else matters."

Kamal picked at her fingers anxiously. "H-have you seen my bird?"

Tulusdir's eyebrows lifted. "The raven? Yes, he is perfectly safe."

"And Hasdran?" When Tulusdir frowned, confused, she clarified, "He was with Darestrum. Is he going to come visit me?"

The healer held down a shudder as he recognized who she meant. His mouth filled with cotton. His fingers lifted from her kneecap. "I..." For the first time in many years, he was at a loss for words. He forced another courteous smile. "I will check." Without meaning to, he reached forward and brushed her hair from her forehead. "For now, rest." 

Chapter Text

After another long nap, Kamal had her wound rewrapped and was allowed to get out of bed. To keep weight from dragging on her shoulder, Tulusdir put her left arm in a sling. It felt snuggly around her elbow, short enough for her fingers to hang limply out of the end. Kamal felt like between the sling, bandages, and stitching, she was being held together by duct tape. She was given new clothes; long, dove-grey tunic that reminded her of a kurta, loose cotton pants, and slippers that felt more like socks than shoes. It looked like a fancy set of pajamas. 

Tulusdir accompanied her as they left the infirmary. The home of the elves was reminiscent of the palace in the Iron Hills. The infirmary was set into the walls of a spacious cave, the arching ceiling soaring high above them. Curving pathways snaked through the cavern, unguarded by railings, but the pedestrians seemed unbothered by the terrifying plummet to the ground. Golden light glowed through the wide halls. Kamal could hear the roar of a river, but couldn't spot it. Birds darted through the airy passage, some landing on the walls and disappearing into mud nests. Swallows, Kamal thought, smiling up at them. 

She didn't realize that, while she was looking up, her feet started moving towards the edge of the walkway. She looked down and her heart rate spiked. She jumped to the side, catching herself just in time before she slammed her shoulder into the stone. Tulusdir looked over his shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

She nodded. Kamal wobbled at the altitude as they walked up several flights of stairs. She thought he was leading her to Hasdran, but instead the elf escorted her to a platform where the sky finally shone through. It looked like morning. A breeze gently stirred around her, carrying the scent of wood and earth. "Where are we going?" She asked. 

Tulusdir smooth the front of his tunic. "You have been granted audience with King Thranduil." 

Kamal came to a stop, her feet rooted in place. "King?" She whispered. 

Tulusdir stopped and turned to look at her. "You did technically trespass on his realm; so it's only fair that you answer to him, yes?" His eyes glittered teasingly. "Do not worry. A girl with only one good arm is no threat to him. You shouldn't expect any more than a slap on the wrist, as the saying goes." But his lighthearted tone faltered. "However... he's not overly fond of dwarves."

Kamal blanched. "Are they going to be in trouble?" 

"If your friends stay quiet and respectful, all will be well." A lead-tongued dwarf, ha. But the elf did not expel his lack of faith to the girl. She was worried enough as it was. He took a step closer, taking a hold of her good shoulder. "I will be there if the King has questions. Do not fret." The girl did seem to relax, if only slightly. She smiled weakly. "Ok." 

✶

Tulusdir led Kamal by the hand along the walkway winding through the enormous cavern. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the ceiling. Towering columns decorated in twisting patterns erupted from the depths below. The drop was so steep it made Kamal woozy. The elf's hand in her's was her only lifeline. She held to it tightly, pressing herself close to his side. He was still mostly a stranger, but she wanted to get as far away from the edge as possible. 

The walkway inclined, and to Kamal's relief the cavern floor seemed to rise as well, lessening the distance. Thick carpets of moss lay over boulders. Ferns with the wingspan of a grown man fanned out around the stones like a green sea. Waterfalls poured from between the stones. It was like the cave was a terrarium; a pocket of isolated forest protected by the walls. Even the columns started to resemble tree trunks. If she weren't so nervous, Kamal would've liked to stop to take it all in. Hasdran and Darestrum must like how much it looks like home. She thought. Then she frowned, scolding herself. Their home. They'd escaped the monster; he was way on the other side of the lake. She'd survived, barely, but now she was so much closer to the Golden Woods. Her stomach twisted. Tulusdir had said Darestrum wasn't mad, but she didn't necessarily believe him. I'd be mad too, but it's done. They can come with me or not; I'm still finding Galadriel.

Tulusdir suddenly slid his hand out of hers. "We're here."

Kamal hadn't even noticed that they'd reached an intimidating flight of stairs. She was also surprised to see armored guards lining both sides. Her skin prickled. She tugged at the strap of her sling. Tulusdir make a tch sound through his teeth to get her attention. "Leave that alone. You look fine." He said with a low voice. "Just remember— do not speak unless spoke to."

Kamal nodded. Her head started to spin as Tulusdir guided her up the stairs. She imagined an evil war lord in spiky black armor. Or maybe a cruel king with a trap door that led down to a pit of spikes. She was so lost in horrible scenarios that she didn't realize she had reached the top until she stepped as if to climb up another step and missed. Her foot slammed hard onto the floor. She gasped, stumbling back to Tulusdir, her face already hot with embarrassment. 

Birds whistled all around them. She squinted through the bright sunbeam spotlighting the top of the staircase. The elf took a step forward and she followed in suit. The floor of the throne "room" was hewn from rough stone. A short barricade looped around the perimeter of the space; the first railing Kamal had seen since arriving here. The guards on the stairs flowed onto the floor behind them, taking position in a semicircle around the elf and human. Ahead of her lay another curving staircase, this one only wide enough to fit one person. As her eyes slid up, her breath snagged. The stairs were carved out of an angled tree trunk, the bark so glossy it looked petrified. Rather than branches, the top ended with a beautiful throne. The back of the chair was carved with ornamental latticework, and the back was framed by what appeared to be monstrously large antlers. 

Preoccupied by wondering what size the animal that had owned those antlers must've been, Kamal almost missed the figure sitting below them. Almost. 

The near-white hair caught her eye first. He was definitely kingly, but not what she was imagining. She might even call him pretty. He cast his pale blue eyes down on her like a hawk spotting a mouse. He drunk in every little fidget as the girl looked down at her feet. Her fingers flexed around the fabric on her sling. Tulusdir gave his king a small bow. 

"Well now..." Thranduil spoke, his voice deeper and more aged than she was anticipating. "One of our guests has arrived. Where is the other?" 

Kamal dared not look up, lest she catch fair-haired elf's cold gaze again. Then, as if on cue, there was the sound of shuffling footsteps. Kamal peeked out of the corner of her eye as Darestrum walked huffily up the stairs, accompanied by two guards. He stopped beside her. She noticed him shimmy a half inch away from her, but she held her tongue. Darestrum made no acknowledgement of the elvenking. He stared up at him, looking more pissed off than awe-struck. The king raised an eyebrow. "Ah." 

Kamal's eyes shifted around the space. No Hasdran. They weren't going to wait for him?

Much to her alarm, the king stood from his chair. Even at her angle, she could tell he was quite tall. His head was adorned with a spiked crown that clung to the back of his head. His silver robes flowed like mercury around him as he descended from the throne. In his right hand was a staff. He passed the staff silently to one of his guards, then folded his hands into his long sleeves. He looked down at Darestrum through narrowed eyes. The dwarf met his stare head-on. Kamal, on the other hand, wanted to shrink into the shadows.

The Elvenking's lips curled in a curious smirk. "An elderly dwarf..." He looked back at Kamal. "And a human child..." His eyes lifted. He spoke as if he was addressing an audience; "An odd pair." His steely focus then trained on Tulusdir. "My healer says you arrived at my doorstep half-dead." A shiver ran up Kamal's spine as she realized that while he was looking at Tulusdir, he was talking to her. "Attacked by a Northern skin-changer." He spoke slowly, savoring each word. "Recovering... beyond all odds." 

Thranduil's fingers laced together in front of him as he contemplated her. "Look at me, child."

Pulse fluttering, Kamal looked up at him. Her first instinct was to scramble away from him and hide behind either the elf or the dwarf. But she forced herself to stay still. There was something incredibly uneasy about the way he watched her. He observed her like someone who was not used to being reprimanded for staring. After all, who would ever tell off a king? 

Bright blue irises burned under thick dark eyebrows. "Are you in any pain?" He asked.

Kamal shook her head. "No sir."

His eyes squinted, but there was no humor behind them. "We are cautious of the world beyond our borders... but when an innocent needs assistance, our people will provide."

Darestrum snorted, and a chill fell over the room. Even the birds had gone quiet. Thranduil turned on him, his dark brow creasing. "Something humors you?" 

Darestrum met the elf's scathing glare, ignoring Tulusdir's eyes widening in warning. Kamal's blood ran ice cold. Darestrum sneered. "You have a lot of nerve spouting that load of kakhuf inbarathrag."

Tulusdir inhaled sharply. Kamal stiffened. Thranduil bent towards the dwarf, his expression shifting from cold to deadly. The metallic embroidering on his clothes shimmered as he leaned forward towards Darestrum. "Do not forget your place, dwarf." He uttered with barely veiled menace. "As I'm sure my healer has told you, our hospitality is a gift few receive."

Darestrum's nostrils flared. "You are a hypocrite." He spat. "You take in the girl, but leave hundreds to die by dragon fire?" Kamal's eyes snapped to the dwarf. Does he mean the dragon in the mountain? His lips parted, but she remember she wasn't supposed to talk. These elves were there? Thorin never mentioned them... 

Thranduil's glower turned more acidic. He stood up straight, turning back to the girl. She blinked to attention, unhappy to be back under his scrutiny. When the elf spoke, his tone was a little less honeyed. "You had a vision?" She realized that it was a question and quickly nodded. Thranduil's thumb rubbed absentmindedly at a ring on his forefinger. He nodded slowly. When she hesitated, Tulusdir softly nudged her good arm. She jumped to attention, rambling off everything she could remember; floating in a pitch black sea, cold as a blizzard, a giant hand and frozen eyes. "T-they said..." She swallowed the dry patch in her throat. "Al-maria Eru... what fate do you cast... and something, something ein-bar." She wet her lips. "I'm pretty sure. Sir." 

The king's blazing eyes disappeared under long eyelashes. Then he looked at his healer for confirmation. He nodded. "She slept through the surgery." He spoke in Sindarin. "So much of her blood had leaked out, her wound had stopped bleeding altogether. But her heart never faltered." He shook his head in disbelief. "It is an unfeasible recovery, particularly for one so young and... well, small." 

No longer under fire, Darestrum had buried his chin into his chest and was looking moodily at the floor. As the elves talked between themselves, Kamal leaned surreptitiously towards him. "Where's Hasdran? " She whispered under her breath. She immediately regretted it when the elf king's acute hearing caught on and his head spun around. He eyed the dwarf threateningly. "There is a third?"

The guards encircling them tensed. Kamal looked at Darestrum expectantly, her eyebrows crooked. 

For a moment, Darestrum didn't move. His back stopped rising with lungfuls of air. His mouth set into a hard line. "Was a third." He mumbled. 

Kamal's face fell stone still. Behind her, Tulusdir's hand hovered at her elbow, but he didn't touch her. The elven-king was silent. Kamal's heart dropped into her feet as Darestrum eyes lifted to face her. Their whites were criss crossed with red sclera. They were watering. He drew a sharp breath, jutting out his lower jaw as he fought to keep composure. "He was killed on the eastern bank." His beard bristled. His eyes locked onto the girl's, trapping her. "He's gone, Kamal." 

Chapter Text

To everyone's surprise, Kamal smiled. A little huff slipped past her lips. "No he's not." She shook her head. Darestrum followed the movement with bloodshot eyes. Her smile wavered. "No he's not." She said, softer. Darestrum did not respond to her. He couldn't. Eventually, the girl's grin slipped away entirely. Her tongue shriveled in her mouth. 

Thranduil slid a step closer to the dwarf, standing right in front of Kamal. "She did not know?" Darestrum shook his head no. Thranduil looked down at him with an abstruse expression. "Such a graceless revelation." He said callously, eye shifting to the shaking child. Everything around Kamal blurred into haze. The sound of the king's voice faded. She didn't even realize that her hands were trembling. 

Thranduil frowned. "Take the dwarf." He ordered his guards. "I want him out of my sight."

Darestrum jerked away as an elf took hold of his shoulder. "Don't touch me, you pointy-eared git! Where are you taking me?" He snarled.

The Elvenking moved back with the speed of a serpent as one of the dwarf's fists went swinging by. Thranduil's upper lip curled in disgust. "To the dungeon, until I decide how best to deal with you." Darestrum's mouth fell open, but his voice had left him. He wriggled and twisted, but four guards set upon him. Finding his breath again, he shouted. "Kamal!" But she did not hear him. Darestum spit a slew of curses in Khuzdul as he disappeared down the stairs. 

Kamal was faintly aware of the shouting, but it was mostly just strange, static buzzing in her ears.

King Thranduil looked down at her. The girl's face had lost some of its color. Her eyes were wide but unseeing. A young mind struggling with new loss. The king's expression remained neutral as he spoke. "Tulusdir." The healer moved forward, waiting for an order. "Return the girl to the infirmary." He reached out his hand, and without having to say a word a guard replaced his staff in his grip. "Watch her." He walked around Tulusdir towards the stairs. "When she is able, bring her to me. There is far more to discuss..."

✶

Kamal found herself suddenly teleported back to the infirmary. She didn't even remember walking. Tulusdir guided her to the bed and had her sit. "I will bring you something to drink." He uttered, touching her arm as delicately as if she were a shattered piece of glass. The door shut behind him, and she was alone again.

Her own breathing was unbearably loud. Her shoulder throbbed. She looked at her hands. She flexed her fingers, but they wouldn't stop vibrating.

Kamal shuddered with anger. She had to move; do something, anything. 

There was a small dresser to the right of the door. Standing, Kamal walked briskly to it and tried to pull, but it was too heavy. There was a little space between it's side and the wall, wide enough for her to stand perpendicular. Pressing her back to the wall, she walked her feet up the dresser until she was sideways with her legs bent. Pain lanced through her bad shoulder. Straining, she pushed her legs with all her might. It tilted, rocking on its short legs. Kamal flattened her spine on the wall, fighting the urge to yelp as her stitched wound burned white-hot, and kicked with a grunt. 

The wood creaked as the cabinet teetered. She fell forward onto her feet. The dresser slammed heavily on the ground with a thud, right in front of the door like she'd intended. The drop was so loud it rattled her bones. Her blood flushed cold with adrenaline. It felt good; really good. 

She ran to the nightstand and shoved it. The thin wooden legs gave a satisfying CRACK on the stone tiles. Standing over the splintered wood, she snatched a table leg in her hand and chucked it cross the room. Her eyes swiveled, wildly searching for something else to break.

The hair on her arms prickled as the doorknob jiggled. It opened a crack but caught against the overturned dresser. There was a surprised exclamation from the other side.

She ignored it, going for another leg. The fractured end was dangerously pointy. She turned it in her hand, holding it like a dagger. She screwed up her face. A torrent of air filled her lungs, and as she opened her mouth a furious shriek tore from her throat. The ear-splitting sound bounced off the walls, shaking her brain in her skull as she plunged the barbed end of the wood into her silk pillow. The wood cut straight through the fabric. She jerked her hand sideways, and like blood spurting from a wound, downy feathers exploded from the pillow. She zig-zagged her stake, taking it out and plunging it back in. Another murderous screech ripped through her lungs.

She screamed until her jaw ached. Her tears were as hot as fire. I killed him. This is all my fault. I ruined everything.

Kamal bristled as something heavy slammed against the other side of the door. "GO AWAY!" She wailed in English. She stepped away from the bed, feathers raining down around her. She held up the table leg; pointy-end directed towards the intruders. Her heart pounded in her ears. He's never gonna forgive me. A swell of emotion bubbled out of her as a sob. He hates me. Clasa will hate me. Her knuckles turned white around the post. Her eyes screwed shut as she crumpled in on herself, her shirt collar wet from tears. My fault. My fault... 

She cried out in alarm as the door finally gave way, pushing the dresser along the floor. "STOP." She demanded, but her voice shook. An arm burst through the gap. It felt its way along the wall until its owner squeezed their head and shoulder in. It was an elven guard Kamal didn't recognize. She backed up a few paces as the guard squeezed through, followed by two more and, finally, a familiar face.

Tulusdir stumbled into the room. First he looked at the downed dresser, then the flying feathers and eviscerated pillow. He mouthed something inaudible, his eyebrows bunched in confusion.

Kamal set her feet in defensive stance. She stared at them with glistening, feral eyes; her cheeks wet and dripping with tears.

Tulusdir froze. He walked in front of the three guards, taking in the scene. He spoke lowly to them. They looked at him questioningly, but his stern expression got the message across. As they backed away into the hall, Tulsudir looked to the cornered child. Her little hands clenched around a stake. The shattered remains of the nightstand lay at her feet. She bore her teeth in a frozen snarl. Tulusdir approached slowly, one hand lifted in peace. When he was an arms-reach away, he lowered himself slowly onto one knee. "Kamal."

Kamal gasped. Fresh tears dripped down her face. Bent close to the ground, placatingly showing her his hands, the elf looked exactly like Hasdran the first morning they met.

A shiver ran up her body. The table leg tumbled out of her fingers and clattered on the floor. Her jaw slackened as her bottom lip quivered. "I didn't mean to." She said with a voice so heavy with grief the healer could barely understand her. Suddenly, a strangled cry escaped from deep within her chest. "I, I'm s-sorry..." She sniveled in English, forgetting the new tongue in her state. She scrubbed at her eyes, hiccuping. She flinched as warmth pressed into her space. A gentle hand lay across her back. Slowly, Tulusdir drew her into a hug. He didn't speak. He barely moved. He only closed his eyes and let her cry her heart out. 

Chapter Text

Wet tear tracks lingered on Kamal's cheek. The cup of tea was warm in her hands. She was temporarily relieved of her sling, her elbow resting on her hip bone. She sat atop a stool in a kitchen, surrounded by staff milling about as they prepared food. An elf woman in a flour-dusted apron kneaded a large blob of dough on the wooden kitchen island. Two male elves were cutting up another pile of dough nearby; slicing off chunks that they patted into spheres and placed on a baking paddle. The cooks and bakers were the first elves Kamal had seen who wore their hair up. She couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by their pointed ears. A part of her wanted to pinch the ends, but she was too embarrassed to ask. 

Her body was tired but her mind was spinning. Shame lay heavy on her heart. She didn't know why she'd broken all of that stuff. She felt ugly. The elves must be furious. None of them had yelled at her, yet, but she was sure they wanted to. Strangely, they kept offering her things; food, honey-cider, shawls. They all fawned over her like she was a lost toddler. Speaking of... a male elf was walking towards her with a wooden plate. He had a purple smear of what appeared to be fruit preserve on his cheekbone. The plate had a pile of square wafers and what looked like an orange tomato. 

Kamal rubbed her cheek on her good shoulder. "No thank you." She muttered. The elf left the treats on the table beside her and gave her some room. When she was sure no one was looking, Kamal's hand snuck out and grabbed one of the cookies, greedily shoving it into her mouth. She expected it to be sweet, but it was salty. It kind of tasted like a Wheat Thin. 

She picked up the tomato and sniffed it. At least this smells sweet. She took a small nibble. Her eyebrows flew upwards. She tasted cinnamon in the back of her throat. Her mouth filled with a sugary taste, like a cross between a mango and a peach. It wasn't a tomato, but it was damn good. For a split second she forgot her worries and chewed happily. She almost choked on the next mouthful when she caught several eyes glancing curiously her way. A few muted chuckles floated around the kitchen. Kamal flushed and turned towards the wall.

The kitchen door swung open and Tulusdir walked through. He strolled over to her, placing his hands on his slender hips. He glanced at the bite mark on the fruit in her right hand. "Feeling better?" 

Kamal just shrugged. She lowered the food from her mouth and set it back on the plate. Looking a bit disappointed, Tulusdir found another stool and dragged it closer to her, plopping himself down. "I am so very sorry..." He said, his voice tender and sympathetic. He sighed. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier." 

Kamal frowned at him. He wasn't exactly making her feel any better. But he'd let her cry on his shoulder, which she appreciated. She felt safe with him. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, resting his elbows on his knees. Kamal picked at her thumbnail as she mulled over an answer. Tulusdir smiled. "You do not have to."

Kamal wet her lips. "H-he was really nice to me." 

Tulusdir nodded slowly, but he didn't interrupt her. She continued, "He found me, and brought me to the castle, and then he and Clasa took care of me." She sniffed, eyes darting towards the elf. "That's his sister." A small smile played on the edges of her mouth. "She's really great. She... she..." Her voice hesitated. Her throat closed up.

But before she could wrap herself up in her own misery again, the elf with food on his face was leaning into their conversation. "She alright? " He asked the healer in Sindarin. Tulusdir's eyebrows knitted, irritated by the interruption. But the baker seemed oblivious to his annoyance. The baker saw that a cookie was missing and grinned. "I have more in the oven, they'll be ready soon." He said.

Tulusdir rolled his eyes. "Westron, fool." He said exasperatedly. He gestured at the girl, in particular her round ears, and the baker winced. "Ah, sorry. I keep forgetting." He squatted in front of Kamal. "Would you like some more?" 

She shook her head no.

"What about marmalade?" Another elf quipped from the stove as they stirred something in a pot. 

"Venison?" Another asked as they peeled potatoes. 

"Mushrooms?"

Tulusdir fumed, his therapy session having gone completely off the rails. "Offer her the floorboards while you're at it." He grumbled at the cooks. "Honestly, give the child a second to breathe."  

The kneeling elf stood, crossing his arms. "Just trying to help." He scoffed, heading back to the island to make more dough rolls. The elf at the stove top smirked knowingly at the disgruntled baker. Then she looked at Tulusdir. "Give us a break, healer. Galion's right; we only want to help. And we so rarely see little ones." She beamed affectionately at the girl. Kamal shrunk shyly away. 

Tulsudir's ears flushed red. "Fine. Just don't overwhelm her."

The cook winked, waving her spoon at him. "A little extra care won't hurt." She said in elvish. "You're particularly moody today... hungry?"

Tulusdir frowned. "I'm not hungry." He replied in Westron. Kamal gave him a look. "What?" Tulsudir shook his head. "Nothing." 

The cook jutted her chin. "Did she explain why she came here with that dwarf? She's barely said a word to us."

"Probably because you won't stop shoving food down her throat."

Kamal stared at the ethereally beautiful elves bicker at each other like kids on a playground. She had no idea what they were saying, but they were really going at it. The other cooks were watching too, humored smiles plastered on their ageless faces. They seemed to be relishing in pushing Tulusdir's buttons.

Just then, two more elves came through the door; a red-head and a blonde. The honey-blonde elf had something swaddled in her arms like a baby doll. The red-haired elf wore a stern expression. As she observed the kitchen with discerning, moss colored eyes, everyone fell silent.

Then the red-head smiled. "Aw, am I missing out on bothering our healer? Why did no one tell me?"

The tension floated away, and everyone's shoulders relaxed. Red-head looked at Kamal and smiled. "Nice to finally meet you." She said. She looked to her companion. "There's someone here who's missed you dearly..."

The blonde elf approached Kamal. She leaned down, pulling a corner of the bundle's fabric back with her fingers. A shiny black head popped up, beak clacking as they squinted in the light.

Kamal shot to her feet, rocking the stool. Tulusdir quickly caught it before it toppled over. Enough broken furniture for one day.

"B.F!" She cried in relief, temporarily forgetting her misery. The bird's head pivoted towards her and he squawked in recognition. The elf passed the bundle into the girl's arms. The raven was quite large compared to her, but he was light. Kamal hugged him close, burying her nose into his soft feathers. The bird warbled like a purring cat, nuzzling her shirt with his beak. The elves looked on, many of them smiling warmly. 

Kamal couldn't believe the raven was ok. She remembered the giant ripping his wing with his teeth and throwing him against the stones. Yet here he was, safe in her arms. At least there's one thing I didn't screw up.

The red-haired elf cocked her head. "B.F. That's a curious name." She mused. "What do the initials stand for?"

Kamal flushed, remembering that she'd named the raven in a fit of irritation. She lifted her nose from B.F's soft back. "Um... Best Friend." Some of the elves cooed. "How sweet!" One remarked. Kamal looked away. "Yeah..." She mumbled offhandedly. B.F. nipped at her collar for attention. Kamal went back to petting him, and he settled in the crook of her arm, closing his eyes in contentment.

As the girl doted on the raven, the copper headed elf leaned to Tulusdir's ear. "We need you in the dungeons," she whispered. "The dwarf had been punching his knuckles raw on the walls. He refuses to stop."

Tulusdir's mouth tightened. "All right," he exhaled. "I'll deal with it."

Red-head looked down at the girl. "Now, if you are ready, the king wishes to speak with you." 

Kamal deflated. "But I already talked to him..."

The corner of the female elf's lips crooked upwards. "He is in a curious mood." She nodded her head towards the kitchen portal. "It's best we not keep him waiting." 

Kamal looked to Tulusdir. "Are you coming too?"

Tulusdir shook his head. "There's something I need to attend to." He said. He smiled. "Tauriel will take care of you. So long as she's at your side, you're the safest person in the woodland realm." 

Kamal glanced at the bird in her arms. "Can I bring B.F?" She asked, arms curling around him like he was a security blanket. Tulusdir quirked his eyebrows. "The raven?" But when he looked into her pleading, brown eyes, he submitted. "Just don't let him peck anyone, or I'll never hear the end of it." 

Chapter Text

Once the girl had her sling back on, Tauriel led her towards the king’s private quarters. Resin lamps with small candles within cast a honey-colored glow through the hallway. The raven snuggled it’s way into the fabric of the sling. Kamal didn’t mind at all; it was her shoulder that hurt, not her arm. The raven’s head bobbed as they trotted down a winding staircase. Tauriel’s hair swished across her back. It reminded Kamal of Dain’s in its color, but it was straighter and looked silken to the touch. Tauriel also had the largest ears of any elf she’d seen. They poked out a little too far, but Kamal found it cute.

She was feeling remarkably better after a good cry and some food. Time was moving strangely; between her frequent naps and time inside the infirmary, it was hard to tell how long she’d been in the kingdom of the elves. It was light in the cavernous hallway, but it whether morning or afternoon, she had no idea. Regardless, the king wanted to see her now. She wasn’t looking forward to being under his scrutiny again, especially without Tulusdir or Darestrum, but at least she had B.F. 

Gowah, B.F vocalized, as if he knew she was thinking about him. She scratched his neck. “Good to see you too.” She whispered. She looked at the cloth wrapped around B.F’s body. Is it like a bandage? She wondered. Tauriel’s ears twitched at the sound of the raven. She slowed so she could walk side by side with Kamal. “How was your first meeting with King Thranduil?”

Kamal’s stomach twisted. “Not great.” She muttered. To her surprise, Tauriel smirked. “The king is wise and benevolent.” She side-eyed Kamal. “But he can be...”

”Scary?” Kamal offered.

Tauriel’s smile widened. “I was going to say aloof. Difficult to read.”

They walked silently for a moment. The stairs leveled off to a narrow hallway, the space lit with red torch light.  “Thanks for watching B.F.” Kamal said quietly. The elf nodded. “Of course.” She looked at the bird. “A raven is an odd companion for a little girl; how did you come across him? Is he a pet?”

Kamal shook her head. “He found me in the wild. I... I don’t know where he came from.”

”And he’s followed you since?”

Kamal gave a lackadaisical shrug. B.F. shifted at the movement, tapping the underside of his beak on her good shoulder. Tauriel laughed softly. “Well, he’s got quite a personality. Very needy, that one. Oh, and we mended his wing as well. It's healed nicely."

Kamal's head shot up. "You did?"

"See for yourself." 

B.F's clawed nicked at her skin as Kamal unraveled him from the cloth. He shook himself out, his feathers puffing up and tickling her face. Suddenly twice the size he was in a blanket burrito, he found it uncomfortable in the sling and started waddling out. Kamal winced as he hopped from her sling to her other arm, his sharp feet clutching her forearm. He stretched and yawned, ruffling his feathers one more time before plucking at his uninjured wing. The other one, or at least what was left of it, was bandaged to B.F's side, held in place by a wrap around his body. Kamal's heart dropped. Tauriel caught onto her sinking mood. "He will not be able to fly. But he will live a good, long life." She smiled again, but this time it seemed a bit sad. "You saved him by bringing him to us."

Kamal didn't say anything. B.F was starting to become a bit too heavy to hold out on her arm, so she held him closer to her chest. He croaked. He'll never fly again. Hasdran is dead. As they continued to the next set of stairs, a new light flickered in Kamal's chest. Her jaw squeezed tight. Sverne's still out there, hunting. Darestrum was stuck with her (not that he could face the beast alone). Until they found a way to tell the others what happened, no one in the Iron Hills would come to help them. She still hated herself, at but as they entered the king's chamber, her heart made room for a new kind of hate. 

✶

“Speak clearly, and look him in the eyes. He may take it as insult if you look away.”

Kamal nodded. “I know.”

They descended at last into a large room. A handful of braziers crackled. Tree roots bulged out of the rock like veins. The stone columns and floor were pale grey in color; the columns mimicking bunched tree branches.  While it was spacious, there wasn't much room to wander; a large pool of crystal clear water occupied at least half of the floor. It dropped away like an infinity pool as the lounge opened up to the halls of the cave. The grotto receded so far into the distance it's farthest reaches were lost in the mist churned up by the many waterfalls serenading the domain.

More amber lights clung to the wall on their side, illuminating a bench under a tapestry and, on the far right side of the room, sitting beside a small table topped with a wine decanter, the elvenking. He had changed his clothes since their last encounter. Now instead of a silk robe, he wore a long coat of luminescent velvet stitched with metallic embroidery. He really likes silver. Kamal observed. He drank slowly from a glass goblet, eyeing them with an indiscernible expression. Kamal saw Tauriel bow and followed suit. Tauriel's posture went rigid, her shoulders pulled back and her hands clasped behind her. "My lord." She greeted formally. 

Thranduil's piercing gaze wandered to the raven briefly, but he made no comment. B.F, to his credit, did not fidget too much. There was a barely perceivable pink glow in Thranduil's cheeks. "... 'Eru, what fate do you cast'." His eyes narrowed. "That is what you told me, yes?"

"Yes." Kamal replied, forcing herself to keep eye contact. 

Thranduil pondered quietly, as still as stone. Then he inhaled slowly through his nose. "Tulusdir believes that there is something larger at play." Suddenly his eyes flickered to the red-headed elf. "What say my Captain of the Guard?"

Kamal broke her promise and looked at Tauriel. The elf seemed surprised, blinking rapidly as she searched her mind for a proper response. "I... I do not wish to effect your decision, my lord." She said diplomatically. She was a far cry from the jokey persona she had in the kitchen. Tauriel lifted her chin and continued, "If you question whether she or her companions are any threat to our land, I say no. They are but two individuals... they do not pose any danger to our people nor the forest." 

Thranduil brushed the pad of his thumb around the lip of his goblet. "Two individuals..." His ice-cold gaze returned to the girl. "It is not their state that vexes me. It is the circumstances of their arrival. I believe I am missing parts of the story." He leaned back in his seat. "So... enlighten me. Otherwise, I will assume the worst and take proper action."

Assume the worst? Kamal didn't want to find out what he meant by that. But how safe was it to tell her whole story? She didn't know this man... elf. The one person she trusted the most here was currently in this king's dungeon. How did she know that, if he didn't like her answer, she wouldn't end up alongside Darestrum? She steadied herself, focusing on the weight and warmth of the bird's body against her chest. "I was living with the dwarves, but my home is... far away." Her tongue balled up as she tried to fight off the scratchiness building on the roof of her mouth. "I read about the witch of the Golden Woods. I thought her powers might be able to send me home."

She half expected the king to interrupt her with questions, but he remained silent. She kept going; "I got to a river; and I met B.F on the way. Then these monster-things attacked me and I got stuck in the rapids." Her brow furrowed. "Then... Sverne found me." She didn't want to recall that horrible night, so she decided to skip the details. "Hasdran and Darestrum, the dwarves, they rescued me at the Lake. But..." The tempting urge to cry bobbed in her throat. "I think that's when I fell asleep." She finished.

Thranduil lowered his goblet to his lap. "You seek Galadriel?"

Kamal nodded.

"And what desperation would drive a child to seek out the Lady of Lórien?" He almost smirked. "Was the company of dwarves that intolerable?" 

Kamal flushed with defensive anger, but she held her tongue. "I don't live in this world. My home is Maryland, on Earth. There aren't elves or dwarves, only human beings. I think magic brought me here, so I need magic to take me back." It sounded crazy and she knew it. But it was the truth. 

Thranduil crossed his legs, his robe shimmering. He dipped his head. "Your story matches that which my healer relayed." Kamal's heart did a flip. She knew she was under investigation, but she didn't realize it was also a test. Suddenly the king beckoned her forward with his hand. "Step closer."

Kamal's pulse skyrocketed. She moved away from the safety of Tauriel's side. The air around Thranduil felt cold, impenetrable. B.F. flattened himself against her, clearly unnerved as well. The king leaned forward, back straight, fingers curled gently around his cup. Kamal felt like she was sinking into his dark shadow. The frightening intensity of his full attention made her skin crawl. When he spoke, she caught a faint whiff off fruit on his breath. "Tell me what you heard."

Kamal hesitated. It was a language she didn't know, how could she... but all at once her racing thoughts vanished. She heard the sound of waves crashing in the distance. The lights seemed to dim. Like blinking text on a screen, the words appeared clearly in her mind. "Almárëa Eru..." She repeated, her enunciation flawless. "What fate do you cast? Endure what is to come." She finally met Thranduil's eyes without fear. "Alalyë maqueta Eruva indo."

From somewhere above them, a small shard of stone dropped into the pool, disturbing the surface. The ripples shivered across the water, expanding wider and wider until they vanished against the stone sides.

Once again, the king leaned against the back of his chair. He took another sip of wine. "Do you know how this kingdom has prevailed for so long, amongst the ceaseless wars of man and dwarf and orc?"

Kamal shook her head slowly. 

"We protect our own. While my western kin embroil themselves in the fates of mortals, we keep to our homeland. We endure." His lip twitched ever so slightly. "Already, darkness has planted a festering seed. Greenwood has grown dark under its influence." He gestured to the room with his cup. "Where you stand now is one of the few unspoiled lands left in my realm." He lowered his hand, his eyes a little wider and a bit more wild. "Why would I subject my kingdom to the risk of another... infection."

Kamal swallowed. She remembered his words from their last meeting; We are cautious of the world beyond our borders... He had been flatly polite to her before, but she now realized it was just common courtesy. Her lungs seized up as the king reached his final verdict.

He bowed his head ever so slightly. "But who am I to stand in the way of the will of the Valar."

Kamal felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She heard Tauriel try to hide a relieved exhale. Thranduil looked down his nose at Kamal. "Tell me your true name."

"Kamal Rajora..." Kamal closed her eyes, her brow wrinkling as she tried to remember the full title Dáin had given her. "O-of of Linnar's Folk." Images of Hasdran and Clasa flashed in her mind's eye, but she held down the swelling heartache that followed.

Thranduil raised his hand to her in blessing. "I grant you my permission to take your leave, dwarf-daughter. No elf of the Woodland Realm shall lay a hand on you." After a pause, he added, "or your companions." 

Kamal bowed with Tauriel as they had before. When Kamal straightened up, her next words darted off her tongue before she could stop them. "Can I ask for something?"

One of the king's eyebrows lifted slightly. He didn't respond.

"It's a favor."

An interested glimmer sparkled in Thranduil's eyes. "Is it now." For the first time, he seemed genuinely curious. "Ask." 

Kamal pulled B.F in a little closer, his light heartbeat pulsing against her own. She gathered her breath. "I want help killing Sverne." 

Chapter Text

Thranduil looked confused; an expression she'd never seen on him. "You want to kill the skin-changer?"

Kamal stood erect and nodded. 

The king set his now empty glass on the table. He exhaled slowly. "You do not know what you ask." 

Kamal was about to answer, but Tauriel cut in with a warning "Kamal" under her breath. The girl looked up to see the red-headed elf shaking her head. Her mouth snapped closed.

Thranduil's nail tapped against one of his many rings. "Do you seek death?" He asked, his voice growing low. Kamal shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a tightness growing in her chest. Thranduil continued; "What occurred is unfortunate, but you cannot seek vengeance on all that harms you." He stood, his velvet coat pooling at his feet. The energy of the room instantly turned sour. Kamal suddenly felt very, very small. 

"I will not risk the lives of my people on such a foolish wish." The elven king folded his hands under his sleeves. "I have granted you your freedom; take your leave. Whether it be to Galadriel or the Iron Hills is not my concern." He leaned over her, a ferocious, cold fire burning behind his eyes. "My patience has it limits. I will protect my own people." His eyes narrowed. "And you, child, are not one of my people."

✶

After such a brutal scolding, Kamal felt like she was a second away from crying again. She dragged herself up the stairs after Tauriel. Tauriel too seemed on edge; she kept glancing back to make sure the girl hadn't fallen behind. She shook her head. "Why did you ask him that?" She wondered aloud. "It was going quite well until then." She was half joking, but the girl was in no mood. She sulked behind her, her head dropped and swaying. B.F croaked, pecking her shirt. Kamal ignored him. "He didn't have to be search a jerk about it..." She muttered. 

Kamal nearly smacked into Tauriel as the elf came to an abrupt halt on the step above her. She looked down at her sternly. "You mustn't speak ill of the king. Do you understand?"

Shamefaced, Kamal buried her chin into B.F's feathers. "Sorry." She mumbled. 

Tauriel sighed, placing her hand on the wall, her fingers tracing the grooves in the stone. "He's correct; to seek out the skin-changer only invites ruin." Her gaze softened. "You have every right to be angry. But what's done is done. You cannot put yourself in harm's way again just to enact revenge."

Kamal's humiliation twisted into stubborn aggravation. Her dark irises glowed like carnelian gemstones in the light of the lanterns. "I'm in 'harm's way' no matter what." She retorted sharply. Her nostrils flared. "He follows me; the dwarves never told me because they didn't want me to be scared." A visible shudder ran through her. "H-he wants to eat me."

Tauriel's face grew grim. She withdrew her hand from the wall. The voice in her head was screaming; her stomach roiled. She felt sick as her eyes inadvertently landed on the shoulder bandaged by Tulusdir. There was no world where the girl could defend herself, least of all against a giant with the bloodlust of a hunger-crazed beast. Her eyelids twitched ever so slightly as she controlled her temper. "Perhaps he thinks you died of your injuries." She offered, although she didn't believe it herself.

The girl clearly wasn't convinced. Her upset frown deepened. "He knows where I live. If I try to go back, he'll get me." 

Tauriel turned fully to her. "And what about your goal to reach Galadriel?"

Kamal's lips pressed into a firm line. She thought of her mother's soft arms holding her close; of her father's beard scratching her cheek when he kissed her goodnight. "It can wait. This is more important." 

The elf looked away for a moment. "It's for your friend, isn't it? The dwarf who perished on the east side of Long Lake."

"Hasdran." Kamal corrected her curtly. "His name is Hasdran."

Tauriel nodded. "Your friend, Hasdran." Her brow lowered. "Your other friend... I think you should speak with him. We must relay the news of his freedom; quickly, before he injures himself more."

Kamal's eyes widened. She felt awful for almost forgetting that Darestrum was in the dungeon. "What happened? Is he ok?"

The elf wanted to bite her own tongue off for letting that part slip. "We best go to him now."

✶

Darestrum refused to step out of the cell. Kamal stared at him, the river cascading behind her almost muting her. "Did you hear me?" She asked with a raised voice. "I said we can go!" 

The dwarf glared at her obstinately. His arms were crossed. She could see that his knuckles were raw and swollen. His beard was unbrushed, and his loosely tied-back mane was crowned in a shock of flyaways. He scowled. "Where's the she-elf?" He spit. "I need to hear it from her."

Kamal stepped away from the open door and Tauriel filled her place. One hand rested on the hilt of a dagger on her hip. "She speaks the truth. King Thranduil has granted you leave."

Darestrum took a slow step forward, shaking his head. "Nah-nah-nah, it can't be that easy."

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. "I would have no qualm keeping you locked up until the end of your days," she threatened, as she often did with the few unfortunate enough to end up in the Mirkwood Dungeons. At this point, it was just par for the course. "But it is the King's wish that both you and the girl are set free. Now, step out of the cell before I drag you out."

Still, Darestrum did not move. Kamal peeked out from behind Tauriel's hip. "Darestrum?" 

He turned his gaze to the ground, refusing to look at her. "You still looking for that witch?"

Kamal flushed cold. "I... um..." She looked at Tauriel, who was watching her expectantly. Kamal gathered her courage; "I-I am. But I want to do something else first." She reemerged from around the elf. "I want to stop Sverne." She squeezed B.F a little tighter. He'd patiently settled into her arms, surrendering himself to being used like a teddy bear for the time being. "He needs to die, for what he did to Hasdran—"

Darestrum's head jerked up. "Don't speak of him." He said thickly. His bruised fingers clawed into his weathered sleeves. "You have no right speaking of retribution; not after what you did."

All of the color rushed out of Kamal's face. Her heart pounded in her ears. Tauriel observed silently, powerless to stop it. The dwarf's eyes swelled with tears, but none escaped. His voice wavered with emotion. "You can't fix this, Kamal." He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. "The Hills aren't comin' for him, the men of Lake Town are scared shitless, and I bet these damned elves aren't gonna be any help." To Tauriel's dismay, she couldn't argue against him. Darestrum continued. "There's only one thing that can stop him, and he lives on the other side of this accursed wood, along with your sorceress." Anger crackled in his voice. "We're going back, no ifs, ands or buts." Finally he stormed out of the cell, going wide around the girl. He stopped and turned. "We go to Lake-Town first, to see if we can find..." He almost faltered. "Find the body." He swallowed. His eyes flicked to the elf. "Show us the way out." He ordered. "I'm done with this place."

And done with you, Kamal imagined him saying to her. She felt like a knife had been plunged into her heart. He was right. She caused all of this. The knife twisted. I'm the reason Hasdran's dead, and nothing's going to bring him back. Her nose wrinkled in disdain. But something has to be done about Sverne.

✶

Kamal watched silently from afar as Darestrum grumpily stuffed a few remaining items into the pack the elves had given him. The three of them, plus a few guards, were gathered in the chamber just before the main entrance gates. To her disappointment, Tulusdir was not with them.

The girl wished a blackhole would open up under her and she could fall in, never to be seen again. Tauriel stood at her side. She peeked at the child from the corner of her eye. "What will you do?" She asked tonelessly, switching to her professional demeanor in front of the guards.

Kamal stared blankly at nothing in particular. Her own backpack rested against her shin. She'd released B.F onto the floor so he could stretch; the bird was currently busy checking crevices in the tiles for worms. "I don't know." Kamal said in a small voice. "I guess... live in the Hills, forever." She couldn't bear even the thought of seeing Clasa again; of telling her what happened. She'll never forgive me. Kamal paused. "What did he mean by 'thing that could stop him'?" 

Tauriel's eyebrows raised. "He must mean Beorn." She said. "He is Sverne's father."

Kamal's pulse stuttered. She'd never even considered that the monster had a dad. "Is he like him?" She asked worriedly.

Tauriel's brow jumped even higher. "No, not at all. He has the same power, but he is solitary; not wicked."

The spark of hope in Kamal's chest was so sudden and bright she wanted to leap out of her skin. She swiveled her head. "Is he stronger than Sverne?"

Tauriel gave her a look. "I know what you're thinking; you cannot. He prefers isolation. Even your tale will not convince him to wander from his homestead."

"How do you know? We haven't asked yet."

"I know because I am far older than you, little one, and I know this world far better." 

Darestrum shuffled over, packed and ready to go. He wore his fatigued irritation like an iron mask. "It's time." As he spoke, two guards walked to the impressive stone gates and pulled them open. The light of day shone through like a beacon, backlighting the dwarf. Tauriel stepped away from Kamal, waiting for her to take her leave. But the girl did not move. She locked her feet to the ground, her jaw tightening. Darestrum glowered at her. "Kamal..."

She shook her head in refusal. Tauriel frowned. "It is time. You must go with him."

"No," Kamal said with more force than she knew she could muster.  Both the elf and dwarf stiffened. "What?" Darestrum snapped. Tauriel's eyes widened, her formality dropping. "You must go with him, Kamal." She repeated.

Kamal's heart hammered in her chest. "No. I'm going to Beorn."

Darestrum scoffed. "What are you talking about? First a witch, now this?" He was contorted by anger; far from the kindly old dwarf she knew. "How many more have to die for your silly dreams?" As soon as he said it, he wished he could throw a net over his words and pull them back in. The girl's face sank in heart-crushing dejection, her clenched fists unfurling. Darestrum's face folded into deep creases as he scowled at her, his anger, fear, and sorrow all twisted up inside of him. "Don't do this to Clasa, girl."

A pang of regret shot through Kamal. "It's for Clasa." She said quietly. 

All at once, the creases faded and Darestrum's face fell slack. For a moment, Kamal feared he'd gone into shock. But then he spoke, his voice hoarse. "Fine. Do what you please. Stay with the elves; You clearly don't want to be with us." He adjusted his pack on his shoulders. As he turned to leave, he hesitated. His steely eyes met hers, and she saw in them a deep sorrow that made her heart ache. "Goodbye, Reed." 

Chapter Text

As the stone gate shut behind Darestrum, Kamal felt isolation fold around her, suffocating her. Her last connection to the dwarves had just walked out of her life. She was alone again.

Tauriel stared down at her. "I can stop him." She said. 

Kamal shook her head. "He doesn't want me." She braced herself and rolled back her shoulders, her injury sore but not unbearable. "Can you just tell me which way is Beorn's?"

Tauriel looked at her guards. "Leave us." She ordered in Sindarin. The elves quickly filed away to the far corners of the room, disappearing through different exits. Once she was sure they were gone, Tauriel swept low and threw Kamal's pack over her shoulder. She whistled one note; B.F looked up and hopped over. She lowered her forearm and the raven climbed on, shaking his tail-feathers. Kamal watched with a confused look. Tauriel gestured with her head towards the stairs leading back into the low-lands of the cavern. "Follow me, but be silent."

Still a little stunned, Kamal quickly trotted after her. They went down, down, down. Kamal's ears popped as they sunk below the fog. The stairs relented onto the floor of the cavern, where a thin dirt path snaked between the giant ferns. Kamal's fingers gripped her sling. She had questions, but didn't want to make any noise. B.F. looked back at her, black eyes shining inquisitively. The leaves brushed against Kamal's arms, leaving her sleeves damp as Tauriel sped through the passage. Above, bridges and walkways criss crossed through the sky. A few elves were out, but none noticed them under the cover of the mist. 

They walked a bit longer until they were met by a sharp incline. Tauriel held out her arm and helped Kamal climb the slope, pulling her up onto a flat terrace. Straight ahead was a door, far smaller than the entry gates and made of simple oak. Tauriel opened it, ushering Kamal inside. To the girl's surprise, they did not walk out into the forest, but rather what looked like a closet. The walls were mounted with weapons, all wrapped in cloth or sheathed. Tauriel let B.F jump to an empty shelf before she began digging around under a dusty pile of what looked to be leather folders.

Squinting in the dim light from doorway, Kamal finally had to ask; "Where are we?"

Tauriel sniffed as dust tickled nose. "An old stockroom."

Kamal frowned. "... Why?"

Tauriel finally found what she was looking for; a small folder. She undid the straps and opened it. Inside was a large piece of parchment, the paper toned slightly tan and rough around the edges. Kamal saw the markings on its front and realized that it was a map. She remembered her own ramshackle map, and how it was now dissolved in that river. She tried not to linger on how mad she was all her hard work had been ruined; not with more pressing matters at hand. Tauriel removed the map from the casing and rolled it up. She then passed it to Kamal. "This is a map of southwest Mirkwood." She said, heading to the wall of weapons. She grabbed a few light items; two extra knives and a small hatchet. Then she returned to the girl. "Do you have a belt?"

"No."

"That's alright, I can fashion you one later," she said as she slipped the weapons in Kamal's bag. She held out her hand. Kamal passed her the rolled map and that too went in the bag. "I need to gather some materials," the elf muttered, mostly to herself, "Better to pack light... some lambas... water..."

"Tauriel." Kamal cut in. The elf stopped and looked up at her. The girl's head titled. "What are you talking about?"

The copper-headed elf stood. Her cupid's-bow lips crooked upward. "I'm not about to let you wander the wilderness without a guide." 

Kamal's mouth fell open. She was too surprised to reply. Tauriel smiled, a little prideful. "No one knows the territory like I do; It's like Tulusdir said, so long as you're with me, you're the safest person in the realm."

Suddenly her smile fell. "Rhaich." She hissed under her breath, looking past the girl. B.F croaked. Spine tingling, Kamal turned on her heels and looked behind her. A blonde elf stood just outside the doorway. Suspicious blue eyes scanned over them as he took one step into the threshold. "Tauriel?" His eyes landed on the human, but he didn't comment. 

Tauriel exhaled. "Legolas. Do not sneak about like that; you're going to get yourself shot."

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "I heard commotion at the gates. I thought they had left."

Tauriel gave him a look. "Well, clearly one did, and the other did not. Unless your eyes are failing you." She put a hand on your hip. "Shall I tell your father? He'll be devastated."

Although he tried to fight it, that got a small smile out of the blonde. "Why are you with the child?" He asked. Although Kamal couldn't understand, she sensed he was talking about her. Tauriel put her hand on Kamal's good shoulder and spoke in Westron. "She is on a quest to find Beorn, and I have promised her my aide." 

Legolas grimaced. "You're taking her through the forest? Does my father know?"

"No." Tauriel said, lowering her chin and eyeing him threateningly. Her grip tightened. "And he will never know. If we are swift, I will return in three days time. None will even notice I'm gone. Including..." She started to shuffle with the girl towards the door, encircling the intruder. "You."

Legolas was silent for a moment. His eyes danced between the girl and the elf. "Why are you helping an outsider?"

Tauriel held up her arm. Noticing the motion, B.F warbled and leapt to her, his claws digging into her leather bracers. Tauriel's expression sobered. "Because a great evil hunts her." Her eyebrows knit together. "I cannot ask the others for help; it would be against the direct wishes of the King. Beorn may be her only hope." Her green eyes bore into his, pleading with him. "Mellon, you must let me do this. It will haunt me if I cannot."

Legolas folded his arms. His square jaw was set. At last, he closed his eyes and rolled back his head, looking down his nose. He smiled haughtily, and Tauriel felt uncertainty lift like a weight off her chest. Legolas smirked. "Only if I may come. Many dangers lurk in the wilds; even our great guard captain may need assistance."

Tauriel waggled her eyebrows at him and laughed softly. "We'll see about that."

Kamal looked at Tauriel quizzically as the elf chuckled. "What did he say?" She asked. Before the captain could answer, Legolas butted in, "He said that he will help you on your journey." He bowed his head. "If your guardian will have me..." 

Tauriel's grateful smile widened. She brushed his shoulder playfully as she led Kamal past him by the hand. Kamal thought she saw the tips of his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. "Come, son of Thranduil. Do not keep us waiting."

Son of WHO? Kamal's inner voice asked in alarm, but she sealed her mouth shut. Her fingers curled tighter around Tauriel's slender hand, and the secret party submerged back into the fog. 

Chapter Text

After Legolas retrieved lembas and fresh water from the kitchens, they regrouped in the low lands. Tauriel had the only pack, which was technically Kamal's. The elves carried nothing for themselves except bows and quivers and small hidden knives. They donned hooded hunting coats and gave one to the girl. It was quite long on her. Tauriel produced two long strips of leather from the bag. She lay both pieces down at Kamal's feet and instructed the girl to shed her slippers and step onto them. The elf wrapped the bands around Kamal's bare feet, pulling them tight to arches of her soles and around her heels. 

Kamal looked down; She was bandaged like a mummy, with only her toes sticking out. She wiggled them. "What about shoes?" She asked. Tauriel cocked her head. "These are your shoes." Kamal grimaced the wrappings. It better not snow, she thought, though luckily the weather had been temperate so far. 

Tauriel slipped the bag back onto her shoulders. She lifted B.F from the ground and let him find his roost on the top of the backpack, leaning her head back affectionately as he snuggled against the nape of her neck. Suddenly, the elf hissed through her teeth. "Tulusdir. He'll be looking for her." She muttered to the Legolas in elvish.

"Does he not know she isn't with the dwarf?" Legolas asked.

"I am not sure. I don't believe he said goodbye." Tauriel glanced at the girl. "If you are ready, we should take our leave now." 

But Kamal had already heard the healer's name in their conversation. "Will I get to see him again?"

Tauriel smiled. "I'm sure of it."

Legolas nodded behind her, looking impatiently towards the upper floors. As he was distracted, Kamal eyed him up and down. The king has a son? She guessed there were a few similarities between them; they were both tall, both blonde (although Thranduil's hair was more white), and both had intense blue eyes. Both were inhumanly pretty. But Legolas seemed a lot more... normal than his dad, or at least less menacing. Thranduil and Legolas also, strangely, looked around the same age. Kamal's parent's parents started looking old even before she was born. But even as a grown-up, Legolas didn't seem that much younger than his father, at least not on the outside. 

He seemed to sense her gaze and looked at her. Kamal blushed. Legolas spoke calmly. "Are we ready?"

Kamal hoped that Tauriel was right about seeing Tulusdir again; She wanted to come back to this place at least one more time before going home. She took a breath. "I am."

✶

They slipped under the scrutiny of the woodland elves into the cover of the undergrowth. Birdsong trilled through the air. Soon the open sky gave way to a high, dark ceiling. Kamal wasn't sure exactly where they were in the cave, but the elves seemed to know where they were going. Kamal followed Tauriel by the hand as they walked into the dim interior of natural passageway. The singing birds faded into the distance. Soon, the only sounds were their light footsteps and the tapping of water droplets falling on the stones. Kamal's toes were a little chilly, but the wrappings had a water-proof quality that kept her feet dry. Tauriel and Legolas both had their hoods pulled over their heads; with their vibrant red and light honey-colored hair, they would stick out like a sore thumb against the dark cavern floor. Kamal's inky tresses, on the other hand, blended right in. 

The top of the corridor sunk lower and lower until the elves had to crouch. As they came around a bend, the passage suddenly came to a dead stop. The light of the outside world glowed green through a thick wall of ivy. Tauriel released Kamal's hand and pushed the plants aside. "After you."

Kamal paused. A sweet, floral breeze brushed against her face. Scents borne from the forest floor drifted like a perfume to her nose. She opened her mouth and drank it in. Then she stepped into the light.

What lay ahead were the largest tress she'd ever seen in her life. Twisting oaks and steel-grey beeches towered over her. Great roots arched through the moss-coated earth. The branches, heavy with leaves, swayed with the wind. 

For a second, lost in the beauty of the old woods, her guilt subsided. 

"Look." Tauriel bent to the earth, her long fingers drifting over the leaves. She buried her nails into the plants and retrieved a small, red berry between her thumb and pointer finger. She turned to Kamal. "Open your hand." The girl did, and Tauriel dropped onto her palm what looked like a miniature strawberry. The elf nodded encouragingly. "Try it."

Kamal popped it in her mouth. The tart flavor exploded over her tongue as she pressed the soft berry against her palate. Her eyebrows flew up and an excited smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Tastes like raspberry, she mused. Tauriel grinned back at her, picking up more for herself. Legolas looked on, his mouth a thin line. "Enjoy the last of Greenwood's fruits," he said ominously, although there was no ill will in his tone. "We are about to enter Mirkwood; a realm of dark and savage creatures. Stay vigilant." He then walked on without another word, scanning the tree line for any trace of danger.

Tauriel wiped the juice off her hands, watching him scout ahead. She winked at Kamal. "He's more pleasant once you get to know him."

✶

Legolas was right. The airy forest bathed in golden light slowly transformed into a shady but verdant copse. The canopy grew denser, and as they continued on the winding path, the leaves turned from green to autumn-red. The sun shone weakly through the thick forest-roof, not much brighter than a nightlight in a dark room. Color slowly drained from the woods. Everything took on an ashen hue. The air turned muggy and still.

Kamal plodded behind Tauriel as Legolas ran up ahead. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine and along her hairline. The elves seemed completely unfazed by the weather. Tauriel walked straight-backed and tireless, her hood still drawn up over her head. B.F watched Kamal huff and puff from his comfortable roost on top of the bag. She glared at him. 

There was a rustling in the undergrowth as Legolas came bounding back towards them. "The path is clear." He confirmed, falling in line behind Kamal. He peeled his hood back. His fair hair seemed to glow in the murky shadows. "There are webs," He warned Tauriel in elvish. Tauriel nodded but didn't turn around. She finally removed her hood. "Should they come, carry the girl. We can take refuge above."

Kamal wished they wouldn't talk over. She chewed the inside of her cheek. "What were those berries called?"

Tauriel peeked at her from the corner of her eye. "Wild 'strawberries'. I believe that's the Westron word."

Kamal was sometimes surprised how similar this world was to home. "Do you have oranges?" She asked. 

"What is an orange?" Legolas asked from behind her. 

"It's a fruit and it's... orange." 

Legolas nodded. "Ah. In Westron, it is 'Persimmon'."

"No, that's different. Oranges are round. Persimmons's are kind of flat."

"They are not."

"Are too." Kamal replied a bit snappily. She knew the difference between two fruits, and she wasn't about to be proved wrong. "Coach Lewis said oranges give you energy."

"All food does." Legolas said flatly. 

"Yeah, but oranges are, like, special. 'Vitamins' and stuff."

"Vitamins?" Legolas questioned the english term. 

"Vitamins are... are..." Kamal realized that, as often as she heard adults languishing the importance of them, she didn't know what a vitamin actually was. "They're good for you."

Legolas fell quiet. Kamal twisted her neck to continue her point, but he hushed her. Silently, he pointed his eyes towards the left. Kamal looked in that direction. Spreading between two gnarled trees was an enormous spiderweb. The silk strands were almost as thick as her fingers. She stumbled, and the elf had to reroute himself to avoid running into her.  

"The Children of Ungoliant." Legolas explained before she could ask. "Stay on the path." 

A shiver ran up Kamal's spine. She drew in on herself, trying to make herself as small as possible so no part of her brushed against the webs. Suddenly she was not as enthusiastic about this trip. At least she was flanked by two elves armed to the teeth. 

✶

Several hours later, when night fell and the forest became so dark it was impossible for the girl to see one step ahead of her, they took shelter in a great oak. They lay in the crook of the tree where the branches divided from the trunk. The only light came from a pin-point gap in the canopy. Kamal blindly munched on the scone-like bread the elves had packed. They did not eat, nor were they fatigued in anyway. They could probably keep going if I wasn't here, Kamal thought as she fought back a yawn. In her daze, Darestrum slipped into her subconscious, but she pushed him away. She didn't want to think about him right now. 

Tauriel lay on her back, facing the distant silver glow. She pursed her lips. "What..." she began, looking over at the others through the gloom. "... is black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you’re all through with it?"

Legolas and Kamal both looked at her with bewilderment. Tauriel turned on her side, smiling cheekily. "Shall I repeat my question?"

Legolas hummed. The girl watched him under heavy eyelids as he pondered for a moment. Then his eyes flashed. "Charcoal."

Tauriel rolled her eyes. "An easy one." She nodded at the blonde. "Now you."

Legolas leaned back against a branch, looking at nothing in particular as he came up with his riddle. "An iron horse with a flaxen tail. The faster the horse runs, the shorter his tail becomes. What is it?" He looked down his nose in faux-cockiness as he waited for the answer.

Tauriel rolled her head to look back to the sky, sighing. "You insult me... a needle and thread." Then the she-elf looked to Kamal. "Kamal, would you—" 

But the girl was fast asleep. Tauriel smiled warmly as the child's ribs expanded and contracted with slow breaths. She did not know the endurance of human children, but they had walked far and Kamal had not complained once.

Her ears flicked to attention as Legolas soundlessly scooted closer to her side. "It speaks highly of you," he said in a soft voice as to not wake the girl, "that you have taken this journey with her."

The red-head smirked knowingly at him. "And it speaks of your bravery that you accompany me on such as quest." She poked. She crooked an eyebrow. "Or would you have missed me so if I were only gone but two days?"

"You said three, minimum." Legolas corrected, instantly scolding himself for being a know-it-all. He wished he wasn't so blunt. Tauriel was the only one who would poke fun at him; all of the others were too scared, although he was sure they wanted to. He swallowed the dry pit in his throat. "Will you sleep?"

"I can keep first watch."

"No," Legolas said, a little too forcefully. "I will. You should rest while you can."

Tauriel looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "As you say." She then fell very quiet and still, her green eyes cast heavenward. It was impolite to look upon a sleeping elf, so Legolas' gaze trailed up to the starlight. It was neither warm like fire nor within his grasp, but still it comforted him. 

Chapter Text

In the middle of the night, Kamal rolled over to look at Tauriel and nearly jumped into the air from fright. The elf's green eyes were wide open and glazed over. For a horrible moment, Kamal fear she was dead. But at the sound of Kamal's surprised squeak, Tauriel blinked, her gaze focusing and finding the girl nearby. "Is everything alright?" She asked.

Kamal nodded, her heart still pounding. "Y-you sleep with your eyes open?"

"Yes all elves do."

Kamal looked at Legolas, who was propped in the crook of a branch. "Is he asleep?"

Legolas turned his head like an owl, staring down at her. "I am not." 

Tauriel lifted herself onto her elbows. "You should rest. I will take watch." 

Legolas made a soft sound and rested his head against the bark. The rise of his chest slowed. Kamal's eyes danced between him and Tauriel. "What about now?"

Tauriel got to her feet at stretched her arms over her head. "Yes, now he is." She brushed a few strands of auburn hair stuck in her collar loose. "As you should be."

Kamal sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her sling was off, tucked safely away in the back pack. The inflammation of her wound had faded, and although she could still feel the stitches it didn't hurt too much. "I'm not tired." She looked up through the small gap in the canopy. The moon shone faintly against the black sky. Kamal buried her tongue into her cheek. "Y'know, people from my world have been to the moon."

"Oh?" Tauriel remarked with a sweetened voice, also tilting her chin to look. "That's a very charming story."

Kamal frowned. "It's not a story, it's true. We made rocket ships and sent astronauts into space. Lots of people have done it."

Tauriel's head dipped and she looked at her quizzically. "Space?"

Kamal waved at the sky in general. "Everything past Earth... or, uh, Arda, I guess." 

"The realm of the stars..." Tauriel was smiling, but her eyes squinted as her curiosity piqued. "You can sail there?"

Sail? Kamal wondered, but she guessed the 'ships' in rocket ships must've confused the elf. "No, it uses rockets. Firepower."

"Fire can send you into the sky?"

Kamal shrugged. "If it's strong enough." She held up her right arm at a 90 degree angle. "The jets are on the bottom," she said, wiggling her left fingers under her elbow to indicate flames. "And they turn on the engine, and fire explodes out of the pipes, BWOOSH!" Her imaginary rocket arm initiated lift-off. She jutted her arm to the sky. "And it shoots up and up until it's gone." It wasn't exactly a scientific explanation, but that's all she knew.

But Tauriel was mesmerized. Her eyes swiveled in their sockets as she tried to find her next question. "How does one become an as-tro-naut?" Who could be chosen to walk amongst the stars; to fly beyond sky into pure light? Was it a birthright? A blessing from the Valar, or whomever the girl's equivalent was?

"You just have to work really hard, and be a really good scientist." Kamal brightened up. "Oh, and do these fun tests to see if you get sick when you're flying. The spinning one is super hard because it can make you nauseous."

"You have tried to become an astronaut?"

"Well, not really. It was just for fun; they had one you could ride at the science 'museum'."

"Museum?"

"A building that holds old stuff." She counted on her fingers. "They've got science ones, art ones... all sorts."

Tauriel looked back at the sky. "What is it like on the moon?" She asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Kamal rested her chin on her kneecaps. "Dusty. Super cold, too. And there's no air; that's why they have to wear space suits that have air inside so they can breathe."

Tauriel's lips parted but she didn't say anything. The silver light reflected in her wide stare. Her mind was clearly elsewhere; imagining walking among the stars.

Legolas suddenly sat up, inhaling sharply. His expression was stiff with concern. He lifted a hand, his fingers clenched in warning. He turned his head slightly, listening out of his left ear. "Spiders," he hissed urgently. Tauriel launched into defense mode. She scooped up B.F, who was sleeping near the bag, and dove towards Kamal. Kamal jerked backwards as the elf wrapped her arm around her protectively, pushing the frazzled raven into the girl's lap. Tauriel pressed herself low, covering the girl and bird under her cloak. Her hand flew to the knife on her belt. 

Legolas sprung from his position to a higher branch, his bow drawn and arrow aimed in one swift motion. But he did not shoot; he waited, as silent and still as the tree itself, as something very large came crawling through the branches below them. 

All Kamal could see was the dark interior of Tauriel's cloak. A few locks of fine hair tickled her face but she didn't move. She listened to the sound of trees limbs creaking and groaning under a heavy wait. He said spiders, she thought, breathing shallowly through her mouth. What kind of spider makes that much noise? The minutes ticked with agonizingly slowness. The sound never seemed to end. How many are there? B.F nuzzled deeper into her lap, warbling lowly. 

Tauriel was as tense as a bowstring. Not a single muscle twitched as her keen ears followed the pack of spiders crawling through the lower level of the forest. This hoard is larger than usual, she thought. She shouldn't have been surprised; they were in the middle of their territory. But these spiders were semi-intelligent. They should've known better than to move in such numbers near the border of Thranduil's halls. They're growing bolder. 

As the rustling eventually subsided, Legolas climbed down from his roost. He hadn't had to use an arrow, which was probably for the best. He was an excellent shot, but even for himself and the guard captain, that many spiders could've outnumbered them. They also had the child, and to a much lesser extent the bird, to consider. He could not put his desire to smite the dark creatures ahead of keeping their charge safe. 

As he reached the trunk Tauriel was already pulling the girl to her feet. Kamal was now fully awake, still unable to see anything in the crushing darkness. Legolas slipped his bow back on his shoulder. "The path is clear. I do not think we should linger."

Tauriel nodded in agreement. "The child can't see."

Legolas looked back to Kamal, repositioning his bow so the wooden bend was across his front. "I will carry you." 

Kamal shook her head. "You don't have to—"

"It is safer this way," Tauriel interrupted. "And we will move faster. You may sleep if you want."

A little reluctant, Kamal gave B.F back to Tauriel and walked over to the blonde elf. Legolas knelt and she climbed on his back. He supported her by looping one arm around each leg. Tauriel shouldered the pack. She met Legolas' eyes, and without another word they sailed down into the shadows below.

✶

Kamal blinked against the bright light. As she opened her eyes, she was taken aback by how green it was. The low morning sun glowed through the branches as they walked through a small glen. She was still on Legolas' back. I must've passed out. She thought sleepily, groaning. A pointed ear turned towards her. "We are close." He said in a soft voice. 

Kamal nodded slowly. "Can I please walk?" She mumbled.

Legolas slowed and allowed the girl to climb down. She stumbled for a second, her legs unused to the feel of the earth beneath her feet. She rubbed at her eyes. Through her blurry vision, she saw copper hair catching the light. Tauriel stopped to look back at her. "We are clear of the forest." She motioned with her hand for Kamal to walk ahead first. "Welcome to the western border."

Mirkwood opened onto a great plain of long, green grass. The air was clear, and the movement of the breeze filled Kamal's lungs the way water quenched a dry throat. They walked down into a dale, then uphill, then down again until Kamal's legs burned from exertion. 

As the sun reached its zenith, they were wandering through a thicket of clover when something large flew past Kamal's head. She shrieked and dropped to the dirt, setting both elves on edge. "What? What is it?" Tauriel snapped, bow already in hand.

Kamal cracked open an eye and looked around. "It's a— bee?" 

Tauriel's eyes landed on the bobbing blob of yellow. "A bumblebee." She eyed Kamal, a humored twinkle in her gaze. "They will not harm you, so long as you don't harm them."

Kamal remained tense. "I don't like bugs..." she mumbled. Why are all of the insects here giant? The bumblebee was larger than a hornet. It's quick wing-beats buzzed like a little jet as it zoomed past her. Kamal watched it fly swiftly ahead of them, following the bee through a pasture of sweet-smelling clover and wind-twisted oaks. Then she saw it; there, on the horizon, bronzed in the light of the midday sun and encircled by a great hedge, was a pointed roof. They had arrived. 

Chapter Text

Everything around Darestrum felt thin; the air, his nerves, even his skin felt like it would strip away at the slightest touch. His heart was gripped in a tight fist, held so firmly he struggled to breathe.

He stopped at the base of the slope. The river emptied out into the Long Lake on his left. He dropped his bag on the stones and fell on his rear, taking slow, uneven breaths through his nose. His head ached. It all ached.

The river-gate guards, who were none-to-pleased to see him again, had said a barge man who collected wine caskets at the river mouth might ferry him across. “If you move fast, you can catch him before the sun is down.” One of them sneered. “That is, if your legs can get you there.” Darestrum wasn’t even in the mood to cuss them out. He left them to their snickering, tail tucked between his legs.

Now here he was at the shore line, alone, waiting. His errand was so horrible he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. What if they left his body? What if it’s nothing but carrion. NO. He couldn’t let himself think like that.

He jumped up at the sound of many hollow, wooden objects bumping into each other. Turning, he saw a line of barrels winding their way through the rapids, bobbing like ducks on a choppy lake. As his eyes followed them, he saw something coming around the bend of the shoreline; a wide, flat barge with a raised bow and stern. A sad looking mast stood at the front of the vessel, the sails tied up. At the back of the ship stood a shadowy figure in fur-trimmed clothes. They were steering the barge by a large oar attached to the stern. They aimed the ship towards where the barrels were emptying out into the lake. Once close enough, the figure left the oar and grabbed what looked like a hook on a long pole. One by one, he fished the barrels out of the water, reaching far to grab the ones that slipped past the half-submerged net he’d positioned at the end of the river mouth to catch them.

Darestrum got to his feet and descended down the enormous boulder towards the newcomer. The stranger, who upon closer inspection was a man, did not notice the dwarf approaching. The running river also muted the dwarf’s plodding footsteps. Darestrum cleared his throat loudly. When that didn’t work, he released a sharp whistle.

The man spun around, nearly dropping the hook. His expression jumped from fearful to alarmed to angry. He bore his teeth as he threw the hook down and reached for something on his back. Darestrum’s stomach flipped as the boatman suddenly produced an enormous longbow. He ducked low, and when he came back up there was an arrow notched and ready to fire. “State your purpose!” He snapped, wisely remaining behind the cover of the high sides at the bow of the ship.

Darestrum slowed to a stop. “I seek passage across the water.” He yelled back.

The dark-haired man eyed him wearily. “And who said I was a ferry?”

“The pointy-ears up the hill,” Darestrum glowered. “I have coin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The man’s fingers shuffled along his longbow. “I don’t know your business in these parts, dwarf, but I have a barge to run. I do not have time for travelers—“

“My business is in Lake-town,” Darestrum interjected. “And that’s where you’re from, I’m guessing.”

The man did not reply.

Darestrum tried not to roll his eyes. “C’mon lad. Where else would it be?” He sighed. “I helped build that town, you know, after the dragon came.”

The man’s eyes flashed, his brow lowering.

“People there knew me. Granted, they’re all probably dead now, but if they weren’t, I know they’d put in a good word for me.”

The man’s frown twisted in confusion. “That’s not much to go on.”

Darestrum raised his hands in surrender. “It’s what I’ve got.” One of his hands drifted to his face, rubbing down his jaw nervously. “My business is my own... but...” His lips drew tight across his teeth. “There was an attack on your eastern shores a few days ago. Is—“ Darestrum gathered all the strength in his old bones to keep from going weak at the knees. “I need to know if there’s a body. T-the victim... he is my kin.” His voice stuttered but he pushed through. “He’s a young dwarf. Dark-haired, like yourself. I-I don’t know how much is left after...” His fidgeting hand pressed to his eyes, pushing hard against his closed eyelids until his saw spots. “But if there’s anything, please, I need to take him home.”

The boatman silently watched the dwarf struggle to compose himself. He didn’t have many dealings with dwarves. In fact, to his recollection this was the first real conversation he’d had with one, maybe ever. Despite his better judgement, the man felt pity. Is he the grandfather, or father? From what little he knew, dwarves were not known for being particularly warm or open to outsiders. Yet here was one on the edge of tears, begging to be taken across the lake to find his family.

Slowly, the man lowered his bow. He rolled back his shoulders. “How much coin, exactly?”

✶

The two spoke very little during the journey across the lake. Darestrum picked at the chipping wood of the stern with his fingernail. The man glared at him. “Please don’t.” He said. “She’s falling apart as it is...”

Darestrum stopped, stuffing his hands in his lap. He watched the glassy surface of the lake for a few minutes. The last time he had crossed...

“Are you a wanderer?”

The question surprised him. Darestrum turned to look back at the man as he steered. “No. I’m a stable master in the Iron Hills.”

The man’s eyebrow crooked. “Horses?”

“War rams.”

“Ah. Yes, that makes more sense, doesn’t it.”

Another few seconds ticked away. As the man inhaled before speaking, Darestrum instantly guessed the question coming. “So what brings you this far West?”

Darestrum stared at the floor. “Odd circumstances.” He mumbled.

The man seemed to sense a change in mood and swallowed his tongue. When he spoke again, his tone was more cautious. “Is he your son?”

Darestrum grit his jaw. “Heart-son.” He realized that a human may not understand, so he elaborated, “Like a son, but not of my descent.”

The man nodded.

Darestrum looked up at him and took in his features; dark hair with the faintest tint of grey was tied back out of sharp, seeking eyes. He had stern eyebrows and a narrow mustache, with just a touch of hair clinging to his chin. Darestrum couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. He must be middle aged, but I’ve seen newborns with more facial hair. “You have any little ones?” He asked, hoping to fill the empty space with conversation.

The man immediately lit up. “Three.” He stated proudly. “Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda, my youngest.” His smile widened. “She just turned nine years.”

Darestrum’s neutral grin dropped like stone. A faint ringing sang in his ears as the man babbled on — “Sigrid is 16, looks just like her mother, and Bain is my only son. He’s a good lad, but he’s just trying to find his way...” The boatman’s voice faded. “You alright?”

Darestrum waved a dismissive hand at him. “Fine.” He grumbled. “I’m fine.”

✶

The barge pulled in alongside an abandoned dock. There was a small ladder, which Darestrum was embarrassed to find was just out of arm’s reach. He had to teeter on one of the barrels while the man wasn’t looking. As he got to the top and the man passed him his backpack, he frowned. “You’re not stopping?”

The man kicked at one of the barrels. “I need to drop these off. And I don’t think it’s wise for either of us to be seen smack in the middle of the marketplace, not if you want to get anything done without the Master sticking his nose in the way.”

Oh, Darestrum had heard of this ‘Master’ alright. He nodded. “Agreed.” As he turned to leave, he paused. “I never got your name.”

The man smiled up at him, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “Bard.”

Darestrum held out his arm, and the man accepted the embrace. “Darestrum.” He let go. “I thank you, Bard of Lake-town. The folk of the Iron Hills will not forget this kindness.”

Bard nodded. “Think nothing of it.” He fumbled with the small bag of coins in his pocket. “Remember... just a business transaction. I’m not doing favors.”

“Aye, aye, sure thing.” Darestrum smirked. “Gotta feed the little ones.”

Bard’s teasing grin warmed over to something more genuine. “Best of luck.”

Chapter Text

The boards of the dock groaned under Darestrum’s weight. The sun was swiftly setting. The painted sky glowed in sharp contrast to the dingy scenery of Lake-town. The place had certainly fallen into disrepair since it’s foundation. Probably because there weren’t any decent dwarf builders to tend to the upkeep, Darestrum thought grouchily. But he needed to focus; who do I ask about Hasdran without alerting the wrong sorts? 

Obviously it was best to avoid the Master, although he could have valuable information about the body. But it was a small town; at least half of its population must’ve been on the shore that night. Someone had to know something. The other problem was that dwarves didn’t frequent Lake-town too often. His presence would draw suspicion. He was just going to have to accept that the Master would hear about him through word-of-mouth eventually. He could deal with it when the time came.

Darestrum's head throbbed. Who knows the inside business of a village better than its own mayor?

✶

The door swung open with such force it almost went flying off its hinges. Darestrum stepped purposefully into the gloom of the fishmonger’s shop. His nose wrinkled at the offending smell. A balding man with a rather fishy appearance himself looked up from behind the counter. His eyes immediately moved down, recognizing the newcomer’s short stature. Darestrum pointed a thick finger up at the man’s nose. “You run this place?”

The man presented a gap-toothed grin and spread his hands affectionately over the countertop. “I surely do. I'm the owner, the provider, and tha' clerk." He drummed his palms on the wood. "She's my pride and joy.”

“It get busy in here?”

The clerk looked a little taken aback. “We... well o’ course we’re busy! Best fishing service in all of Lake-town, this is!” 

The dwarf slipped his thumbs in his belt loops, trying to present himself as taller than he was. “So you get a lot of gossip, I reckon?”

The clerk’s dull blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “From time to time...” 

Darestrum took a step closer to the counter, straining his neck to look over the edge. Damn these men and their freakishly high furniture. “There was an attack on the eastern shore. Any news of a body being found?”

The man’s fanned fingers curled under his palms. “I dunno nothing about a body. Did hear of the bear-creature, though.” A shudder ran through him. “I pity the poor bastard that got in his way.”

Darestrum’s stare grew dark. “That poor bastard is my friend.” He said coldly. But before he could continue, he caught a faint humming note in the air. It was coming from somewhere in one of the back rooms. “Is there anyone else here who might know?” Darestrum asked.

The man frowned. “My wife. She’s the only one ‘sides me.”

Darestrum’s brows jumped up his forehead. “May I speak to her?”

The clerk folded his arms across his chest defensively. “She’s got no reason to bother herself with the likes of you. Now, are you gonna buy something, or do I need to holler for the Master’s soldiers?”

The humming stopped. “Clark?” A raised voice called. “What’s the ruckus up there?” A beaded curtain blocking the back of the store from main room was pushed aside and a middle aged woman stepped out. Surprise danced across her face. “Who’re you?” She asked the dwarf.

Clark the clerk butt in before Darestrum could even open his mouth to reply. “He’s looking for the bloke who got ate up by the monster a few nights ago.”

Darestrum’s heart dropped into his stomach. Ate up? Sweet Mahal... 

The woman’s expression suddenly turned serious. “Is he now?” She watched him silently for a moment, then waved her hand. “Come, take a sit.” 

Clark sputtered, “Mariam?”

But Mariam hushed him. “Watch the store, Clark,” she said with a touch of sarcasm as she glanced around the vacant shop. She held the beads away for Darestrum and gave one last jabbing look at her husband. “And don’t come bothering us.”

✶

Darestrum stood across from the woman with only a small table between them. The back room of the shop was no bigger than a closet, with a low ceiling and drafty walls. The table was only wide enough for one tea cup and saucer. Darestrum had refused tea when offered. 

Mariam sat on a short stool, now eye-level with the dwarf. She picked up her cup and drank from it slowly. The porcelain was chipped, and some of its painted decoration had faded. She caught him eyeing it and smiled. “It’s an heirloom; from the city of Dale.” She held the handle gingerly between two fingers, turning it this way and that. “Isn’t it pretty? It’s the most delicate thing I own.”

Darestrum nodded but didn’t reply. She wasn't the only descendent of Dale to cling to the past. He finally cleared his throat. "I'm looking for my companion. A young dwarf. He was attacked."

Mariam's jaw set. "Aye. We all saw." She inspected him cautiously. "Why're you snooping around then? Why not go straight to the Master?"

Darestrum sighed. "I think you know why."

The woman set the cup on its saucer with a clink. She folded her hands over each other. “There are no secrets in Lake-town. You know, the master has a network...” She drawled, eyeing him up and down. “How can you be so sure I’m not one of 'em?”

Darestrum smiled bitterly. "I don't think a spy would tell me they're a spy."

"What if they're throwing you off the scent?"

Anger boiled in Darestrum's gut. "I don't have time for little games. Do you know where the body is or not?" He stepped towards her, almost bumping the table. Mariam flinched, reaching out reflexively in case the tea cup tottered over. Darestrum's nostrils flared. "If you don't know, tell me now and I'll be out of your hair forever. But quit beatin' around the bush."

Mariam glared at him disdainfully as she pulled the empty cup and saucer protectively to her breast. "You're very rude, you know." She was quiet for a moment. "I don't know about a body..." She muttered, getting to her feet. Only of average height for a woman, she towered over Darestrum. "But I might know where a dwarf is hiding." 

✶

The chill of night crept down his collar as Darestrum waited behind a tall stack of fish traps. His pulse boomed in his ears. The woman's words echoed in his skull; don't know about a body... does that mean he's alive? She didn't say it out-front, but he knew if he got his hopes up only to have them shattered, he wouldn't have the strength to go on. All this cryptic nonsense.. they're almost worse than the elves.

He jumped a little as the portal to the building beside him opened. Golden light poured out into the dark. "Inside, quickly." Mariam whispered. 

Darestrum ducked into the building as the woman quickly shut the door behind him. He gazed upwards; they were at the bottom level of some kind of tenement. Most of the rooms were closed off given the late hour, but he heard a few muffled voices. A child was crying behind one of the closed doors.

Mariam put a finger to her lips and led him upstairs. On the third floor, the family units gave way to larger spaces. Inside the open rooms, tables were piled high with folded linens. Baskets of clean clothes were pushed into the corners. A laundry house, Darestrum realized.

He also suddenly became aware that he was following this stranger blindly into what could be a trap. As they ascended, his window for escape narrowed. If its soldiers at the top, I'm finished. "Why here?" He asked in a low voice.

"It was either here, or let him fester in the Master's cells." Mariam looked down at him over her shoulder. "You really thought he wouldn't know about an attack on his own shores? When his men were the first to the scene?" She shook her head. "He's more worried about a beast threatening business than some stranger getting torn to shreds. He was gonna let the dwarf wait out his injuries imprisoned. Either he lived to explain himself, or..."

"I still don't understand." Darestrum panted as they made their way up another steep staircase. "Then how'd you get him out of the cells?"

A smile pulled at the woman's lips. "Not all of the guards are complete arseholes."

Darestrum's forehead wrinkled. "And your husband didn't know?"

Mariam scoffed. "You could fill a book with what Clark doesn't know."

✶

At last they reached the last step onto the top floor. Darestum's lungs burned. He could traverse mountain tops all day, but for some reason stairs always wore him out. They walked down the short length of the hallway. The headache had returned in full force. Another doorway lay straight ahead; the last one. A dry patch scratched the pit of Darestrum's throat. He found himself moving slower, as if his body was trying to stop him. Mariam noticed his hesitation. "I'll see if he's awake." She said, opening the door, leaving Darestrum alone in the hall. 

The dwarf pulled his pack off his shoulders and set it down. It had suddenly become unbearable heavy. He could scarcely breathe. His fingertips tingled with nerves. Every creak and shudder of the old wooden apartment set his heart racing. 

His head snapped up as the woman returned to the doorway. She held a lit candle. Her eyes burned dark and deep in the light, the shadows aging her face. She nodded silently, moving aside for the dwarf to pass. Fortifying himself, Darestrum straightened his spine and walked into the bedroom. 

The bedchamber was very plain; a bed in the back corner, and beside it a nightstand and stool. Three more wicks burned in a brass candelabra on the stand. Under the covers lay a shadowy figure, their body not quite long enough to reach the bed frame. The sheets were tucked in along their sides. Their arms lay limp, one parallel to their body and the other lain across their belly. Darestrum moved at a glacial pace closer to the bed, the woman right at his heels. She guided him to the stool. Darestrum unconsciously allowed her to seat him. She took position at the base of the bed, holding her candle out so Darestrum could see better. 

The old dwarf's lungs shriveled as if the air had been drawn out of the room. His eyes widened. The itching in his fingers spread throughout his body until he was visibly trembling. In the candlelight, he saw his heart-son lain before him. Hasdran's heavily bandaged head had been shaved down on the sides, leaving him with a curly mohawk from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. His shaved skull was blotched with heavy bruising, no doubt from the lacerations across his thin skin that the bandages were covering. His left cheek was fully wrapped, the cloth stained burnt-red by whatever wound lay below. He was bare-chested, his front marred with scrapes. The tell-tale print of three claw marks hewn into his shoulder had been stitched with sinew. His skin was flushed an ugly rose color as his body fought back fever. Darestrum could only imagine what injuries lay beneath the blanket. 

But most importantly, Hasdran's chest was moving. The slightest twitch of his eyes as he slowly opened them was the greatest gift Darestrum could've asked for. Hasdran's dark lashes fluttered over his battered cheeks. His pupils were pinpricks, and his eyes blurred as he foggily searched for the presence of the visitor. 

Hot tears pouring down his face, Darestrum took Hasdran's hand, holding it with the care he would handle a bird's egg. He struggled to find his voice. "Hasdran." He whispered. 

Hasdran's gaze flickered. His voice was hoarse, as if it pained him to speak. "Who is that?"

Darestrum choked back a relieved sob. "Darestrum, lad. It's me." He began to reach his hand to the young dwarf's head, but decided against it. Instead he lay his palm over the hand he already held, squeezing ever so slightly like he could crush Hasdran's bones. 

Hasdran's cracked lips parted. "Darestrum..." And then, ignoring the lancing pain that shot through him, he smiled. "You run off without me?" He croaked, wincing. Darestrum couldn't help but smile back, a gravelly laugh jumping out of him. Mariam, would had kept a respectful distance, stood and set the candle on the nightstand. "I'll leave you two to catch up." She said as she backed out of the room.

As the woman left, Darestrum rubbed at his eyes. He couldn't stop crying. His wobbly grin crooked as he sniffled, "You have any idea what Clasa would've done to me if I didn't bring you home?"

Hasdran's eyes crinkled. "Probably skin you alive and wear you like a coat." He joked weakly. 

Exhaling, Darestrum drew Hasdran's hand to his lips and kissed it. Hasdran watched him quietly. Darestrum's face warped as the terror in his gut lifted and relief flooded through him. 

Hasdran's Adam's apple bobbed. A crease formed between his brows. "Where's Kamal?"

Darestrum lifted his face from Hasdran's hand, his eyes wide and horrified. Hasdran instantly interpreted the reaction and his mouth fell open. "No..."

"No, no," Darestrum quickly explained. "She's alive. She made it."

Hasdran relaxed, grimacing as his body wound down from the sudden spike of emotion. "Thank Mahal." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second before looking to Darestrum again. "Is she here?"

Darestrum fell into stunned silence. Regret grew like an ugly, twisted root in his center, wrapping itself around him and constricting. His breath juddered. He leaned his elbows on the mattress, pressing his mass of fingers, Hasdran's hand included, to his brow. His jaw was clenched so tight he felt his teeth would shatter. His hunched body was overwhelmed by tremors. 

"Darestrum?" Hasdran said in a thin voice. "What's wrong?"

Darestrum couldn't bear to look at him. He buried his shame into the fingers, the scent of skin and medical salve overwhelming his senses. "I—" He lurched, catching his cry in his lungs. "I left her." His tears soaked through his beard, wetting his mouth. Then all at once, like a dam crumbling, he collapsed against Hasdran's side. His sobbing wracked through him. He released Hasdran's hand, clawing his fingers through his grey hair like he wanted to smother himself against the mattress. "What have I done?" He bawled as Hasdran lay his freed hand over the old dwarf's back. "Hasdran, what have I done."

Chapter Text

Kamal clung to Tauriel's side as they crossed the bee pastures. Drones zoomed around them, the din of their wings reverberating across the field. Kamal flinched every time one flew a little too close. Tauriel sighed like a tired parent. "Kamal, it is safe. Please don't pull." 

"Sorry." Kamal ducked as another bee whirled around Tauriel's head. Tauriel shook her hair and the bee went on its way. They high-stepped through the tall clover, Kamal's toes catching on the tangled stems. Islands of isolated wild flowers sprouted up here and there. Past the pasture they crossed a line of ancient oaks. Through the trees lay another field, the grass tawny brown. In the center of the field, encircled by a dense hedgerow and more towering oaks, was the roof she had seen upon exiting Mirkwood. Now closer, she saw that it was overgrown with moss. Smoke drifted from a squat stone chimney. He's home.

Legolas stopped at the edge of the canopy's shadow. He looked to Tauriel. "Do you think it's safe to approach?" He asked in Sindarin as to not alarm the girl.

Tauriel stepped out into the field, squinting against the sun. "He is in his human form." She said as she watched the smoke rise. "If there is a time to reason with him, it is now." She rested her fingertips between Kamal's shoulder blades and led her forward. As they walked, the elf spoke to the girl. "Stay close to me. He is intimidating, but he will not harm you."

They reached a wooden fence fixed with a heavy gate. Legolas, with very little caution, put his hand on the handle and pushed it open with a creak. Kamal readied herself. Remember, this is for Clasa. Gathering her courage, she walked alongside Tauriel into the yard. They meandered down a wide track towards the cottage until they arrived in a courtyard, three walls of which were formed by the wooden house.

Kamal almost scrambled up onto Tauriel's shoulders as angry barking exploded across the yard. From the side of the house, two enormous wolfhounds came charging at them, pink gums and white fangs flashing as they bayed in warning. Legolas and Tauriel dragged Kamal behind them, drawing their bows. The dogs encircled the party, snarling but keeping their distance. Sandwiched between the two elves, Kamal wished she had something to protect herself with.

Suddenly, a large dark door set in the wall slammed open. Through the doorway stepped a creature so strikingly familiar that, for a terrifying moment, Kamal thought it was Sverne. He was built tall and wide, his head grazing the doorframe as he moved into the light. He had thick black beard and hair, and great bare arms with knotted muscles. He lifted his left hand; Kamal's eyes landed on the metal cuff and short chain attached to his wrist. He stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, whistling a sharp note. "Cynric, Dallin, heel!" 

The dogs immediately retreated, eyeing the intruders suspiciously as they trotted back to their master. The giant lumbered down the few steps between the house and the grass, the wooden boards groaning under his weight. He wore a very simple tunic and breeches. The dogs nosed his calves, whining and huffing like they were complaining. He shushed them and continued forward. His pale blue eyes glowered under dark, bushy brows as he observed the two elves. He did not see the girl cowering behind them. He stopped, folding his arms across his chest. Tauriel and Legolas kept their bows drawn, waiting on pins and needles for his next move. 

"What are you doing on my lawn?" The giant growled, looking anything but harmless. 

Tauriel moved forward. "I am Tauriel. My companion is Legolas. We seek an audience with you, skin-changer."

One of the hounds left Beorn's side, snuffling around the perimeter of the armed outsiders. His black nose pointed towards Kamal, twitching with interest. The dog huffed again, the tell-tale rumble of an oncoming bark sounding in the back of his throat. B.F. hissed at the hound from atop Tauriel's pack. Legolas drew his hand around Kamal to block her, but it was too late. Beorn tilted his head. "You have a third?" He lifted his chin to peek over their russet and blonde heads. "Do not hide yourself; step up." 

It's the same, Kamal thought, dread weighing her feet down. It's just like Sverne in the ferns. But she swallowed her fear and moved away from the safety of the elves. 

Beorn released a mighty breath. He knelt down. Kamal's legs trembled. She briefly closed her eyes in a panic; but when she opened them, she didn't see cool, grey irises observing her like meat in a butcher's window. Instead, the baby blues were wide with awe. A smile spread under his bristling mustache. "And what are you?" He wondered aloud, his voice significantly more tender then before. 

Kamal's tongue turned to lead in her mouth. Beorn's gaze danced around, taking in her features. He gasped. "You're a little human." His crow's feet deepened as he belt out chuckling laugh. "A very little human!" A crease formed between his brow. "How'd you end up in the company of elves, small one?" 

Kamal couldn't believe his reaction. This couldn't be the monster's father... could it? She forced herself to find her voice. "It's a long story." She replied shyly, not quite making eye contact. 

"Well I can tell they've been feeding you like an elf." He looked back at the others accusingly. "You lot eat like birds. It's not enough for a growing youngster." He nodded his head back towards the door. "I'm not one to invite strangers into my own home, but you look like you're in sore need of a good meal." One eyebrow lifted. "Speaking of birds and strange company... is that a Ravenhill raven?"

They all looked at B.F. Tauriel had to twist her head uncomfortably to watch him over her shoulder. B.F croaked and sprung into the air, his one wing flapping uselessly as he fell to the grass. He hopped over to Kamal's ankle, tugging at her pant leg with his beak. She caught on and picked him up in her arms, more than happy to have a plush thing to hold for comfort. B.F looked Beorn right in the eyes. Then he started clicking his beak and warbling, interjecting with quick squawks.  Beorn hummed thoughtfully. "Is that so?" He said. Then, with perfect cadence, he mimicked the raven's voice right back to him. B.F perked up. They went back and forth for several moments, the others staring at the scene in disbelief. 

Legolas frowned. "Ravenhill? That is the nest of Roäc and his speaking kin."

Beorn nodded. "Aye, the very one." He smiled at the black bird. "This one's name is Corac." His eyes twinkled as he grinned at Kamal. "Although he tells me you've nicknamed him Arse-Face."

Kamal turned beet-red. B.F, or rather Corac, turned his head to look up with her with a shiny eye. He almost seemed to be taunting her. 'Sorry', she whispered under her breath, wishing she could just crawl into a grave and die. 

Beorn chortled. "He doesn't mind, little one. Now no more dawdling— come in, and you can tell me what happened to poor Corac's wing there. He wouldn't say it himself..." He turned and walked back into the house, his hounds at his heels. Kamal followed, trailed by her two still very uneasy guardians. The girl pulled a face at the trouble maker in her arms. "Why didn't you tell me you could talk?" She snipped at the raven. If she didn't know any better, she could've sworn he winked at her. 

Chapter Text

Beorn and his hounds brought them through the door from the courtyard into the house. They found themselves in a wide hall with a wood-fire burning in the middle. Smoke rose to the blackened rafters. Torches burned in low brackets on the pillars of the hall about the central hearth.

"I think what's in my pantry might be a little sweet for your taste." Beorn said as they walked through an open wall into a wide kitchen. The space had a lower ceiling than the main room, at least low in comparison to Beorn's height. The pillars supporting the roof were carved with intricate patterns, like ancient vines twisting around each other. The back wall was comprised of cobblestones. Set in it's center was another fireplace, this one situated with a stone mantle.

Kamal blanched. "W-what do you eat?"

Beorn smiled, a pointed fang catching on his bottom lip. "Cream and honey are my favorites."

Kamal gave him a look that clearly translated as Are you serious? 

"I don't mind a good fruitcake either." He continued. "But you need something more hearty." He turned on his heels and looked down. Kamal was so tiny compared to him he almost couldn't see her over his beard. "I've got one rule..." Beorn spoke, holding up a finger. The elves studied him closely, their keen eyes wary and alert. They had replaced their bows on their backs, but he knew they were still skittish. Beorn harrumphed. "I cook, you help. Understood?"

About half an hour later, the Captain of the King's Guard and the Prince of the Woodland Realm were both hunched over a wide bowl, popping the ends off of snap peas. Wheat berries simmered in a saucepan. Beorn cut yams into wedges with a large knife, and with a much smaller (and blunter) knife Kamal diced the wedges into bite-sized chunks. Corac picked at crumbs between the floorboards, careful to avoid falling under the feet of the tall folk. 

There was a bowl of strawberries, much larger than their forest counterparts. Kamal snuck a few for herself as they worked on dinner. As the yams roasted, she and Beorn set the table with the bowls, sliced bread with butter, honey, quartered fresh peaches, goat cheese and a small bowl of mint leaves. All of the crockery was oversized from Kamal's perspective; the skin-changer's plate was like a serving tray to her. Her arms shook as she struggled to lift a giant butter crock onto the table, which was about level with her forehead. She jumped as a shadow leaned over her and Beorn's massive hand plucked the crock from her fingers. "I've got it." He chuckled. Startled by his closeness, Kamal clammed up and dashed back to the kitchen, leaving the giant scratching his head.

Meanwhile, Tauriel ladled the cooked wheat berries into four bowls while Legolas scraped the roasted vegetables on top. They caught each other's eyes; Tauriel pursed her lips, suppressing an amused grin. Legolas returned a small smirk. They both recognized the ridiculousness of the situation. But if they were being honest, they were a little hungry. A hot meal wasn't the worst idea.

✶

At the dinner table, Kamal kicked her legs absentmindedly as they dangled over the side of the bench. She only just reached the tabletop, so Beorn had fashioned a sort of booster seat out of folded blankets for her to make eating easier. Kamal was flanked once more by the elves on the long bench. Across from them, Beorn had pulled up a gargantuan seat, the arms and back whittled with the visages of animals. The two rooms she'd been in so far had both been decorated the same way; it was as if someone with a chisel had been let loose on any bare plank of timber.

Two tall beeswax candles burned on the table as they ate. The fire crackled in the hearth. Tauriel and Legolas looked positively minuscule with Beorn's cutlery, but somehow they still managed to composed their grace as they politely savored their meal. Kamal, on the other hand, demolished her bowl in seconds and was now ravenously devouring her third slice of bread topped with a mass of butter. 

Beorn watched Kamal fondly as he drank from a wooden drinking-bowl filled with mead. "I told you you weren't feeding her enough." He muttered pointedly at the elves. He set the bowl down and spooned honey out of an earthenware container, drizzling it over the cheese. Without a word, he pushed it across the table towards the child and leaned back in his seat. 

The hounds, Cynric and Dallin, lay beneath the wide table, waiting for scraps. Kamal caught Dallin's amber eyes as he looked up at her from beneath the rim of the table. He poked his black nose into her foot, eliciting a giggle out of her. The sound rang clear and light in Beorn's ears, filling him with warmth. "Don't listen to Dallin." He warned Kamal playfully. "He knows better." Dallin snorted and lay his scruffy chin over his paws, not moving from his spot. 

The giant returned his attention to the elves. "Night is close at hand; so why don't you tell me why you're here?"

Legolas was silent, waiting for Tauriel to speak first. Tauriel put her fork down slowly. She glanced at Kamal out of the corner of her eye. The girl had stopped scarfing down her food, and was now looking at Beorn with wide eyes. Tauriel cleared her throat. "It is not my story to tell." Kamal's dark gaze landed on the elf, and Tauriel saw fear flash through her.

Beorn's focus landed back on Kamal. "The 'long story', as you called it." He said. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. His hairy arms were corded with muscles. 

Kamal's hands lowered to the bench, her fingers gripping the wood for support. She wished she could hold Corac, but the raven was off busying himself with something else. How far back to I even go? She thought as she squirmed under Beorn's intense curiosity. She wet her lips nervously. "There's this... thing... hunting me." She began, watching as Beorn's lifted brow lowered into a concerned frown. "His name is Sverne. T-they say... that you're his dad." 

An unsettling quiet fell over the hall. One of the dogs whined softly. Kamal continued, "I met him a while ago; I got lost and dwarves took me in." She didn't miss the slight twitch in his eyes at the word 'dwarves'. The next part always made her feel queasy. "I ran away because there's a witch I thought could help me get home. But Sverne found me and... and..." She dug the nails of her right hand into the meat of her palm until it hurt. Just show him, the voice in her head resolved. 

The adults watched her as she made her way up off the blankets and stood on the bench. She started pulling off her hunting jacket. She wobbled and both elves lifted an arm to keep her from falling backwards. Passing the coat down to Tauriel, Kamal slipped one arm easily up and out of the loose collar of her shirt. 

Beorn stared at the bandaging. No one moved. 

Kamal's breath hitched as Beorn suddenly rocketed out of his seat. His face was rigid. "I think the little one is nodding off." 

The girl frowned. "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Beorn said, he tone indicating he wasn't in the mood to argue. "Off to bed. Go on; the hounds will show you."

Upon hearing him, the dogs slipped out from under the table to the backside of the bench. They looked up at Kamal expectantly. Pouting, Kamal knelt and hopped down from the platform. The wolfhounds wagged their tails, pressing her between them as they shepherded her away. The elves watched anxiously as the two very large canines whisked away the defenseless girl, but Beorn rumbled behind them, "She is safe with them. They will watch over her like their own pup."

He pushed his seat back forcefully, the wooden legs scraping loudly on the floor. "Leave the dishes, I'll deal with them." He muttered blackly. The songs of night creatures filtered in from the open sky hatch. Beorn glanced up through the smoke-hole in the roof, watching swallows flit against the blue twilight. "You may stay the night." He said in a strangled voice. He looked down at the elves. "And for your own good, do not stray outside until the sun rises." 

He stormed back towards the courtyard entrance. The great door creaked as he opened it, and with a slam, the skin-changer was gone.

Chapter Text

Kamal dreamt she was lost in the halls of Beorn's home. The house hadn't looked that big from the outside, but she felt like she'd been walking for hours. Suddenly she found herself before the courtyard door, staring up at the metal latch. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard scratching and grunting on the other side of the wood. She yelped as something heavy slammed against the door, growling lowly. Driven by pure fright, she scurried back to bed, leaping onto the mattress and cocooning herself under the blanket. 

When she awoke, she was tangled in said blanket, one leg sticking out haphazardly over the side of the bed. She spit loose hair out of her mouth. I really need a haircut, she thought as she disentangled herself from the covers. Her black locks now reached past her shoulders, longer than she usually kept it. She lifted her hand to her bandaging. It had been a while since Tulusdir had last changed it, and the fabric was starting to itch. She sat up and looked around the room. Tauriel and Legolas lay in separate beds, turned away from her, their sides lifting with slow breaths. Corac was roosted in the rafters above. There was only one small window for the chamber, and from the looks it, it was still early morning. 

As she stirred, two black dog noses poked up. The hounds had kept guard at her bedside all night. Kamal smiled, reaching out and ruffling one of their heads; she had trouble telling them apart. "Do you guys know if there's any food?" She asked in English.

✶

The dogs' nails click-clacked on the floor as they led her to the kitchen. Thankfully the bowl of strawberries was still out. She grabbed five at once, biting into them happily. 

As she ate, her eyes wandered. There was a paring knife of the countertop. Standing on her toes, she reached across the counter and grabbed it. The dogs watched her at her feet, alert but not alarmed. Kamal polished off the last berry, adding the green top to a pile. Then she felt at the bandaging through her clothes, knife in one hand. The cotton strips were wrapped fully around her shoulder and across her chest. She took off her shirt, dropping it on the ground, and began sawing at the cotton strips.

She wasn't thinking clearly in her drowsiness. When she finished cutting, she looked at the bandages in her hands, then at the knife. "Whoops." Probably should've asked if there were more bandages before. The air was cool on her raw skin. Very carefully, she lifted her fingers to the stitching, hovering for a moment before gently touching them. She hissed through her teeth. Bad idea. The wound was still sore. The pressure from her fingertips send an unpleasant shiver through her body.

Suddenly there was a loud sound that made her pulse spike. Scared of being caught in the act, she returned the knife and pulled her shirt back on, loosening the collar so her shoulder was semi-exposed. The sound came again, then again. Dallin and Cynric seemed unbothered; they were checking the floor for any scraps they may have missed last night. Kamal listened closely. Another thud. Curious, she walked out of the kitchen towards the source of the noise. 

She followed the trail back to the great door leading outside; the same door from her nightmare. The sound was coming from the other side. If there was a window she could reach she would've just taken a peek, but they were all far too tall for her. She took hold of the large metal handle. Squeezing tight, Kamal unlatched it and pushed. But she'd forgotten that the hinges were squeaky. They squealed and she froze, cringing. She'd only opened the door a sliver. A thin pillar of light glinted in her eyes. The dull thump was definitely louder outside. When she didn't hear a reaction to the rusty hinges, she very, very slowly pushed the door a bit more.

The clear morning breeze brushed against her nose. Birds chirruped in the oak branches. The sky was pale blue and cloudless. Across from the house, at the opposite end of the courtyard, Beorn stood over a chopping block. An axe almost as long as Kamal was tall was gripped firmly in his hands. 

His sharp eyes turned on her and she froze. The troubled furrow in his brow lifted, and he smiled toothily. "Good morning!" He waved. "I see you there, come on out." 

Shuddering, Kamal squeezed her way out of the door, leaving it a crack open. Beorn was dressed in similar wear as the day before. His long hair was tied back in a bushy pony tail. He buried the hatchet into the wood of the chopping block and leaned on it as he watched her approach. Sweat beaded on his wide forehead. His eyebrows lifted higher. "You rose early. Did you sleep well?"

Kamal nodded, looking at the axe apprehensively. She crossed the courtyard, the dew of the grass cool on her bare feet, stopping a few yards away from him. She tugged her shirt back over her stitching so he wouldn't see, ignoring the discomfort of the cloth. Beorn noticed her fidgeting. "You dunna have to be afraid of me." He said, his voice as soft as he could make it. 

"I-I'm not afraid of you."

"You're shaking." 

Kamal hadn't even realized that her fingertips were trembling. She wrapped her arms around her middle. "Sorry."

Beorn smiled kindly. "Do not apologize." He mopped at his brow with his sleeve. "Do you do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Apologize for nothing?"

"Sometimes."

"And why is that?" 

Kamal shrugged, feeling her face grow warm. "Bad habit, I guess." 

Beorn hummed. They fell quiet, looking up at the trees as they both tried to ignore the pregnant pause. Kamal really wanted to scratch her stitches. "What happened last night?" She asked. 

The giant continued scanning the trees for birds, but something in his expression had changed. "You mean after I sent you off?" She nodded. A grimace twitched at the corner of Beorn's mouth. "I went out running." For a second, Kamal imagined Beorn as one of the dads in track suits she'd see jogging from time to time in her neighborhood before school. The silliness of the image almost put her at ease, but she knew that wasn't what he meant. "To where?" She continued. 

"The Carrock." He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "I don't think you'd know it. It is a great stone..." His voice faltered. His face went grey, his eyes widening. Kamal frowned, confused, then realized her collar had slipped again. She frantically pulled it towards her neck, gripping the shirt close to her clavicle. But he'd already seen the bite. Beorn's nostrils flared. Rendered speechless, he rotated to face her straight on. His blue eyes blazed in their sockets. Kamal shrunk under his great shadow. Her heart raced. "It's getting better." She mumbled in a small voice. 

Beorn's canines hooked on his lower lips as his mouth drew into a tight line. He swallowed hard. "He did this?" He uttered. 

Kamal tasted bile in her mouth. She couldn't respond. Beorn lowered himself onto one knee. Kamal couldn't help but look at his mouth, his parted lips revealing teeth identical to the ones that had torn into her shoulder. She tried not to shy away from him, especially now that his face was much closer to hers. Beorn gazed into her eyes. "What is it that you want from me, little one?" 

Kamal's hold on her shirt tightened. "He killed my friend. And B.F... Corac... he did that to his wing. He won't fly ever again." Her chest swelled as she steeled her nerves. "I need to kill him." 

She watched his emotions shift across his face as he digested her words. "Sverne is my blood." He snarled. "But I'm not to blame for the monster he became."

"But no one else will stop him."

"Death is the way of the wilds. I cannot control the evils beyond my own borders."

All of a sudden, anger reared its ugly head in her gut. Kamal's nose wrinkled. "You sound like him." She muttered.

"Who?"

"The elf king." 

Beorn burst out a short, scoffing laugh of contempt. "Do I? And how is that?"

"He won't help because Sverne's past his woods. I saw how many soldiers he has. He could help, but he won't."

Beorn stood again, the movement making Kamal jump. He turned and paced close to the trees, the top of his head nearly grazing the lowest boughs. With each breath there came a low, almost imperceivable growl in the pit of his throat. "You are asking my to kill my own son." 

A knot formed between Kamal's eyebrows. "What if he keeps killing?" Cold uneasy oozed through her veins. "There was a boy shot by an arrow; that was Sverne, wasn't it?"

Beorn shook his head. "I don't know what you mean; what boy?" But Kamal was too angry to explain. "We have to stop him." She suddenly snapped, shocking herself with the strength of her voice. "He's hunting me. Please." 

Beorn was the first to look away. He stared at the ground, his forehead a mass of creases. "You have your out." He rumbled. "Continue to the Lorien, find your way home." 

Kamal's blood boiled. "But he's gonna keep hurting people."

Beorn's eyes shot up, blazing blue. "That is not your concern."

Kamal shook her head in disbelief. "Isn't it yours?"

Beorn's mass blocked the rising sun. He fixed her with his laser-like stare. There was something terribly sad behind his eyes. "You must go home. Leave this all behind."

"I told you I can't."

"You don't want to return to your family?"

Kamal felt her chest tighten and her cheeks flush. Her face screwed into a scowl. "OF COURSE I DO" Her shout exploded out of her, tearing her throat raw. It was so forceful she felt like her lungs had completely deflated. She sucked in a shuddering breath. "I want to go home so bad, but I have to do this. You have to do this!" 

Beorn's features darkened. The skittish girl he'd only met yesterday was long gone; or at least that part of her was suppressed behind her temper. "Lower your voice..." He warned. 

Furious tears pressed behind Kamal's eyes. "Why won't you help me? He's your kid; It's your job!" 

"I said be quiet."

"NO." Kamal quickly wiped at her nose. "You're a bad parent. And you're scared."

With that, Beorn took two swift steps until he was looming over her. Air burst from his nostrils. There was a wild look in his eyes. "I am not scared." He enunciated each word with icy vitriol. "And you tread on thin ice, child."

There was a clamoring at the doorway and they both turned to look. The elves stood just outside the threshold, eyes wide and fearful. They had shed a few layers to sleep, but the blonde had his bow and the red-head her twin blades. They saw the scene before them— the massive half-beast bearing down on helpless young human— and leapt forward. The arrow was drawn by the time Legolas's feet touched the earth. "Step away from her!" He ordered.

Then the hounds appeared in the door right behind them their ears flat against their skulls. But Beorn held up a hand. The dogs backed down, slinking back into the house. Beorn dared to look away from the hostile elves. He looked down his beard at the child. Her small, tear-stained face was contorted with anger. He'd never seen such an angry little being. "I built this haven." Beorn spoke in a deep rolling voice. "I must remain as it's warden; to protect the creatures here from the wickedness beyond." He let loose a rumbling sigh. "Be on your way. You have overstayed your welcome." He returned his attention to the elves. "Be sure to reach the forest by nightfall."

Kamal sniffled miserably, hot tears continuing to pour down her face. She struggled to speak without sobbing. "You're all the same..." She forced out, hiccuping. 

Beorn didn't reply. He ripped the axe out of the stump, grumbling as he stormed off again. As he left, Kamal's last hope flickered out. 

✶

The next morning, when he had shifted back into a man, Beorn returned home to an empty house. He stepped over the hounds sleeping in the dining room. He walked to the hall with the makeshift beds. All three that had been used were neatly made. "Elves..." He grumbled. Even in their haste, they were annoyingly polite. 

He made his way to the kitchen. There, he slumped onto a stool, head in his hands. He reached for a nectarine. But when he went for something to cut the fruit, he found the paring knife he'd left out was gone. There was also a small pile of strawberry tops on the counter. He frowned. It didn't seem like the elves to leave a mess. 

His stomach flipped. The knife wasn't missing. It had been taken. 

Chapter Text

They had made it some distance away from Beorn's house before they stopped. The dark tree line of Mirkwood was visible on the horizon. Kamal caught her breath. She was still seething, grumpily refusing to be carried and fuming the whole hike. She looked west, away from the forest. Beyond lay the Golden Wood, and within it Galadriel. You have your out.

"Kamal?"

She looked to Tauriel. The elf watched her from a few feet away, concern plastered on her face. "What is your decision?" Legolas stood close by, this time shouldering the bag and raven, waiting patiently for the answer. The long grass hissed as the wind blew across the plain. Long tresses of dark hair lifted from Kamal's shoulders as the air current passed around her. She felt the flat side of the knife on her hip, wrapped in a table napkin and tucked into the waist line of her pants. She lifted her chin. "I want to go back East."

Tauriel's expression gave away neither disappointment nor approval. She only nodded. "So be it."

✶

They walked north then veered northwest. When Kamal asked why they weren't taking the Old Forest Road, which was closer to Beorn's house, the elves explained that it was long overgrown. Not to mention infested by goblins. "We will take the Elf-path." Tauriel said. "It is safest, and will bring us closest to Esgaroth. Perhaps your dwarven companion is still there."

Kamal sunk into a gloom. "Probably not." She muttered.

Tauriel pinned her with a look. "Legolas and I must return to the King's Halls; but we will make sure you are safe before parting. I do not want you returning to the Iron Hills alone." 

They kept the tree line on their right, traveling through the grasslands for several hours until they reached a stone arch. If there was a formal entrance into Mirkwood, this was it. Beyond the structure, a narrow tunnel was formed by two enormous, leaning trees who's branches had twisted up into each other. The path was so slender that they had to walk in single file; Tauriel at the lead, Kamal in the middle, and Legolas and Corac in the back. Kamal had almost forgotten how suffocating the dark forest was. Every tree was choked with vines, like the kudzu she'd always see swallowing up utility poles along the road. The light of the sun struggled to filter in through the thick mat of plant life. Soon, only a few beams crept through; not nearly enough to light the path. Kamal quietly reached down and took hold of the tail of Tauriel's pointed tunic in one hand. The elf didn't seem to notice.

Time passed slowly. The walk was difficult; Kamal didn't remember it being this long the first time passing through. Then again, that time around she'd mostly slept while Legolas carried her. Even in the darkness, she began to notice cobwebs springing up between the trees. The thick silken threads were cast like nets over entire thickets. Kamal suppressed as shiver as she remembered the nightmarish sounds of giant spiders moving through the branches from a couple nights ago.

Tauriel suddenly stopped. The path ahead was completely enveloped by impassable webbing. Legolas cursed under his breath. "They're expanding their territory." He spoke in Westron. Tauriel frowned. "Can we go around?" Legolas shook his head. "I don't know."

"We can look at the map," Kamal spoke up from behind them. Tauriel sighed. "This is our home, Kamal. We are far too familiar to need a guide."

"Then why'd you bring it?"

Tauriel looked at her. "In case we separate."

Cold flushed through Kamal. The last thing she'd ever want is to be lost in Mirkwood without her guides. “Can I have the water?” She asked, her throat suddenly parched.

Legolas passed it to her and she drank deeply. Then she paused, the water skin hovering next to her lips. Voices, low and whispering, slithered through the woods like a snake. They trailed up and laced through her ears. Her tongue prickled with acid. Her heart dropped to her toes. Something’s coming.

The elves seemed to have sensed it too. Both fell dead silent. Their sharp hearing picked up on the  oncoming danger. There were at least a two dozen footsteps. They had to act quickly; the elf-path was blocked, and webs lay on either side of them. Legolas and Tauriel met each other’s eyes. Up, they agreed wordlessly. As Legolas immediately started climbing the closest tree, Tauriel picked Kamal up in her arms. The girl clung to her side as the elf hoisted both of them up to the tree after the blonde. 

The first spider bodied the tree trunk mere seconds after Tauriel had left the forest floor, shaking the entire trunk with the force of the hit. Kamal looked down, and to her horror got a full look at the giant insect for the first time. Eight beady eyes stared up at her. Below them lay a horrid set of pinchers, opening at closing ravenously. Long-haired legs felt up and down the trunk, their claws sinking into the wood as it began pulling itself after them. For their, the spiders were unfortunately very fast climbers. Kamal drew her legs up as a two-pronged food swung at her. 

Fast as lightning, Tauriel and Kamal broke through the lower boughs into the more spacious canopy. The elf balanced herself on three branches; legs on two, one hand on a high one. Empty air lay below her, the terrifying drop now high enough to break bones or even kill. Kamal squeaked as the branches swayed. Lichen and grime clung to their skin. All around them was dense brown foliage. Tauriel snapped her head around. "Legolas?"

Just then the leaves parted and a blonde head popped out. “This way, hurry!” He held the branches aside for them as Tauriel carried Kamal through. Once they were out of the spiders’ line of sight, Legolas returned to the lead. They were certainly high up, but no where close to the sky. In the minimal light, Legolas moved expertly from branch to branch, bounding forward as if they weren’t moving half blind through a wall of leaves. Tauriel followed him closely, copying his steps. Kamal shut her eyes as plants and twigs scratched against her skin. 

The fear of a ruptured eyeball was overturned by the shriek of spiders behind her. She dared a look back, gripping Tauriel closer. Kamal didn’t even know spiders could make noise, let alone scream like banshees. Her heart hammered a million miles a minute. 

The elves were light of foot, springing from branches that shouldn’t have been able to bear their weight. Legolas followed a path of pure instinct. He’d lived among these trees for hundreds of years. Even in the canopy cover, he kept his keen internal sense of direction. He and Tauriel and the girl could slip through gaps the spiders couldn’t fit through. He heard one get caught in the tight-knit boughs behind them. It hissed in frustration as it struggled to free itself. If we keep at this pace, we will outrun them, Legolas thought. But we cannot falter. If Tauriel had her legion of guards they could’ve easily taken the hoard. But just the two of them would be overwhelmed. 

What he didn’t expect was for the to be up high. The trio burst out of the leaves, suddenly finding themselves in a valley of dead trees. Living oaks soared above the grey valley, encircling it. If one where to look from above, the grove of ashen trees would appear like a cancerous sore among a sea of russet foliage. Thick cords of web wrapped around every prodded branch and stretched between every trunk.

Legolas hesitated, and his split-second of indecision was enough for the spiders to cover the distance between them. Tauriel turned and saw the canopy shifting violently with their movement. “Legolas!” She shouted. Kamal had shimmied onto the red-head’s back so that the elf’s hands were free. Legolas looked at the drop below. It was at least 50 ft down. He drew his bow. The arrow he fired sliced through the air, narrowly missing Tauriel’s left ear, and sunk deep into the skull of the arachnid behind her. “We must go low again!” He ordered in Sindarin. Tauriel moved around him, jumping to the nearest branch with zero warning. Kamal's stomach leapt into her throat. 

They fell, the first low branch punching the air out of Tauriel’s lungs. It was less than graceful, but they descended safely to the forest floor. The ground was coated in more cottony webbing. Tauriel struggled to step through without getting it tangled up around her legs. Legolas remained above, firing off arrows as fast as he could. They sang through the air as they flew. Something heavy fell through the branches behind Tauriel and Kamal. A spider, its legs curled across its body, had dropped like a stone, dead.

Tauriel swam through the film of silk, pulling out one of her dual blades and hacking away like a machete. The sword snapped through some of the cords of a web blocking their path, but as seh continued the knife became entangled. We’re in the heart of the colony, Tauriel realized harrowlingly. 

Kamal felt behind a presence behind her. She twisted her neck and saw that a spider with right on their tail. There was a flash of fangs, the mandibles opening and revealing an inner mouth with even more teeth. Screaming, Kamal threw her leg out. Her heel struck something round and squishy, and the spider squealed in pain. She’d kicked one of its eyes.

Another spider crawled over its companion as the injured spider rolled backwards. It lunged for Kamal, legs fanned like wings. Tauriel sensed it and chucked her scabbard. The blade sunk between its eyes and it fell just a few inches from their feet with a thud. But more were coming. Legolas was running low on arrows. Tauriel ripped her other blade from its sheath. My last... the rest is in the pack. She stopped trying to fight against the webbing and turned, blocking Kamal with her body. She could not hold the girl and fight simultaneously.

Kamal felt the elf prying her off her back. "Do not leave my side." Tauriel commanded in a tight voice. She flipped her knife in her palm to get a better grip. 

Kamal almost toppled onto the seat of her pants as she was lowered from the safety of Tauriel's shoulders. The elf's body tensed like a wound-up spring. Her free fingers flexed as she held her blade close to her chest, her elbow bent and the sharp edge facing outward.

Out of Tauriel's sight, Kamal pulled her tiny knife from the waistline of her trousers. The napkin slipped from the blade and fluttered to the ground. Remember what Darestrum taught you. Granted, that had only been a stick. This was made for cutting. Stand tall... don't lock your knees. Stagger your feet. She tried to plant her feet, but the ground was uneven. She couldn't even see them through the webbing. She heard a twig snap behind her. Shock jumped like lightning through her body. She spun around. Something big was coming towards her. Tauriel didn't see; she was too busy fighting off her own spider. 

Kamal's chest seized in terror as the massive arachnid burst through the dead branches. It rattled furiously, ooze dripping from its mouth. 

Kamal jutted the knife in front of her, arms shaking horribly as she gripped the handle with both hands. The spider began to creep closer, trees groaning as its massive body pushed through the thicket. It was hairy like a tarantula, but the hairs were sparse and oily. Eight eyes goggled at her. The knife glinted dully in the thin light. Right hand, right foot. Kamal moved her right leg forward, keeping her weight low and steady. 

Tauriel moved away from her, pushing her enemy farther into its own webs. Kamal was on her own. She wet her lips nervously. Strike through.

The spider hissed and scurried forward with alarming speed. Sucking in air, Kamal's knuckles went white around the hilt and she cut down. 

The spider shrieked. It retreated as quickly as it can charged, frothing at the mouth, its front legs pawing at the diagonal cut dealt across its face. Kamal's mouth fell open. She looked down at her knife. Her hand and the metal were both stained with black blood. A thrill tingled in her core. She slid a step forward, slashing wildly. The spider, more tentatively this time, tried to attack but was met with another sharp sting across its flesh. Kamal breathed heavily. Her eyes were blown open. Her heart boomed in her ears. Her back leg was her launch pad, her right her break. She danced back and forth. Loosened strands of silk floated through the air. I'm doing it. I'm—

Suddenly the spider spun, its round abdomen striking her and sending her flying sideways. She tumbled between two trees, dragging a whole web with her as she rolled head over heels downhill. As she skidded to the bottom, she found herself under the white carpet of webs. She was in a shallow hollow of gnarled tree roots, the soil so dry it had eroded and left nothing but the tubers behind. Each root was thicker than her arm, and just as twisted as their trees. 

Her knife was still in her hand; she thanked anyone listening that she hadn't accidentally hurt herself. Then, falling like a dark cloud, the spider's fat body appeared on the other side of the white webs. It had followed her. Some of its feet occasionally touched the silk, sending it vibrating as it unhooked its claws. Kamal clamped her mouth shut, flattening herself into the dirt. The spider was only a few feet over her. She heard it chuffing, sensing around for her. 

There was a whistle and thock! as an arrow burrowed into the back of the spider's head. Kamal smiled, exhaling gratefully. But her grin quickly dropped. As the spider's legs curled under it, it lost its grip on the tree trunks and began to sink down through the cobwebs. Yelping, Kamal tucked her hands against her sides and rolled out of the way just as the creature slammed into the ground were she'd been laying.

Kamal sat up, dirt raining from her clothes. She heard a chorus of startled hisses and shrill wails from up above. And then a mighty below echoed through the dead valley. That wasn't the elves.

As she sloppily climbed her way out of the roots, knife tucked back in her pants with the hilt exposed, she heard the red-haired elf calling for her. "I'm here!" She shouted back, spitting spider silk and mud out of her mouth. Twigs and needles stuck out of her hair. Her shoulder was a little tender, but her blood was pumping too fast for her to be bothered by it. Grabbing the highest root, she pulled herself up and out of the ravine. She clawed her way onto flat land, jumping as slender hands reached down to assist her. Tauriel helped her to her feet, futilely brushing off her back. Spider corpses littered the ground. Legolas was finally out of the trees; his quiver was completely empty. But now there was a third member among them. 

Beorn ripped his hatchet from a spider's corpse with a horrible squelching noise. His blue eyes landed on Kamal. He growled, but it almost sounded like a chuckle. "Ah. There's my paring knife."

Chapter Text

Kamal felt the knife against her hip like a hot branding iron. He followed us? What happened to 'not his problem'? Beorn wiped at the sweat on his mustache with his shoulder. "There any more?" He asked.

"I believe that was the last of them." Legolas replied. "If there are others, then they have retreated."

Beorn hummed approvingly. His gaze returned to Kamal. "Looks like you got some action with that thing. And here I thought it was only good for slicing fruit." He jutted his chin at her. "You have something on your face."

Kamal wiped her cheek with her forearm, coming away with a smear of black blood. She pressed her lips together. "Why are you here?" She asked with an accusatory edge to her voice. Well her attitude isn't gone, Beorn snorted. "I figured that the harvest is over... and I didn't see any sign of orcs my last few scoutings." He hoisted his axe on his shoulder. "And I've got the hounds to keep an eye on things. So..." He gestured with his free hand. "Here I am."

His tone was joking, but Kamal saw right through it. She dropped her defensive wall, and a small smile crept up at the corners of her lips. "You're going to help me?" She gasped.

Beorn's tongue ran over one of his canines under his upper lip. "I'll search the eastern side of the Long Lake. It's up to Sverne wether he'll show or turn tail. If he's gone south into Mordor, then he's the orcs' problem." He fixed his grip on the handle. "But I'll do what I can."

Relief rushed through Kamal like a jolt of adrenaline. She forgot all of her apprehension, all of her fear. She exhaled. She didn't have to say it; she met Beorn's eyes and thanked him with a look. Beorn smiled, but it seemed a bit reserved. Every time the topic of his son came up, Beorn grew distant. Tauriel cleaned her remaining dagger on her bracer and slipped it back into its sheath. "You surprise me, skin-changer." Beorn narrowed his eyes. "Why's that, elf?"

"Your people are not know for altering their course once decided."

Beorn's expression grew darker. "There aren't many of my people left." He growled. "And the one's who are are often broken beyond repair. Perhaps more adaptability is a good thing." 

Legolas sensed tension charge the air and stepped in. "It may be wise to send word ahead to Lake-town, to see if the girl's companion is still there." Beorn frowned. "Companion?" "A dwarf." Legolas explained. Beorn huffed. "Dwarf?" He looked down around his knee caps to see the girl looking up at him. "Why you running around with a dwarf and elves? Don't you have any mannish friends?" Kamal only shrugged in response. 

Legolas continued. "Obviously we cannot send Corac... If we return to my father's halls, I can send a messenger hawk." 

"No need." Beorn said with a shake of his head. With that, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let loose a sharp whistle. After a few seconds, a twitter answered. A jaybird dropped from the canopy, landing on a low branch near Beorn's head. It chucked and clicked, tilting its head. Beorn croaked back to it, the language like the sound of a crow. Corac watched him curiously like he was listening in. When Beorn was finished the jaybird fluffed up and launched, flying out of the trees and towards the lake. Beorn put his hands on his hips. "See? Easy."

They all watched the jay turn into a speck in the sky. "Can people in Lake-town speak 'bird'." Kamal suddenly asked. Beorn's cocky smile dropped. No one said anything as the bird disappeared from sight. 

"Huh," Beorn muttered. "Didn't think of that." 

✶

Bard grunted as he hoisted the last barrel onto the barge. He felt a twinge in his back and rubbed at his spine. At this rate I'll be retired in a year, he thought begrudgingly. Not that retiring was ever an option, not with three mouths to feed. Sigrid and Tilda made pocket change mending fishing nets, and Bain occasionally worked at the fishmonger's shop, but it was never enough. Bard kicked at the water spilled across the dock. If he wanted to keep his family afloat, he needed a change of pace. No— he needed a miracle.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up. There was a small group making their way downhill from the forest. The boatman's shoulders slumped. "You must be joking." He grumbled. First the dwarf, now this. He stomped to the front of the boat. "I'm not a ferry, find your own—" But his shout died in his lungs. There were four in total; a girl, a very tall man, and two elves. Mirkwood elves? His heart rate spiked. Messengers from King Thranduil? Is something wrong? He couldn't afford to lose trade with the Woodland Realm. "I'm coming to shore!" He called, running for the push-pole.

He met them at the stone dock, pulling in just as the party reached the bottom of the hill. He hastily tied the boat off and climbed onto land. "Welcome, friends." He smiled at the elves. "You're from Mirkwood, aye?"

"They are," said the giant with a side-nod to Tauriel and Legolas. "We're not." We meaning him and the girl. The girl was staring at Bard unnervingly. He gave her a courteously nod. Still she continued to stare. He's human, she thought. He was the first human she'd seen in months. He was so... normal. So normal it made him look strange. She'd seen dwarves, elves, giant bear-men... and here was just some guy. Had he fallen through too?

Bard was so unnerved by the bug-eyed child he turned towards the elves. "Do you have word from the king? Is there a problem?"

"None whatsoever." Tauriel said. "Actually, we have a request."

Bard clasped his hands politely in front of him. "Yes, anything."

"Our companions need passage to Lake-town." Tauriel gestured to the girl and giant. 

Bard gave them a look. "May I ask for what business?"

"May you?" Beorn mocked, but Tauriel held up her hand to shut him up. She continued, "The child is returning to her family. And he is her temporary guardian." Bard had difficulty masking his confusion. He knew everyone in town— and he'd never seen this child before. As for the giant, how in the world he had gained custody of a human was beyond Bard. With his towering form and scowling expression, he didn't seem like the caregiving type.

The blonde male elf stepped towards Bard. "We are happy to pay for your time."

"No, no." Bard waved his hand dismissively. "You're the reason I'm employed at all. You don't owe me a thing."

Legolas seemed a little surprised. "We insist," he said, looking to Tauriel, who gave an affirmative nod. 

"Really, I can't..." The last thing Bard wanted was to be more indebted to the elves. These weren't some stragglers, not like that dwarf... that dwarf. It was bizarre that so many strangers were showing up on Lake-town's shores within the span of a few days. Could it be possible they were connected? Bard snapped to, realizing he'd gone quiet. "Please, just... just consider it a favor."

Legolas' face softened. "We will remember this kindness. What is your name?"

"Bard." To Bard's shock, the elves bowed. The blonde one spoke again. "On behalf of the Woodland Realm, thank you, Bard of Lake-town." 

The man was aflutter with nerves. He almost blushed. "I uh... ahem, y-you're welcome." He looked at his odd passengers. "We'll set off whenever you're ready." 

Kamal's heart flipped as she realized it was time to go. She looked at Tauriel. The elf smiled down at her. "I wish I could cross with you." She knelt down to Kamal's level. "But Legolas and I must return to our duties." She took one of Kamal's hands, rubbing her thumb across the girl's knuckles. "I am so very glad we met."

As they said goodbyes, Beorn lowered his arm to Legolas, and Corac jumped from the pack onto his beefy forearm. The giant took the pack from the elf. They met eyes but didn't say a word. 

Kamal held down the emotion rising in her throat. Her smile wobbled. "Thanks for everything."

Tauriel's green eyes glistened. "I will tell the others of your star-walkers." She gently cupped Kamal's face in her palm, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. "I hope we meet again. And if we don't, may you find your way home." Before she stood, she reached into a small satchel on her hip and passed a tiny pouch to Kamal. Something clinked inside. "When you're in town, give this to the boatman. But make sure you're off the ship first." Kamal nodded.

Standing, Tauriel locked her gaze on Beorn. "Take care of her." She warned. Her hand absentmindedly fell on the hilt of her last dagger. "One would not want to invoke King Thranduil's wrath. Or mine." 

Beorn's spine straightened, raven on his arm and rough-sack like a handbag in his grip. He matched Tauriel's intense stare. "You have my word."

Chapter Text

It was a very quiet and awkward boat ride. Beorn had to sit in the middle to avoid tilting the vessel. Bard drummed his fingers on his lifted knee as he steered. Kamal sat on the bench across from Beorn, sniffiling as the cold lake air tickled her nose. Corac snuggled against her belly for warmth. 

Beorn blew a raspberry, cricking his neck. "Are you alright?"

Kamal looked up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Beorn scoffed. "You fought a pod of giant spiders. Not many live after encountering those beasts to boast about it."

"I'm not 'boasting'."

He wrinkled his nose playfully. "You ought to. You're impressive, girl."

Kamal flushed. She hadn't expected to be praised. She pulled the knife out of her pant's waist. She held it flat in her hands. After looking at it for a moment, she held it out toward's Beorn. He cocked an eyebrow. "What're you doing?"

"I stole it. It's yours."

Beorn was silent. Then his shoulders started to shake. He threw his head back and barked out a booming laugh. The sound echoed across the lake. "Quiet!" Bard hissed, throwing a finger to his lips. "Please. We don't need the Master's men on our tails."

"Augh," Beorn rolled his eyes, still grinning and chuckling. "Yeah yeah I hear ya." His eyes twinkled at Kamal. "I know you stole it, little one. That's part of why I came after you." Kamal frowned. Beorn went on; "Alright, well, it wasn't the only reason." He leaned towards her, bracing his elbows on his knees. "You're not like other humans, are you?"

Kamal sat up. She realized then that she hadn't yet told him her whole story. Beorn observed her, the laughter fading from his eyes. "You're different. I don't know what it is, but I can tell. You don't..." He hesitated. "You don't smell like you're from here." 

Kamal blanched.

"I didn't mean to scare you. It's... my people have animal senses. And we know that those who live in Arda have the smell of Arda. They smell like the rivers and the soil and the wind. No matter where they're from, they've all got generally the same scent lying underneath." Beorn shook his head. "But you don't. Your 'long story'.... it's not just Sverne, is it?" His thick fingers laced together. The boat rocked slowly beneath them. "Why would you need witchcraft to send you home?"

Kamal drew the knife a little closer to herself. Corac shuffled in her lap, keeping an eye on the blade in case it got too close. "I live on Earth." Kamal said. She was less nervous this time around than she was telling Tulusdir and Darestrum. "It's not in Arda. It's another world. And I didn't just get lost... I fell in." Before Beorn could ask the usual questions, she beat him to the chase. "I don't know how, and I don't know why." As she told him her whole story, Beorn fell into stunned silence. He stared at her, his eyes wide and bewildered, but he never once interrupted. When Kamal finished, the skin-changer took a breath. "So you're not even from Arda." He repeated, dragging his fingers across his lips. His brow sunk lower. "At my home, you were so close to your destination. You could've found the Golden Wood in a few days. So I ask again... why? Why do you care what happens here?"

Kamal knew he was right. She was foolish to turn around when her goal was just in reach. But she couldn't imagine leaving all this mess behind without at least trying to do something about it. "Because I don't want him to hurt anyone else like he hurt me." She answered.

Beorn's face drooped. He got that glazed look in his eyes again. He looked at the paring knife in her hands and gave her a small smile. Then he reached out. Cupping her hand in his gigantic palm, he folded her fingers carefully over the blade so that they covered it. "Keep the knife." He said. "You've earned it." Then he shook his head. A scoffing laugh slipped from his mouth. "I wonder... Did someone send you to punish me? The Valar, maybe?" He pulled back and sat up a little, moving so he was only leaning on one elbow. "Divine intervention?"

Kamal looked at him quietly. She didn't know what he was talking about, but then she remembered the vision; the black sea, the giant in the storm. Almárëa Eru... What fate do you cast? "If I say yes," she whispered cautiously, "would you change your mind?"

Beorn regarded her. She couldn't read his expression. "No," he said finally. "No. I have let this wicked force onto the world; I must be the one to take him from it." He set his jaw. "I am with you to the end." 

✶

Bard pulled alongside the same dock that, unbeknownst to Beorn and Kamal, was the same one where he'd dropped off Darestrum. It was late afternoon; the lowering sun cast the western sides of the buildings in gold light. "Right, here's our stop." The man announced. He helped Kamal climb up the ladder and turned to Beorn, but the giant hadn't moved. "You can't go any farther?" Beorn asked gruffly.

Bard shook his head. "I can't keep the barge out late. There's a curfew for the Master's vessels."

"And the bridge is the only way off?" Beorn asked.

"It is. We can figure out a way to get you across once it's dark, or I can ferry you across in the morning.

"Hm." Beorn patted his knees. "Welp, that's not gonna work."

Bard frowned. "What's the problem?"

"Don't know if you noticed, but I'm a bit taller than your folk." Beorn grimaced. "And no offense to you, but I hear your Master's a right shit. I put one foot in your town, the girl and I are gonna get locked up for suspicious activity." He eyed the dockyard warily. "Even waiting now is risky; she'll be a lot safer on her own."

Kamal looked down at him from the dock, the bag over her good shoulder and the raven in her arms. "You're not coming?" I thought he'd said he'd be with me all the way! She thought angrily. Beorn tilted his head up to look at Kamal. "You'll be fine. You have Corac and your wits." He said with a wink. "I'll be back in a few days. And you..." He rumbled, looking back to the boatman. "If anything happens to her, you're gonna wish you were never even born." 

Bard didn't look all that shaken. He was used to the usual verbal insults from ornery guards and rival fishermen. "Understood." 

Then Beorn stood, slid towards the gunwale, and rolled backwards over the side. His body hit the water with a crash, and the shift in weight sent the craft rocking. Bard grabbed onto the steer for support. He and Kamal heard the sound of the giant paddling away. Their eyes met and they shared an equally confused look. "Alright then." Bard said, shaking his head as resolving to let it be. He tied the boat and climbed up after the girl.

Kamal watched Beorn's head bob through the water as he swam for shore. She couldn't believe he'd just left her with a stranger.

"This family of yours," Bard said, calling her to attention. "Any idea where in town they might be?" Kamal shook her head. "What do they look like?" Bard prompted.

"Uhh..."

Bard sighed. "They wouldn't happen to be an ill-tempered old dwarf, would they?" Kamal's shock was answer enough. "How?" She sputtered. Corac clacked his beak, copying her surprise. Bard smiled. "I made his acquaintance a few days ago."

In her excitement, Kamal squeezed the raven a little too tight. The bird squawked, punishing her with a quick peck to the sternum. "Ow," Kamal hissed, "Wait, where is he?"

"Last I heard he's in the Laundry House." Bard said. "I can take you there... but your bird there might raise a few eyebrows." Kamal looked at Corac. Then a puckish smile spread across her face. "I can think of a place to hide him." 

Corac continued to poke her with the tip of his beak through the pack and her clothes as he rode along inside the rough-sack. Kamal ignored him, trying not to wince. Jerk-wad.

Bard led her swiftly along the outskirts of town. Kamal had never seen anything like it; a whole village, supported by stilts and struts, sitting in the middle of the lake. It was pretty ramshackle; wood was chipped and peeling, roofs were missing shingles, debris floated in the water lapping against the dock's poles. She crossed her arms; it was definitely chillier here than up in the forest. She heard activity deeper in town as vendors turned down their stalls for the night. A part of her longed to explore. She wanted to see other humans, something resembling home. But first, Darestrum.

Finally they arrived at a base of a large, multi-story house. With all of its windows, it looked like a old-timey apartment. It was still light out, and Kamal could see a sign nailed to the door with what looked like a towel folded in half painted on it. Bard opened the door and let her walk in first. The candle-light was strong, and she squinted her eyes as she stepped through. She entered into the large square foyer. Off to the right was a staircase. Bard followed and shut the door behind him. A few people were milling about, most of them women with their hair pulled back under white bandanas. Their eyes flittered towards the visitors, visibly lighting up where they saw Bard. A few of the women broke off into cliques, tittering and whispering. Bard seemed a little uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Evening. Anyone seen Mariam?"

One of the women looked up from her group. Her face was bright red. "She's upstairs. 2nd floor." Bard nodded his thanks. The woman jumped and ducked behind her friends as they giggled.

Bard and Kamal walked up the stairs, the old boards creaking underfoot. The second floor was wrapped in a blanket of steam so thick Kamal felt water bead on her face. As they approached a wide open doorway, it suddenly become very warm. Kamal peered in and and saw figures working through the haze; tubs of hot water covered the floor, each manned by at least two people vigorously scrubbing clothes. Bard wiped condensation from his brow. "Mariam?" He called, his deep voice almost muted by the hustle and bustle of the laundrywomen. Then one of them split from the fray the trudged over. She wore a dirty white apron. A few strands of hair that had escaped the bandana clung to her face. "Who's yelling?" She snapped. She walked out of the main room into the hall where she could see them a bit better. "Bard?" She said, sounding pleasantly surprised. Then she saw Kamal. "And... you? Who're you?"

Kamal put her hand of the bag strap just to have something to hold. "I'm Kamal."

Mariam's eyebrows flew up. "You're Kamal." She smiled. "We've been waiting for you, young lady."

Chapter Text

Mariam led them down the dark hall of the top floor. The smell of soap clung to her clothes. Corac had gone quiet in the pack; hopefully he hadn't suffocated. Kamal's heart was in her throat. As her mind raced, she suddenly remembered Tauriel's request. She pulled the pack around to her front and and took out Tauriel's coin purse, ignoring Corac's moody squawk. She looked back as she walked and held it out to the man behind her. "This is for you."

Bard took it, quirking an eyebrow, but his expression changed when he heard the clinging of coins. "Where did you get this?"

"Tauriel said to give it to you." 

Bard loosened the draw strings and peeking inside. He gasped. "T-this is too much."

Kamal shrugged. "It's not like you can give it back to them."

Bard bent his head, chuckling lightly. "I suppose you're right."

As their footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor, the door at the end of the hall suddenly swung open. Mariam halted, stepping aside so Kamal could see. Steeling herself, Kamal moved to the front. A stocky, bearded figure stepped through the doorway. His steely eyes glittered with tears. His mouth fell open, but no words came. Kamal stared back at him. Please say something, she thought. "Darestrum?" He didn't respond. She took a small step towards him. "I'm sorry." One arm moved across her body, taking hold of her elbow. "I'm sorry I ran, and I'm sorry I lied."

Darestrum took another step. Still he didn't speak. Kamal's breath hitched. "Please don't be mad."

The old dwarf's face went slack. He took one more step, then another, and then all at once he seized her in a mighty hug, pulling her as close to his body as he could. She almost got a mouthful of beard. "Never, ever, apologize." He whispered in a wobbly voice. He cradled the back of her head as he hugged her tighter. "I am the one who should be sorry." Kamal's arms were sandwiched between his body and her own, so she couldn't hug him back. All she could do was close her eyes and sink deeper into his embrace. Darestrum exhaled hoarsely. "And I am." He pulled away, lifting his other hand so both supported the back of her head as he looked into her eyes. "I am so, so sorry, Kamal."

Suddenly he gasped. "Mahal! You don't know!"

Kamal wiped under her nose, a tear trailing down her cheek. "Don't know what?"

Holding her close to his side, the dwarf guided her into the room behind him. Mariam and Bard lingered in the hallway. Kamal walked into a bedroom lit only by candlelight. Parallel to the bed, someone sat in a wheelchair. The wheelchair built to human proportions, but the figure was rather short, so the length of the seat allowed him to stretch out his legs. A blanket was draped over his thighs. Bandages wrapped around his head, which was crowned with a curly black mohawk. The shaved portions of his skull had grown out a bit but where still short. His left cheek was covered with a gauze patch. He wore a loose cotton shirt, and Kamal could see cuts and bruises peeking out around the collar. 

The dwarf in the chair reached for her. "You little devil..." He grinned, happy tears brimming in his dark eyes. The waterworks burst as Kamal ran to him and threw herself into his arms. She nuzzled into his shoulder, a sob bobbing in her chest. Hasdran also seemed to be choking up. "Can't believe you're alright..."

Kamal sat up, her voice cracking. "What about you?" She asked. "Did he..." 

Hasdran puffed air out of the side of his mouth. "I'm still breathing, s' all that matters." He inhaled deeply as if to prove his point, brushing at her chin with the pad of his thumb. "You have any idea how happy I am to see you?" 

Darestrum sat on the edge of the bed, his knees touching the armrests of the wheelchair. "How did you get back here?" He asked Kamal, trying not to betray his shame. How'd you get back here after I left you? Was his real question.

"The elves helped me, and Mr. Bard gave us a ride."

"And Beorn?" Darestrum pressed. 

"I found him."

Darestrum looked shocked. "You did?" He shook his head in disbelief. "What... well what did he say?"

"He said he'd help me."

Darestrum tripped over his own tongue as struggled to respond. Hasdran decided to put him out of his misery and speak for him. "Is he here now?"

Kamal shook her head no. "He went on without me. He said he'd be back in a few days.

Both dwarves turned a dark shade of red. "HE LEFT YOU?!" 

"I wasn't alone, I was with the boat guy."

Darestrum pinched his brow between two fingers. "Lass you don't even know the boatman. No offense, mate." He spoke over to Bard. Bard nodded. "None taken." Darestrum continued, "Honestly, Kamal, did your parents never teach you to be weary about strangers?"

Kamal pouted. "But Beorn didn't give me a choice. He just jumped off the boat." "What?" "I saw him jump off the boat and swim to the other side. He said Lake-town was too dangerous for him."

"Too dangerous for him, but not you?"

"Well, he gave me a knife, so—"

"KNIFE?" Darestrum sprung to his feet. "Knife?! Where is it?" He watched in horror as Kamal pulled it from her waistband. "Sweet Mahal, girl, you didn't even wrap the blade? You could've cut yourself!" 

"What's Beorn doing out the eastern shore?" Hasdran asked, trying to save Kamal from Darestrum's admonishment.

"He's hunting Sverne."

Darestrum's anger was instantly wiped clean. A wild grin spread across his face. He clapped his hands triumphantly. Hasdran smiled and lifted his hand so Darestrum could grasp it. "That's what I like to hear!" Darestrum laughed. "Give that fucker a taste of his own medicine!" Then he winced, scolding himself for cursing. "Sorry." 

But Kamal didn't even notice. She was beaming; against all odds, her plan was working. She was reunited with the dwarves, and Hasdran was alive. She felt like, after days of running, she finally had a moment to breathe. But then she looked back at Hasdran and his chair. She saw the lumps of his legs under the blanket, and a terrifying thought leapt out of her mouth. "Can you... can you walk?"

Hasdran's smile turned bittersweet. He let go of Darestrum's hand, lying his palm flat over his covered thigh. "They don't know yet," he said. He saw Kamal's expression sober and tried to comfort her. "It's alright, Kamal. Really." Is it? Kamal thought darkly, her nails pressing into her palms. Is he going to be in a chair forever? Her guilt had returned ten-fold. "Hey," Hasdran butt in, wagging his finger. "No more tears, missy." He glanced at Darestrum, who was smiling solemnly. "Dare and I agreed; What happened happened. We can't go back. And I don't blame anyone but Sverne." He took Kamal's hand and squeezed it. "We're proud of you, Kamal. You've got the heart of a dwarf." 

In the doorway, Mariam wiped at an escaped tear. "I think this calls for a little celebration." She said with a smile. She looked over her shoulder at Bard. "You are invited, of course. I know the girls would love it if you stuck around."

Bard sighed dejectedly. "Only if I can bring my family."

✶

Poor Bard had to seek refuge with the dwarves while the gaggle of young laundry women vied for his attention. Apparently he was quite the bachelor. He looked ridiculous trying to shield himself behind beings about two feet shorter than him. They teased the human relentlessly about it. Hasdran had been carried downstairs, and now he, Darestrum, Bard and Kamal were posted near the staircase. The dwarves generously pretended to enjoy whatever tub-brewed liquor the guests had supplied.

Kamal sat on a chair next to Hasdran. Corac was finally out of the bag. He'd nestled under her chair, too concerned about getting stepped on to wander around. Kamal watched the dancers. No one had particularly good rhythm, but they were all having fun. Laughter floated over the din. The wide entryway and several of the open rooms had been transformed for the last-minute party. It was getting late into the evening. The kids who weren't dosing off in their bedrooms were either dancing with their parents or each other. Kamal hadn't seen a single child since she'd arrived. Looking around and seeing so many humans, it was like she was back home.

Then she felt someone approaching from the side. She twisted her head and saw a little girl run up to Bard. The man's anxious frown lightened as he saw her. She grabbed his pant leg, looking up and saying something to him. He leaned down to listen, nodding, and Kamal saw him glance over at her. He patted the child's back affectionately and smiled. Then the girl turned to Kamal. She approached slowly, her fingers twisted up in each other as she wrung her hands. She had fair-skin, arched brows, and a button nose. She wore her hair in a low braid. Her light blue frock was dappled with pale flowers. She stopped about a foot from Kamal. "Hullo." She smiled. "I'm Tilda. What's your name?"

Kamal blinked. "Kamal." Tilda looked like she might be Kamal's age. She could be in my class. Tilda swung her skirts as she shifted nervously. "I like your hair." She said shyly, tucking her own dark blonde locks behind her ear. Kamal copied her grin, her cheeks growing warm. "Thanks. I like yours too." Tilda dragged the tip of her shoe in a semi-circle. "Do you wanna dance with me?" She mumbled.

Kamal's eyebrows shot up. "Oh!" She hopped off the chair. "Yeah, sure." 

Tilda lit up. She held out her hand. Kamal took it and the girl led her into the fray. 

Chapter Text

"So how old's your sister?"

"16."

Tilda's mouth fell open. "Mine's 16 too! That's so funny!"

The girls sat hip-to-hip on the dock, their legs hanging through the railing and dangling over the water. The sun was long gone. Mariam had found them a clean woolen blanket that was now draped over both of their shoulders. The dock on the back of the laundry house was all their own, but the door outside was propped open, letting out the warm air and the racket of party-goers within. The lowest beam of the railing was at chin level, so Kamal rested her arms on the wood and leaned forwards. Tilda picked a splinter out a plank and threw it into the lake. "Any brothers?"

"Nope."

Tilda sighed forlornly. "You're lucky, brothers are awful." 

Kamal hummed. "I don't know... Pranani is kind of annoying somethings. I mean I love her, but she fights with my parents a lot."

Tilda's eyes widened. "Really? And they don't punish her?"

"No, they do. She just doesn't listen."

The light on the water changed. The moon had appeared from behind the clouds, silver and round like a coin. "Moon's full." Tilda commented. "There're going to be a lot of fish tonight."

Kamal glanced at her. "Isn't you dad a fisherman?" Tilda nodded but didn't reply. Kamal drew the tip of her tongue between her teeth and lightly nibbled as she thought. "Maybe he'd catch a bunch if he went out now."

"He could," Tilda muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "But the Master doesn't let people fish at night."

"Why not?"

Tilda shrugged. "I dunno. He just says so."

The Master sounded like the worst. Kamal hadn't heard a single kind word about him. How can someone no one likes be in charge? She wondered. "What about your mom? Does she fish?"

Tilda leaned forward like Kamal, resting her chin to her forearms. "She died," She mumbled flatly. Kamal deflated. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Tilda muttered, kicking her feet. 

"So... um..." Kamal puttered around for something to distract from the dark turn the conversation took. "Do you... uh... do you go to school?"

Tilda looked at her. "We don't have a school. Sometimes Ms. Aoife teaches us letters, but only when she's not working. Da works too much. Sigrid and Bain know letters AND numbers because Mama taught them, but they never have time for me."

"So you can't read?" Kamal asked, regretting it as soon as she said it. Tilda's mouth twitched with annoyance. "I can read; I'm not stupid." She said defensively. Kamal drew back. "No, no that's not what I meant!" She put a hand on her chest. "I can't really read either."

"You can't?"

"Not Westron. It's new for me."

Tilda frowned quizzically. "New?"

"Yeah, I had to learn it when I... moved here."

Tilda's shield dropped. "You do kind of have an accent. So you moved here with your family?" She grinned. "Maybe our sisters could meet!"

"No I'm with my..." My what? Kidnappers? Protectors? "... Uncles."

"I've never met someone with dwarf uncles." Tilda laughed. "You're very interesting."

Kamal's face grew red hot. Her tongue knotted up. She could only smile, dumbly burying her face into her arms until the blush died down. 

The moon rose higher and higher. No one came out to bother them. As Tilda rattled on, Kamal's eyes drifted over to the dark edge of the lake's shore. What lay beyond the black veil of night made her squirm with unease. Until Beorn returned and Sverne was dead, she was stuck in this town with Darestrum and Hasdran. They couldn't cross back to the Iron Hills without endangering themselves, nor could they call for help without the risk of the rescue party falling victim to the monster. She wondered worriedly if she'd ever see Clasa again. She missed her so much it hurt. And Hasdran. Hasdran was alive. She was so sure that he was dead because of her. That's what had driven her to change course in the first place. And even now, even though it was a miracle he'd survived, she could sense he wasn’t telling her something. Her mind kept flashing back to the image of his legs under the blanket.

Kamal stared out at the lake with vacant eyes. She felt drained. Weariness had settled in her bone-deep, a kind of tired she didn't think she could sleep off. 

"Are you okay?"

She roused at the sound of Tilda's voice. "I'm fine." She answered. Tilda frowned. "You look sad."

Kamal scrubbed at her face. She was surprised to come away with tears on her arm. "I’m not sad. It’s... nothing. It’s nothing."

Tilda drew her hands into her lap. Kamal was concerned that she may have hurt her feelings by not listening. She liked Tilda, truly, but her mind was all over the place. Luckily Tilda didn’t sound upset when she spoke. “We don’t have to stay out here if you’re sleepy.” "I'm not tired," Kamal said. "It's nice out here."

Tilda nodded. "I like watching the lake at night when it's quiet." She looked out through the dark. "Do you see that peak over there?"

Kamal narrowed her eyes. In the light of the full moon, she could just make out the craggy incline of a mountain. "I see it."

"That's the Lonely Mountain. Da says that's were the dwarves used to live." She pointed at it, then moved her finger down the slope. "I don't know if you can see, but that's Dale."

Kamal leaned forward, poking her nose between the railing. Dale looked like nothing but a pile of indiscernible rubble at the base of the mountain. "My family used to live there before Mama and Da were born." Tilda spoke softly. "They say when the dwarves were still here, Dale was rich and beautiful. Even Lake-town was rich." Her gaze returned to the dark peak. "Then a dragon came and burned it all down."

A fire drake, Kamal remembered. It felt like it had been ages since she'd spoken to the strange black-haired dwarf, Thorin. He had called it something else, not the Lonely Mountain, but wasn't his home taken by a dragon? She tried to recall if he had mentioned a city called Dale, but it had been so long ago. Only little pieces of memory floated through; 'My home is very far away... and I too cannot return. Not yet.' 

"But one day the dragon will leave," Tilda said, the moonlight casting a pale glow in her eyes. "We'll go back and be part of the land again. And I'll have a proper teacher, and no one will be hungry." Her chest rose as her heart swelled. "I'm not going to stuck here forever. I won't."

✶

Tilda eventually fell asleep on Kamal's shoulder. Kamal had to gently ease her head onto the planks of the dock before going inside to fetch her father. Bard was chatting with Darestrum and Hasdran, taking slow sips from a drink in his hand. The raucous dancing had ended hours ago, and now the party was divided into small groups either gossiping or drunkenly napping in their seats or on the stairs. Kamal padded up to the man and tapped his shoulder. "Hi." She greeted awkwardly as he looked down at her. "Tilda's asleep."

Bard smiled. "It's long past her bedtime." Then he reached out and ruffled Kamal's hair. The dwarves chuckled. "And yours, I figure." Bard teased. "I'll get her."

He retrieved his youngest, bundling her in the blanket and carrying her in his arms. He called for his other children; Bain, a young man just entering his teenage years, and Sigrid, Tilda's very pretty older sister. Once he'd collected his brood, Bard bid the dwarves and their ward goodnight and headed home. Kamal watched a few strands of Tilda's wavy hair bob as her father carried her away. Her face was relaxed and peaceful. For a moment, Kamal felt an ugly feeling of envy stir in her gut. She wanted to be in her own father's arms, to be able to go home with her family, to her own house. 

But that wasn't her reality anymore. She was here, still a stranger in a strange land, with two people not even the same species as her, waiting with bated breath to see if the one who hunted her for sport would be caught. 

✶

Kamal had never been more uncomfortable. She lay in a cot within a large dormitory with several other women. She hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep.

Corac was snuggled into a makeshift nest made from an extra shirt on the floor next to her. Kamal rolled onto her stomach. She reached down with two fingers and nudged him with her knuckles. "Corac?" She whispered. The raven grumbled in the back of their throat and peeked at her. "Can I talk to you?" She asked. Before the bird could answer, someone in the room shifted in their sleep, groaning. Kamal sealed her lips shut. She rolled out of bed and, to Corac's dismay, snatched up his bedding with him in it and snuck outside. She crouched in the hallway, making sure the door was closed so she wouldn't wake anyone. She put Corac and his nest down on the floor in front of her. The raven watched her with critical black eyes.

"Can you talk to me too, or only Beorn?"

"Talk to any." He croaked. She was a little taken aback but his eerily human voice, but she pressed on. "You didn't find me by accident, did you?"

Corac shook his head, pausing to scratch under his wing. "Sent." He answered sharply.

Kamal's heart started to thump hard against her chest. "Who sent you?"

Corac vocalized, garbling nonsense at first, then twisted the sound into Westron. "Can't. Say." He shuffled then spoke again. "Too early."

"Too early for what?" Kamal's voice barely registered over a whisper.

"Thrush-knock."

"What?"

Corac knocked his beak on the floor as if that would explain it. "Thrush-knock. Last light."

Kamal slumped. “I don't understand." She sighed. "Maybe Beorn can tell me what you mean when he gets back.”

Corac chuffed. "Bed?"

Kamal smiled sleepily, trying to mask her disappointment. "Sure. Sorry I woke you up."

"You. Sleep?"

"I don't know if I can." 

Corac paused. Kamal's eyes softened as she looked at him. She felt like she'd barely seen him since Mirkwood. He'd spent most of his time sitting on or in the backpack, riding along with one of the elves. He'd saved her from Sverne, and like Hasdran, had paid for it. Kamal put her hand out towards him. Corac clicked his beak curiously, then relaxed as she began to pet his neck. "I love you buddy." The girl whispered. "I shouldn't call you a jerk. You're a good bird."

The raven tilted his head. Then he moved out of her caress, hopping onto her lap. His claws were still a little sharp. He butted her chest with the top of his head. Kamal giggled soundlessly, returning to her petting. The raven warbled, and it almost sounded like a purr. "Care." 

Chapter Text

Beorn was supposed to return in a few days. But a few days came and went. Then a week. Then several weeks. Every night Kamal stood on the dock behind the laundry house and watched the shoreline. Each time, the darkness seemed to creep closer and closer. And perhaps it was; the days had grown cooler and the evenings icy. A thin film of frost on the windows greeted her when she woke. The sun spent fewer hours in the sky.

In a strange turn of events, it was now the dwarves who were forced to hide while Kamal could walk around unhindered. They were allowed to stay in the house for as long as they needed, but nothing in Lake-town was free. With Hasdran healing and out of commission, Darestrum needed to pay rent, and the only way to do that while in hiding was to work right there in the laundry house. The ladies would giggle as he nearly shredded clothes on the wash board, his face burning red in the humid workspace. He was the only male laundry worker, and the humans took every opportunity they could to tease him about it. "I built this town," he'd snap back, fuming. "I know the nails that need to come out for this whole thing to come crashing down, so don't you test me." 

Things had gone from bad to worse for Kamal. Sitting in one place, the nightmares came with ease. On the road, she could keep them at bay; it was as if they couldn't find her in the wilds. But in the confines of small, dark room they slipped in through the floorboards. She dreamt of teeth, and spiders, and dead boys with arrows in their hearts. Sometimes a giant spider with Beorn's face chased after her. Other times the dead boy would grab her and drag her into a deep, muddy pit.

Those were bad, but she could at least shake them off. The worst were the quiet ones. The ones were she was back on her street, and she walked into her home, into her kitchen. Where her family would turn and see a stranger. They wouldn't yell; they only stared through her, as if there was nothing there at all. And no matter how loud she screamed or how hard she shook them, no one heard her. She would run up to her mother and clasp her arms. Her mother never reacted. They moved on. They don't remember me. As Kamal stumbled away, the room would pulse and fall dark. Then the floor would drop out from underneath her, sending her plummeting into the ether below.

As her eyes snapped open, her hand flew to her pillow and the knife she kept beneath it. Just in case, she told herself.

Others began to notice the dark circles hanging under her eyes. "You alright, Reed?" Darestrum asked at breakfast one morning, reaching for her as she pulled away. She nodded. "Just tired." Just tired. Every time the same reply. Darestrum frowned. She looked worse by the day. Maybe it's all finally catching up to her. Mahal knows I'm crawling out of my skin with all this waiting around. 

✶

On the days when Ms. Aiofe taught, Kamal attended class with Tilda. Never is a million years would she willingly go to school back in her world; but Lake-town didn't offer a lot of entertainment, and she liked hanging out with her new friend. It also didn't hurt to brush up on her Westron. She hadn't had a real lesson since Clasa. For the most part, she'd been picking up the language by being around native speakers. There were an average five other kids with them; the youngest maybe four and the oldest 12 or 13. Kamal and Tilda helped each other with their letters. Tilda also tried to introduce her to the other children, but they mostly kept to themselves. They weren't used to outsiders. 

The girls walked through the market after class, chatting and taking in the sights. Tilda laughed at something Kamal said, her breath clouding. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears were pink in the cold. Kamal felt that familiar glow in her belly. Tilda helped, more so than she could even imagine. Kamal didn't know why, but being around the girl lightened her somehow.

The lake-town girl stopped by a cart of wicket baskets. She turned and faced Kamal. "Do you want to have a sleepover?" Tilda asked, rocking on her heels. Kamal smiled, stumbling in her response. "C-can we?"

"My Da said it's fine, and so did you uncles."

Kamal frowned. "My uncles?" The she remembered. "Oh, yeah, my uncles. Wait, they said it's fine? But I didn't ask."

Tilda shrugged. "Who cares. Come on! Plee-ee-aa-se?" She begged. 

Kamal flushed. She couldn’t say no to the played-up pouting.

✶

She ate dinner with Bard’s family. Even though she was grateful, eating fish every night was starting to get old. She filled up on stale bread as Tilda chatted her ear off. Bain picked at his food moodily, and Sigrid had launched into an impassioned discussion with her father. “I see them all the time, Da! Who fishes in the same spot every single day? They’re watching us.”

Tilda looked over at them. “Who’s watching us?” 

Bard smiled warmly at his youngest and ruffled her hair; something he did frequently to all his kids, and now Kamal. “No one, love.” He assured her, shooting Sigrid a warning look. “You’re sister’s just anxious.”

”More like paranoid.” Bain grumbled. He, more than Sigrid, reminded Kamal of Pranani, especially with all of his pouting and slouching. Sigrid glared at him. “Pebble-face.” She sneered. Bain blushed with anger. “Da?!” He protested. The three jumped into the argument; brother and sister throwing teasing insults at each other as their father tried to tear them apart. I thought Pranani starting fights was bad, Kamal thought as she hid in her bread. She didn’t know if she could handle another sibling.

✶

Kamal was restless. Her skin beaded with sweat. Her chest drew in tight around her heart. Don't. Don'tdon'tdon'tpleasedon't...

Her jerked awake, almost crying out as Tilda's face filled her vision. The girl wore a worried expression. "Kamal?" She whispered, her voice as soft as the beat of a moth's wing. Kamal gaped at her with wide eyes, still struggling to find her bearings. Tilda. Bed. Room. Tilda's room. Sigrid snored lightly on the other side of her sister, oblivious to the commotion. Kamal sniffed, focusing on getting her heart to stop beating so fast. Tilda inched a fraction closer. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Kamal knew if she tried to explain, she’d start crying, and that was the last thing she wanted to do in front of Tilda. She buried her eyes into the soft cushion of the pillow, sighing wearily. Tilda chewed on her lip, unsure of how to approach.

Kamal’s breath stuttered when she felt Tilda’s warm palm fall gently on her cheek. She peeked out at her with one eye as the blonde girl patted her, her hand moving up and down like a rhythm. She looked away shyly, her voice tiny as to not wake her family. “Chords unraveled, heart unspent, I will see my love again.” She inhaled and kept singing her whispery lullaby. “Sweet fisherman, my papa says, that life with you brings rainy days - Chords unraveled, fly the line, I will see this love of mine.”

Kamal listened intently, one dark eye open wide and mesmerized. Tilda’s fingers fiddled with the hem of the blanket. “Um...” She shimmied sideways like a fish out of water until she was mere centimeters from Kamal’s ear. She cupped her hand around her mouth as she whispered. “Is it helping?”

Despite the uneasy chill crawling up her spine, Kamal smiled. She nodded. Tilda drew away and flipped onto her back, still picking nervously at the frayed blanket. She sang quietly to the ceiling above. “With his smile the moon awakes, and with his laugh my heart he takes. Chords unraveled, heart unspent, I will see my love again.” She paused again, wetting her lips. “There’s more, but I can’t remember it all... something happened to the fisherman, I think.” She turned her head. “My mama used to si—”

But Kamal was out cold, her body curled towards Tilda, melting into her touch.

✶

The house was frigid, the fire in the hearth long burned out. The east side of the house was bronzed in the early morning light. Tilda raised her head sleepily, her hair falling in tangles in front of her eyes. She yawned and looked around. Her father’s cot was empty. "Da?"

She rolled over and poked her sister. Sigrid stirred awake, looking especially rough. "Whazzat?" She grumbled.

"Where's Da?" She squinted. “And where’s Bain?”

Sigrid rubbed her eyes. "C' be a'the market." She yawned, clamping her hand over her mouth. “Go t’ sleep.”

Tilda lay back down. She turned the other way to Kamal. Kamal was still asleep, and she didn’t want to get up until her friend was awake. She looked at Kamal. Tilda smiled to herself and nuzzled into their shared pillow, the crown of her head just barely touching Kamal’s, letting herself relax and catch a few more hours of shut-eye.

It was mid morning, and Bard still hadn’t returned home. Sigrid paced around, a ball of nervous energy, cleaning things she’d already cleaned ten-times over. Tilda was busy braiding her guest’s hair at the kitchen table. “I’m the best braider.” She insisted, but she really just wanted to touch Kamal’s hair. Kamal’s long, thick locks were a dream come true. 

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps ascending the steps to the elevated house. Bard and Bain slipped through the blue west-facing door. They both looked on edge. "Da! Where have you been?" Tilda finished the tie on the braid and ran up to hug him. Bard cupped her head, a hard look glinting in his eyes. Kamal watched the man quietly. Something was on his mind. Sigrid seemed to notice it too. She held back. "Da, where were you?" Bard said nothing and dropped his bag on the table. Sigrid moved closer to him. "Is everything alright?”

Silently, Bard closed the space between them and kissed his eldest's forehead. He still didn't answer her. "Bain," He spoke, sending his son jumping to attention. "Get them in." Bain rushed downstairs towards the latrine.

Kamal stood from her seat. Them? Who's them? They all listened to the commotion downstairs; Someone was talking. The voice sounded far too deep to be Bard's teenage son. Then there was stomping up the stairs; someone was coming up. Sigrid moved to the stairwell and peered down. Her face went slack. "Da... why are there dwarves climbing out of our toilet?"

Dwarves? Kamal and Tilda hurried to Sigrid's side at the top of the steps. Kamal’s heart hammered with anticipation. The top of a shiny bald head appeared first, then a very grumpy face, followed by a grey beard and a heavily-muscled dwarf. He looked a little bit like Darestrum. As the bald dwarf with the temperament and appearance of a wet cat climbed off the steps, Kamal was surprised to see him followed by someone significantly smaller. This person was shorter than any dwarf she'd ever met. His ears were a bit large, and strands of hair clung to his slick face. He had wide, bewildered eyes and thin lips pressed into a perturbed line. Water dripped from his maroon coat, forming a puddle around him as he shuffled next to the dwarf. What was the strangest about him, however, were his proportionally-huge feet covered with thick mats of what looked like hair. Despite herself, Kamal’s mouth fell open. He’s even shorter than me.

The following line up of dwarves carried the strong order of dead fish. The girls tried not to wrinkle their noses. Finally, with Bain at his heels, the last dwarf ascended the stairs, making thirteen in total, plus the strange bare-footed person. Kamal locked eyes with the last dark-haired dwarf. He halted at the top of the steps. They both stared at each other, neither of them moving. Kamal didn't say it, but his name leapt up to the front of her mind. Thorin. 

Chapter Text

Thorin gawked at the child from the Gathering, wondering why Mahal had cursed him with such shit luck. Does she know why we're here? Has she told? He tried to remember if he had said anything damning that night, but it had been quite a while. She clearly remembered him; her eyebrows shot up when she saw him. His eyes had been drawn to her, too; she didn't look like one of the boatman's children. But why was she here? What had brought her so far from the Iron Hills?

Kamal didn't say a word. She watched him with eerie intensity, her own head spinning with questions. That’s the guy from the party. Why’s he here? Who are the dwarves? And what's with the guy with the weird feet? 

Sigrid and Tilda didn't know what to do with themselves. They stood frozen to their spots, mouths hanging open. Their father noticed their hesitation. "Sigrid, please get dinner started. Dip into the stores if you need to. Tilda, find as many blankets as you can. Bain," He turned to his son, who was trapped on the stairs behind a low wall of dwarves. "Help me set the table."

"Yes, Da." They chorused, hurrying off to their assigned tasks. Bain awkwardly straddled around the dwarves, his arms lifted as to not bump into their heads. A white-haired dwarf, the oldest of the bunch, shimmed forward. "You really don't need to do this, Boatman." But the ‘Boatman’ waved him off dismissively. 

Kamal looked at Bard. "What can I do?"

Bard nodded as he thought. "You can get a kettle going; I'm sure these gentlefolk could use a warm drink."

Kamal fumbled. "Uh..."

Bard paused and looked down at her. "What's wrong?"

"I-I'm..." She knew how to turn on a stove with a button you twisted. But she was a little uneasy with the familiar yet oh-so-different stove with an open bottom for stacking firewood. She really wasn't allowed around open flames. But then again, that was another life. 

"I'll help you, lass." The white-haired dwarf said, moving to the front. Despite smelling terrible and being soaked to the bone, he wore a cheery smile. His cheeks were red like apples, and his eyes glittered. There was something very endearing about him, almost grandfatherly. 

Kamal accepted his help with a nod. Before she turned away, she met Thorin's eyes one more time. Although she stayed silent, Thorin's blood flushed cold. This was bad. A meeting so inconsequential might ruin everything. If the Master learned who he was, the company would be imprisoned and miss Durin's Day. Thorin nervously disappeared into the back of the group, avoiding eye contact with anyone else. 

✶

The children passed around bowls, the soup watered down to make enough for the additional 14. Kamal brought a bowl and spoon to the little man curled up close to the fire. He smiled when he saw her. “Thank you.” He sighed, taking the meager rations gratefully. He seemed to notice her lingering; Kamal had forgotten herself, staring at the thick coat of hair on the tops of his feet. He cleared his throat and the girl’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

The man’s face glowed in the warmth of the fire. He shivered slightly as he fought off the winter’s chill. “No need to be sorry.” Tilda suddenly teleported to Kamal’s side. She stared unabashed at the small man. "What are you?" Tilda asked, sounding the question on Kamal's mind. Sigrid, who was within earshot, elbowed her hard. "Tilda!" She hissed. The man chuckled. "Oh no, not at all! Not many Shire-folk come out East you see... I'm a hobbit."

"What's a hobbit?"

"A-A hobbit is well, uh, me." He smiled, tugging at his damp shirt. Even in his state he was a ball of nervous energy. "I'm Bilbo Baggins of Bag End. And you are?" He prompted the girls. Sigrid and Tilda looked at each other. Sigrid smoothed the front of her frock. "Uh... Sigrid..." "And Tilda," Tilda interjected. "Of Lake-town." 

Bilbo looked to the third girl.

“Kamal... of Maryland."

"You're not a Lake-towner?"

Kamal shook her head.

"She's visiting with her uncles." Tilda explained. 

“Ah…” Bilbo looked around the room, drumming his fingers on his legs. “It’s uh… quite a nice spot for a holiday.”

Sigrid snorted. “You don’t have to lie, Sir. We know.”

Bilbo looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to offend.” But Sigrid’s smile softened. “You didn’t. Actually, you’re quite polite; You and your friends.”

Bilbo scoffed through a humored smirk “Well, at this point, I think their dwarven boisterousness has been beaten out of them.”

Kamal frowned. “What happened?”

Bilbo looked like he wished he hadn’t spoken. He shimmied in his seat. “Oh… we’re just tired from a long journey. A very long journey.” 

Kamal was considering pressing, but movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention. A young dwarf with practically no beard teetered on the sidelines, looking feverish. He was staring at the ground, his hands clenched into fists, sweat beading on his forehead. “Is he ok?” She asked the hobbit, pointing towards the sweaty dwarf. Bilbo followed her gesture. His face sank. “Kili. Oh no. I-I’m not sure. Um, just a moment..." He hopped off his stool and padded over to the ill dwarf. They spoke lowly to each other. Kili whispered sharply, his eyebrows bunched together and his jaw set tight.

Bard looked up from pouring tea into one of the dwarf’s cups. "Is there a problem, Master Dwarf?"

The beardless dwarf shook his head. "I'm fine." He winced. 

Bard's eyes narrowed."Sir?" The young dwarf near him whimpered. Bard glanced down and saw that he'd accidentally overflowed the cup with boiling hot water. The dwarf with the funny monk-like haircut was grimacing, but too polite to complain. As Bard apologized profusely and helped clean up, Kili hobbled over to a bench by the window. He plopped down, grunting, and pouted as he stared outside. 

Bilbo wrung his hands, returning to his seat with his tail between his legs. Kamal felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was only trying to help.

“We’ll need to move soon-“ Thorin’s deep voice carried over the other’s small talk. He was speaking to Bard, the bald dwarf at his side. “We have an appointment to meet.”

Bard looked down his nose at him. He looked like he was about to remark snidely, but just then Tilda pulled up to his side with a blanket. She held it out to Thorin. For a moment, the grim-faced dwarf’s sternness faltered. He offered her a small smile as he took it. “Thank you.” He returned his gaze to Bard. “How do we get out of Laketown without alerting suspicion?”

Bard laughed under his breath. “It’s a little late for that.”

The bald dwarf glowered. “What do you mean?”

"They all know about you.”

Thorin's eyes widened. "What?”

”You think I could sneak you and your party through the marketplace and no one would notice?” Bard winked. “But you needn’t worry. No one will tell the Master. You have our word.”

"Yeah!” Tilda piped up, pressing to her father’s side. “Snitches go in ditches!”

Sigrid swept in behind her sister and lightly cuffed her ear, shushing her, but the dwarves had already heard. The old dwarf started to chuckle. Then the bald dwarf next to Thorin. Soon the whole party was laughing, the sound shaking away the heavy gloom that seemed to linger over them. Thorin exhaled. He means they saw us; not that they know of our quest. Still, the threat of discovery by the wrong people was very much real.

Taking the commotion as an opportunity to slip away, he slid a little closer to a window, the pale afternoon light glowing through the foggy glass. As he peered through the crack, he suddenly caught sight of a tall wooden tower. At at the top of the tower, a mighty crossbow pointed towards the sky. His breath seized in his throat. "A dwarvish wind-lance..." He whispered. The last time he'd seen such a weapon, all of Dale was in flames. 

He steeled himself. They didn't have time to sit around the hearth and chatter. He left the window and followed Bard as the man returned the kettle to the stove-top. "You took our money." He stated brashly, causing a few party members to stop laughing and look. "Now where are our weapons?"

Kamal, standing by the sink, crooked her ear towards his voice. Weapons?

The man looked at Thorin with a strange expression. Thorin could not read distaste or hate... only distrust. Caution. After a pause, Bard spoke. "Wait here."

As Bard disappeared downstairs, Thorin headed to Kili. His nephew was not looking well. His skin had paled drastically. Loose hair fell in his face. His eyes were alert and bright, at the very least. Seeing their leader stride adamantly to Kili, Balin and Fili moved to join him. The rest buried their noses in their food, knowing the reason of the meeting but not wanting to interfere. Thorin and Balin were their most senior members, and the brothers had every right to be in the conversation. After all, if the next few days went according to plan, they would be Thorin's successors. They spoke quietly, frantically, their shoulders hunched as they gathered in around Kili. Kamal watched them from a distance. What did Thorin say that night? She wondered. 'My home is very far away, like yours...' 'A dragon ravaged Erebor and our neighboring city, Dale.' Dale... Kamal audibly gasped as the bowl in her hands slipped out of her fingers and clattered in the sink. He had mentioned Dale! How could I forget? He said a dragon burned it down; that's why the dwarves left and all the humans moved onto the water.

And now here was Thorin, a dwarf from the Lonely Mountain, with a band of other dwarves, asking for weapons. He was up to something. And Kamal had a bad feeling that, whatever it was, the short peace she’d found in Lake-town wouldn’t last.

Chapter Text

Bard returned with a soaking wet wrap. He dropped it heavily on the kitchen table. The dwarves gathered around, watching pensively as he unwrapped the leather bindings and revealed the contents. As he pulled the wrappings back, the metal "weapons" clanked and tumbled out onto the table. The dwarves deflated. Thorin reached forward and picked up a three-pronged hook, scowling. "What is this?" He snapped.

"A pike hook," Bard replied. He looked over each of the dwarves. "It's not much, but they'll do in a pinch." 

A dwarf with a bushy red beard pressed forward. "We paid for WEAPONS, not fishing supplies!" In unison, all of the dwarves who'd picked one up tossed their makeshift weapons back on the table. Kamal watched them from near the kitchen sink. That's a little rude, she thought. He's only trying to help. Tilda stood next to her, drying a bowl absentmindedly as she looked on.

Bard frowned, grinding his teeth. "This is the best we have. Mind you, I'm not a smithy. If you want forged weapons, you can ask the Master yourself. They're held under lock and key."

Thorin crossed his arms, huffing. "We've stay long enough. We're going."

Bard turned on him. "You're not going anywhere."

Dwalin, the most muscle-bound dwarf Kamal had ever seen, stepped between Thorin and the man. "What did you say?" He growled. Bard looked down at him, undeterred. "You must have patience. There are spies watching this house..."

Dawlin's mustache bristled. "Why would anyone watch you?"

"Not just me," Bard explained. "Every wharf and dock is crawling with prying eyes. We're lucky soldiers haven't come knocking yet. I'm telling you to wait until nightfall; move under the cover of dark." 

Thorin drew in on himself. More time wasted. We're cutting it close. "We need to move on." He muttered.

"What's your rush, Master Dwarf?"

Thorin couldn't say. He exhaled heavily through his nostrils. Bard took that as answer enough. With each passing moment, he was liking this transaction less and less. Two dwarves from the hills moving West, a band of dwarves moving East. He thought. It can't be a coincidence. But they had paid him honestly. And it wasn't in his nature to turn away guests. "This is the safest place for you in Lake-town." He said firmly. "For your own good, stay put."

The uneasy stalemate between Kamal and Thorin was starting to become obvious. The girl and the heir of Durin kept as far apart as physically possible, practically scraping the opposite sides of the house in an effort to avoid each other. Balin frowned at Thorin. "Something's troubling you, Thorin." He spoke in Kuzdul.

Thorin hushed him. "Don't speak my name. I still don't trust these people."

"That's obvious enough."

Thorin fell silent, warily looking over towards the sink. The girl wasn't looking at him. She was washing dishes with the boatman's youngest daughter. Balin noticed his staring and raised an eyebrow. Thorin sighed, hearing the silent question. "I know that child. We've met before."

Balin looked shocked. "What? Where?" 

"The Gathering."

Balin's chin tucked into his chest as his eyebrows flew up. He tried to glance towards the girl as inconspicuously as possible. "A human was at the Gathering?"

"That one was."

Balin shook his head. He almost looked impressed. "Small world."

Thorin grunted in response. "Don't tell the others... especially not Dwalin." He loved his cousin, but he didn't put it entirely past him to *safely* put the child in a boat and push the vessel out into the middle of the lake so she wouldn't tell. Balin mumbled under his breath. "What do you want to do?"

Thorin pondered quietly. He sighed. "I'll speak with her. Can't avoid it any longer..."

✶

"Sat sri Akaal." 

Kamal almost dropped another bowl in the sink. She spun around, surprised to see Thorin had approached her. "What?" She flubbed.

"Did I mispronounce?" Thorin asked, sounding concerned. Kamal shook her head. "No, that's right. I'm just... you remembered?" 

"Of course." He settled against the wall next to her, folding his arms across his chest. "So... How are you?"

She turned around to face him, sitting against the edge of the kitchen counter and twisting the dishcloth nervously in her hands. How am I??? Where do I start? "Fine." She replied flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm returning to the Iron Hills."

"That's a long trip."

An understatement, Thorin thought. "Aye, it is."

"Who's everyone else?" Kamal looked around at the other dwarves. "Are they your friends?"

Thorin passed an affectionate gaze over the company. "They are merchants also traveling East. And yes, we've grown quite close." He looked back at her, his blue eyes gleaming. "You remember Lord Dain? He is my cousin; he has called us home."

Kamal looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Because it is time to reunite the dwarves under one banner. I've spent far too long on the road, as have these fine dwarves."

"And hobbit." Tilda piped in as she swished water around the sink basin to clean it. Thorin smirked. "Yes, and our fine hobbit." Tilda smiled back, feeling pleased with herself for remembering Bilbo's species, and set off to wipe down the table top that wasn't stacked with rusty metal. Thorin drew his cheek between his teeth. He cleared his throat. "And you? I did not expect we'd meet again so soon."

Kamal's eyes lowered. "I was looking for someone."

Thorin arched an eyebrow. "And did you find them?"

"No. Not exactly." 

"What happened?"

Kamal blew a raspberry. "A lot." 

Thorin chuckled, surprising himself. He was drained; the pressure of time had kept him on edge for days, and now it was more urgent than ever that they reach the secret door. He thought he no longer had it in him to feel humored. "Is your guardian with you? Lady Clasa."

Kamal shook her head. "No, she still in the Hills. Her brother and their friend are in town, but they let me stay the night here."

A light lit up in Thorin's head. "There are other dwarves? Have you had any trouble?"

"They have to hide in the Laundry House. Some people know, but they're keeping it secret." She met his eyes. "Mr. Bard's right; they won't tell the Master."

The dwarf's expression sobered. "You trust them, then."

Kamal shrugged. She looked at the rag in her grip. "Why do you need weapons?"

He had been dreading this question. "Safety. We lost our in the rapids."

"You mean the river in the woods? I was just there." Her voice trailed off. She glanced at the sad excuse for an armory on the kitchen table. "You need better weapons than that."

Thorin chuckled again. "We're in agreement then."

"And you should be careful." Kamal said, her voice dropping low. "There's a monster out there."

Thorin frowned. "Monster?" His stomach twisted with unease. The girl's intense gaze was off putting to say the least.

Kamal nodded. Then she lifted her hand to her shirt collar and pulled it down over her left shoulder. Thorin's heart nearly stopped. Although it was healed, the wound was clearly deep. It was an ugly twist of scarred tissue, the shape a familiar u-bend of a bite mark. He stared at her. "What did this?" 

"Sverne, a shape-shifter." She pulled her shift back over her shoulder. "If you go that way, you might run into him." Her eyes were far more wearied than any nine-year-old's ought to be. Thorin's focus was drawn to the dark circles under her eyes. He hadn't remember those being there the last time they spoke. "You need to be really careful." 

Thorin was speechless. What had drawn her away from the safety of the Hills? He wondered. It alarmed him to see such a grizzly battle scar on someone so young. It was a wound even Dwalin would take pride in. Had she and the two dwarves all faced-off against a skin-changer? How had they survived? 

Kamal swallowed. "I- I remember the promise." When Thorin's face conveyed confusion, she explained. "That night, when Clasa drank too much, we made a promise. Remember?" Her hand fell lightly over her injured shoulder, barely touching it. "That's what I was doing... I was looking for a way home. That's why I left." She searched his eyes. Do I ask? A small thought voiced. But she shook off the uncertainty. "Are you going back to the mountain?"

As soon as she said it, she regretted it. Thorin's eyes widened, his irises blazing. His mouth drew into a tight line. He kept his voice level, but just barely. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause that's where you're from. That's were you said Clasa's from. I know there's still a dragon, so I didn't know if... if..." Thorin had that look again; that shadow over his brow that aged him ten-fold. A threatening aura grew like smoke around him. Suddenly, Kamal didn't feel safe. She swallowed her tongue. 

He pulled in closer, blocking her view of the room. "Lower your voice."

Kamal's chest tightened. She looked over towards Tilda and Sigrid, but both girls were too busy tidying up to notice her. Bard and Bain were downstairs untangling fishing nets. Her heart pounded hard and fast. Thorin's baby-blue's took on an icy film. His face hardened. "Do not speak of that mountain. Do you understand me?"

The girl's face flushed hot. She nodded. Thorin had transformed into someone she didn't recognize; dark and angry. She could see her own frightened face reflecting back at her in his wide, glistening eyes.

Suddenly Thorin gasped, as if snapping to. He retreated towards the wall, his back hitting the wood. Kamal didn't move, clenching the towel to her chest. Thorin stiffened. He was tired of being hunted; of being distrustful and anxious. He wanted rest. That's what Erebor meant; not just reclaiming his homeland, but finding sanctuary. And they were so, SO close. But he had scared a child, and he felt absolutely rotten. "I..." He began, his voice rasping.

"Does anyone hear that?" One of the dwarves spoke up. Every body, including Thorin and Kamal, froze, listening intently.

The sound of a muffled commotion carried across the water. Something was happening outside. Bard and his son trotted upstairs, looking equally confused. Bard hurried to the front door and peeked out of the adjacent window. He squinted through the dim light. Kamal tried to look by standing on her toes, but the window over the sink was too tall for her. 

"Da?" Sigrid asked, walking up to his side.

Bard opened the front door a crack. "Something's happening downtown." He turned to his son. "Bain, come with me. Sigrid, watch your sister." He leaned closer to his eldest. "Don't let the dwarves leave," he whispered. Sigrid nodded as Bain followed his father outside and down the steps.

Kamal swallowed down the lump in her throat. She backed away from Thorin while he was distracted and traced her way around the perimeter of the room. Silently, she slipped down the steps towards the lower level of the house. The water lapped against the legs of the dock. Evening was growing dark. Although the center of town was blocked by buildings and ships, Kamal could clearly hear loud chattering coming from that direction. Orange fire-light glowed between the homes and store-fronts, pressing up against the dark blue sky. Every noise was amplified by the lake. Kamal could make out a few Westron words floating on the air; "Who's that?" "What's a..." "What's..." "Dwarves?"

Kamal's pulse spiked. Dwarves? Oh no. The guards must've found Darestrum and Hasdran. She had to get to them before something bad happened. Spinning on her heels, Kamal sprinted up the stairs. Heads spun as she burst out of the portal. Tilda teetered under a pile of clean dishes in her arms. "Kamal?"

Kamal dashed across the room past her and right out the front door, leaving it open behind her. 

Thorin's heart dropped into his toes. Anger rose like a wave inside him. I was right. She's going to tell. "Stop her!" He barked, barreling out of the door after the girl. Kamal took the steps two at a time, practically flying down the stairs and rolling onto the dock. She sprinted, outpacing the dwarves behind her with ease. The air was cold on her skin. She headed towards the light and the voices, not bothering to look back. Heavy footsteps stomped behind her. Why are they following me? But she didn't have time to ponder for too long, for as she burst from the shadows she fell straight into a procession. Thorin and two others skidded to a half, shying away from the light and the swarm of humans. Kamal saw them stop and realized she had the advantage; no one was looking for a girl. She slipped into the throng and out of eyesight. 

Thorin slammed his fist against the outside of a house. "I knew it! I should've never trusted her."

Fili panted beside him. "Where is she going?"

"To tell the Master." Thorin snarled. "Or the boatman, who'll tell the Master."

Fili shrunk back, put off by his uncle's rage. "Tell him what? What does she know?"

"She knows enough," Thorin rumbled. He looked back at his nephew and Dwalin. "Follow me. Keep to the shadows." As they crept around the outskirts of the marketplace, none of them noticed that they were being followed...                                                                                           

✶

Kamal squeezed her way between bodies. The heat of the crowd and the torches they carried was enough to melt the snow flurries that drifted down from the overcast sky. "Sorry, s'cuse me..." She crawled her way between the hips of two women who were leaned towards each other, whispering. Kamal popped her head out their skirts but froze. There was an opening in the mob crowded on the large dock that made up the town square. Soldiers in faded purple-blue tunics and silver pauldrons held the villagers at bay on three sides. Ahead, the dock elevated into a wide staircase leading up to the largest and most elaborate building in town. It was steepled like a church. Its pillars were painted a deep maroon. The great doors of the entryway were closed, flanked by burning torches.           

At the base of the stairs was a small group of very short people. Most were male, their beards thick and braided. But one wore their beard short, the end tapered into a black braid studded with gold clasps. Their brow was creased as their spun around, puffing their chest out defensively as the tall folk closed in around them. As their face lit up in the firelight, Kamal's breath left her body.

The dwarf grabbed the belt fastened over her winter jacket and stepped closer towards the crowd, challenging them. She opened her mouth, and a voice Kamal had missed dearly bellowed into the evening air; "WHERE IS MY WARD?!"

Chapter Text

Before Kamal could move, the doors of the grand entryway slammed open. “What in blazes is going on out here?” A nasally voice shouted. The crowd fell silent. Clasa turned and watched a man appear from the house. He was middle-aged with thinning copper hair that fell to his shoulders. The top of his skull was bald, a few strands gelled in a combover. He was pudgy and sallow-skinned, a beer-gut pressing out his mauve tunic.  His shadow suddenly parted from him, taking the shape of another man in dark clothes and a black fur hat. He trailed behind the big man, looking angry but never stepping away from larger man's protective bulk. Clasa kept her hand on her belt, facing him with fire in her eyes. “Are you the Master of Lake-town?”

The red-haired man stopped half-way down the steps, surveying the dwarves at his door. “I am he.” His lip caught on his crooked front teeth as he sneered down at them. “Who are you?”

“I am Clasa of the Iron Hills. I’ve come seeking my kin.”

The Master snorted. “There are no dwarf kin here.” He guffawed. He looked back at the man in black. “Do all dwarves make this much commotion?” He asked rhetorically, just loud enough for the newcomers to hear. Clasa burned bright red. “I wouldn’t have caused a commotion if your men hadn’t treated us like trespassers.”

”Well… here’s the thing, love.” The dark cloaked man said as he slinked forward, grinning snidely. “You are trespassing.” He folded his hands behind his back. His black eyes where sharp and distrusting. “Unless, of course, you have the proper paperwork.”

Clasa wavered. “P-proper… the what?”

“Tsk tsk.” The man looked to the Master. “Doesn’t even know how we run things around here. The nerve.” 

“Hmph.” The Master hummed in agreement. 

Clasa’s nostrils flared. “What kind of town needs papers for entry?”

”MY town does.” The Master snapped back, descending the last few steps. He stood several heads taller than Clasa. “How else do we keep out the riff raff? Now,” he clapped his hands together, “What would be the proper punishment for such misconduct? Alfrid?”

The Master’s henchmen pondered the question. “The stockade is always fun, although I doubt they’ll reach—“ That elicited a few giggles out of the crowd. Alfrid seemed immensely pleased with himself. “A few nights in the cells always work… but what’s the fun of that. Can’t see anything.” Then he frowned. “Wait a minute… your kin wouldn’t happen to that beaten-in bastard from a few weeks back?” He looked at the Master again. “Remember, sir? The one who went missing?”

The Master’s eyes flashed. “Oh, yes.” He leered closer to Clasa as she forced herself to hold her ground. “Seems we are more acquainted with your kin that I imagined.”

Clasa set her jaw. A malicious smile crept up the Master’s face. “Perhaps we can lure out the little runaway…”

”NO.”

Everyone, including the dwarves, turned towards the harsh cry. Kamal had pulled away from the crowd and stood in the open square, her hands balled into fists at her sides. The Master and Alfrid looked confused. But Clasa’s face drained of all color. Her hand fell from her belt. She opened her mouth, at first only expelling air. She gathered herself and choked out, “Oh, sweet Mahal.” In a blink, tears rushed to her eyes. She reached forward. “Oh, Mahal.”

Kamal took a step. Then another. And another. And then she was running. In a few short strides, she flung her arms wide and leapt into Clasa’s embrace. The dwarf wheezed as the girl crashed into her. Kamal buried her face into the crook of Clasa’s neck, drinking in her smell. Clasa squeezed the girl so tight it hurt, but Kamal didn’t care. She felt Clasa’s warm palm on the back of her head and turned into putty. 

Clasa wished she was taller, or that the girl was shorter. She wanted to wrap Kamal up in her arms like a baby and hold her as tight as she could. She tangled his fingers into Kamal’s thick, dark hair. It was really her; flesh and blood. The whole world fell away. She drew back just enough to cup the child’s face in her hands and get a look at her. She could barely see over the flood of tears coursing down her cheeks. She stared into that beautiful, haunting face that she’d held in her mind’s eye on the nights her chest ached so heavy with grief it stole sleep from her. Clasa could sink into those dark eyes. She squished Kamal cheeks. Too skinny, the motherly part of his chirped. “You wonderful girl.” She softly cried aloud, her chin trembling. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Kamal’s. “Uzfakuh.”

Kamal closed her eyes, focusing on the tingling sensation of skin-to-skin contact. She could’ve stayed like that forever; face to face, connected to her guardian in both body and spirit in the gesture. But an unhappy throat-clearing forced them to pull away. Kamal found herself magnetized to Clasa’s side. The Master looked at them with an ugly expression. “What’s all this?” 

Clasa took Kamal’s hand in her own. “She is my ward.”

The Master burst out laughter, a high and squealing sound. Alfrid snickered in turn. Wiping at his eye, the Master coughed, “In what world does a dwarf raise a girl?”

Clasa was about to answer, but to everyone’s surprise Kamal spoke first. The child spoke with a clear and strong voice. “She’s my friend,” She said, squeezing Clasa's hand. “And we’re going home.” 

“Home to where? The Hills?” Alfrid sneered. “You don’t belong in the Iron Hills.” He moved a little bit closer. “In fact… I’m not sure where you belong. I’ve certainly never seen you in Lake-town. Where exactly are you…”

Just then, there was a scuffling across the docks. The torch-holders shimmied aside as Thorin, Dwalin, and Fili were dragged into the clearing. They were fighting back as hard as they could, but at least a dozen guards were on them, grabbing at their flying limbs and narrowly missing having their teeth knocked in by well-timed head-butts. Two men in fishermen’s wear followed behind. They made their way up to the steps, offering a shallow bow to the Master. “Sir, more dwarves. They were following the girl.” “And they all came from Bard’s home.” The other added.

The Master’s face turned almost as purple as his tunic. “Bard,” he growled. “That conniving little…”

As he rattled on, Clasa stared down at Thorin, who’d been forced to his knees. Thorin kept his eyes low, his ribs straining as he caught his breath. Alfrid’s face was screwed up in thought. “Maybe the butchered runaway is with Bard as well.” He suggested. The Master nodded. Then he smiled. “Perhaps it's due time we pay Bard a visit.” 

Then, like he was summoned from thin air, Bard popped out of the crowd. Bain wasn’t with him. “No need.” He said, pausing at the guard line. After a moment of uncertainty, they moved their pikes and let him onto the stage before the Master’s house. The Master looked like he’d eaten something bitter. Bard smirked. “This is quite a show.” He quipped, gesturing at the strange scene around him. The Master hooked his thumbs into his coat pockets. “You really didn’t think we’d find out you were harboring fugitives?" He snapped.

”Oh, come now.” Bard sighed. He jabbed his thumb at the two fishermen. “You’re really going on the word and Olgrid and Sid? They’re not exactly the sharpest hooks on the line.” The fishermen-spies looked ready to have at him, but the Master snorted loudly in agreement. Then he turned his attention to Thorin. “And what say you? I don’t suppose you’ve got the proper papers either?”

Thorin glowered the Master. “I don’t answer to false kings.”

The Master actually seemed surprised. “Well! I’m flattered— I’m no king, Sir Dwarf, though I do rule this little ‘kingdom’.” He held his hands out, arms stretched wide. “The remnants of Dale, the great city of men on the mountain-side, lies here upon the Long Lake. And I am its keeper.” He lowered his hands slightly. “Now. Who are you?”

Thorin rose slowly. The guards moved to stop him, but the Master gave a simple wave and they retreated. Thorin stood, his face steel, dark hair crowning his head and his eyes keen and bright. “I am Thorin.” His deep voice echoed like a song through a cavern. “Son of Thrain, Son of Thror.”

Bard eyed Thorin uneasily. Gears were turning in his head. Thorin... why does that sound familiar? Clasa too was ill at ease. She watched Thorin, her heart pounded against her ribs. Is this really it? Are we going home?

Thorin titled his head slightly in recognition of his two companions behind him. “We are the dwarves of Erebor. And we have come to reclaim our homeland." Gasps erupted from the crowd. Thorin recognized the excitement rumbling around him like an earth tremor. "I will see Lake-town return to it’s days of glory. I will light the great fires of the forges, and wealth and riches will flow to you from the halls of Erebor.”

The Master’s eyes were blwon open. If one looked close enough, you would see a gleam in interest dash across them at the word ‘wealth.’ He looked out over his people; their thread-bare clothes, their hollow cheeks, their eyes glazed with exhaustion and hunger. A cruel smile curled at the corners of his lips. He flashed his browning teeth. "Well why didn't you say something?" He clasped his hands and rubbed them together. "Thorin... son of Thrain, son of... whomever." Then he folded his hands behind his back and leaned over his belly. "But I ask you this, dwarf. Why should I believe you?"

Thorin was silent. Snowflakes clung to his dark mane. The Master stood back up again. "Is there anyone here..." He addressed the crowd. "Who will vouch for his character?" Then he held up a finger to Clasa and her posse. "NOT including his allies." Clasa's mouth sealed into a line. Her skin grew hot against Kamal's palm. 

Silence. All one could hear was the crackle of braziers. "Hmmm..." The Master rumbled. "Nobody? Really? Well then—" 

He jumped with surprise as an angry squawk bounced through the air. Someone too short to be seen in the crowd bumped and jostled into bodies, sending humans to the side as they ping-ponged through the mob. The raven came out first, one of their legs gripped by a meaty hand. Corac's good wing flapped desperately as Darestrum was forced into the circle. He seemed to be trying to hold Corac back, but the bird twisted his head and pecked the dwarf sharply on the meat of his thumb. Darestrum cursed and released him, realizing too late that he was now trapped. Corac plummeted to the planks of the dock. He caught himself on his feet like a cat. A hundred heads craned down as the bird ruffled his feathers. Then Corac hopped over to Thorin. Thorin's eyebrows flew up, his stern grimace erased by surprise.

The Master frowned at Darestrum. "Good grief! How many of you are there?!"

Darestrum and Clasa met each other's eyes, both surprised to see each other. Corac looked straight up at Thorin. A voiceless understanding clicked between them. Then the bird turned to the Master and Alfrid. "Durin." He croaked. Struck dumb, the Master and Alfrid could only watch. Corac went on; "Durin son. Thorin Stone-King." 

"That crow is talking." Alfrid gasped. Corac fluffed up angrily. "RAVEN!" He croaked. The Master had to force himself not to roll his eyes. "He is of Ravenhill, you git." He hissed. "They have powers of speech." Alfrid shrunk back like a kicked puppy. Murmurs carried across the night air. In the old days, the dwarves and the ravens  of the Lonely Mountain had a special relationship that even the descendants of Dale knew of through stores passed down generations. The Master couldn't argue that this an animal was indeed speaking Westron clear as day. And only one race of birds had such an ability... "Seems you are King under the Mountain." He said to Thorin. Then his eyes narrowed. "But how do I know you really will share the treasure, and not simply hoard it as dwarves are apt to do?"

Thorin glared at him. "I gave you my word."

The Master sucked at something caught in his teeth. "Mm, Not good enough. How about this... we hold onto your friends for you." With a nod, the Master commanded his guards forward. They held their pikes sharp-side out, trapping all those encircled. "Return Esgaroth to its glory days... or they will pay the price."

Thorin's anger flared. His eyes briefly landed on Clasa and Kamal. "I have no association with these people. Leave them out of it." 

"The girl was with you in Bard's home..." Alfrid pondered out loud. "And this dwarf woman knows her as well... seems like you are in 'association' with the lot of them."

"You're really going to imprison a child?" Bard snapped, moving a step forward but halting with the pikes pressed in towards him. Alfrid simply gave a bored shrugged in response. 

Just then, Corac made a sound like a dog bark. He jumped up and down, making impressive air with only one wing. Thorin reached down and held out his arm. The raven perched, shuffling as the dwarf stood. He fit quite comfortably on the dwarf's forearm. Looking Thorin in the eyes, the language changed, and Corac's words fell on deaf ears for all but the dwarves. Khuzdul came far more naturally for the bird; his words were less stilted. “I am sent.”

Thorin frowned. “Sent by whom?'" He asked. But Corac shook his head. “Sent for girl.”

Kamal saw Thorin look over to her, taking her in before looking back at the raven. 

“Take the girl to mountain.” Corac warbled. 

Thorin’s brow furrowed. The Master harrumphed and took another step. “What, what is it saying?” The dwarf, irritated by the interruption, ignored the question. Corac clacked his beak. “Called to the stone.” Then he gestured with his head towards Kamal. “She goes.” 

Thorin lifted his chin. “He says that the child must come with us.”

“What?” Kamal gasped.

”WHAT?!” Clasa and Darestrum exclaimed simultaneously. Clasa pulled Kamal behind her. “No, absolutely not!” 

The Master scoffed. “What would good would a girl be on such a mission?”

Thorin didn’t have an answer. The raven had commanded him, and the inhabitants of Ravenhill were not ones to request things lightly. Although Corac hadn’t revealed who’d sent him, Thorin felt he could not deny the will of their messenger. The children of Carc only do business with Erebor dwarves. Perhaps I do have an ally out there. Thorin smiled. “We have a hobbit, far smaller and weaker than her, and he has very much proven a valuable member of the company.”

The Master mulled over it for a moment. “… Alright, fine. Take her. No skin off my back."

Bard suddenly spoke up. "Are you mad? A dragon lies in that mountain." A uneasy titter rand through the crowd; some people chuckling at his old wives' tale, others unsure how to react, and a few dead serious and silent. 

"No, NO." Clasa backed away from Thorin, unwittingly edging closer to the Master and the guards. Darestrum moved to Clasa's side. Clasa shook her head at Thorin. "You can't do this."

Corac adjusted his grip on Thorin's arm. The dwarf looked from the bird to Clasa. He remembered her from the Gathering... and her predicament. He recognized the light of panic glint in her eyes and felt a flash of pity. "You heard the raven, Lady Clasa. It is the will of his master."

"Master? And who is this master? Do you even know?" Clasa snapped. "All due respect, Thorin, I will not let the word of a bird endanger my child." But she stopped when she felt Kamal take hold of her elbow. Kamal looked nervous to speak up. "He's right." She said. "Corac told me he was sent, too. And he found me in the woods all on his own."

Corac cawed. "Thrush-knock. Last-light." He dipped his head towards Kamal. "She go." 

Clasa stared at the raven. Thorin drew in a sharp breath. "He speaks of the secret door in the mountain." He said in Kuzdul, although he kept his voice low. "It is the same text as that from the map my father bestowed upon me; the map home." His eyes rolled upwards, worriedly scanning the sky for signs of time passing. "We must reach the door before sun-set on tomorrow's eve."

Clasa gasped. "Durin's day."

Thorin nodded. His hand lifted to his chest and clutched at something under the fabric of his shirt. He switched to Westron. "It is all in alignment." He slid close enough so that when he whispered, only she could hear. "We are on the precipice. If it is fate, you must allow her to go. The company will protect her."

Clasa shook her head vigorously. "No, it's not worth it. J-just leave Erebor." She gestured to her side of the arena. "Look at us; we've made a home in the Hills. We've rebuilt." She pressed her free hand to her chest. "I thought I wanted to go back but I was wrong; the Hills are my home. What use do we have for that mountain?" She grit her teeth. "It's brought us nothing but ruin." A new rush of angry tears brimmed in her eyes. "All you old dwarves and your memories... why can't we live in peace? What was the exodus for if not to start again?" 

Kamal felt Clasa's elbow prod into her belly as she pressed her back into her escort of dwarves. Darestrum's arms lifted slightly to create a barrier. She felt like she could be sick. There were so many eyes on her; the greasy Master and his sidekick at her back, the guards, the townsfolk, Bard, and Thorin. She felt like Clasa wasn't listening to her. She's too scared; her head's all scrambled. She didn't blame her. She was pretty scared too. She didn't want to leave Clasa, not after just finding her again after all this time. But someone had sent Corac to find her and bring her here, for some reason. Not only that, but the Master said he was going to arrest her and everyone else if Thorin didn't bring treasure back. What if they hurt Clasa? Or Dare? or Hasdran? 

Kamal finally gathered up her nerve and stepped between Clasa and Thorin. "I'll go with you." She said firmly before Clasa could protest. Corac perked up. Kamal smiled at the bird. "Corac saved me. A bunch of times actually." She turned around to face her guardian, who stared back at her with horrified eyes. "I trust him. If he says I need to go, I will."

"Right, this has gone on long enough." The Master snapped impatiently. "Guards, leave those three and the girl. Lock up the rest."

Bard didn't move as two guards grappled his arms behind his back, but his face was a mess of worry-lines. Clasa's hand flew to her hip, tracing the dagger hidden under the tail of her coat. Her face twisted in rage. "Don't you fucking dare." But she wasn't talking to the Lake-town guards as they surrouded her; she was speaking directly to Thorin. Just as she unsheathed her blade, two men wrestled her arms down. Soon all of Clasa's posse was apprehended, their weapons discarded by the men onto the dock in front of them. Kamal's eyes snapped wide as heat rose in her belly. "Don't hurt her!" She yelled over the ruckus as the dwarves struggled. Then she felt a large hand around her forearm. "Come," Thorin ordered, pulling her away with an accompaniment of other guards. 

Clasa thrashed and punched with all her might. Her breathing was ragged. "Kamal!" She cried. Kamal tried to peak over her shoulder, but Thorin pulled her along to fast for her to stop. Clasa snarled in frustration as a man wrapped his arm around her middle and dragged her roughly off of the Master's front porch. She twisted in his grip and glared at the Master. "You fucking weasel! I hope you choke on your own shit! Imrid amrâd ursul! "

Darestrum was feeling similarly, but Clasa was cussing out the humans enough for the both of them.

When he was sure she wouldn't change her mind, Thorin gently released Kamal's arm. He was quiet, a gloom hanging around him. Corac rode comfortably on his broad shoulder, looking very satisfied. Dwalin and Fili led up the back, neither saying a word. Six or so  armored lake-men bordered them on both sides. Kamal watched her shoes as she walked. She tried to block out Clasa's voice, but it was hard. "Thorin?” She asked, her strong voice reduced to a measly whimper. 

He didn't look at her when he answered. "Yes?”

Kamal lifted her head and saw out past the end of the docks towards the fog-encircled peak far beyond the lake. She took a breath. "Are you really doing what you promised?"

"... I am." 

Chapter Text

Kamal stood on the dock, looking down into the wide hull of one of the three large boats appointed to the dwarves, plus a hobbit and human. The wind blew cold around her. Bilbo, who'd stepped down ahead of her, turned and held out his hand. She took it and he eased her down onto the ship. They sat next to each other on a bench-seat, sandwiched between Bofur and Bifur. Thorin was delayed on the quay, speaking with his nephews. Kili was deathly pale, supported by his brother as he struggled to stand. 

Kamal's ears perked up. She could've sworn she heard her name on the air. She sat up, craning her neck to look up at the people standing on the docks. Then a blonde head popped through the sea of tattered clothes. Tilda's face lit up, her cheeks bright red from the cold. In her hands she clutched a maroon fabric. "Kamal!" She squealed, breathless, her voice almost lost under the excitement of the swarm.

Thorin climbed down into the ship, making the vessel rock as he landed heavily. Fili and Kili remained on the dock. The tension between them and their uncle was potent as Thorin took position at the bow. Several men launched the boats with long push-poles, and the Company began to drift towards the open lake. 

Tilda wormed her way out of the crowd. Kamal almost stood up, but Bilbo caught her arm. "Be careful!"

As Kamal’s boat picked up speed, Tilda started to trot down the length of the dock. She balled the heavy fabric up in her hands. "Catch!" She threw the wad with all her might. It sailed through the air. Kamal, to Bilbo's and the dwarves' surprise, jumped out of her seat and snagged it. The boat shifted a little as she fell back down. She unfurled the cloth to find that it was a burgundy coat. She looked at Tilda, who'd reached the end of the dock. She was smiling, but her eyebrows were quirked like she was holding back tears. "It'll keep you warm!" She called, gripping to the dock post and leaning out over the water. Kamal's face split in a grateful grin. "I'll wear it!" She yelled back. "Thank you!" Then her smile faltered. "Tilda, your dad!" 

"What?!"

Kamal dropped the coat in her lap and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Your dad is—" She cringed as a mighty horn sounded and the crowd erupted into cheering and hollering. The men reached the end of the dock, and when they could not push any further the dwarves took the oars and began to paddle. Soon Tilda was out of earshot. Tilda stared at the ships, her lips parted and moving but unreadable. Kamal could only watch her grow smaller and smaller as the ships slipped into the last night of autumn. 

✶

"You motherless fucks!" Clasa kicked the door of the cell as hard as she could. "You bastard gold-humpers!" But the guards were already filing out of the large room that housed individual cells, snickering as the majority of them went back to join the celebration. Only two were left behind to keep an eye on the exterior of the prison.

Darestrum ran his hands down his face. "Clasa, lass, you've got to calm down." He regretted it as she turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"Don't you tell me to calm down!" Her face was flushed. She and Dare were squeezed into one small cell, with Bard in his own cage beside them. They were divided by a wooden wall, but the doors were made of rickety metal bars. Clasa paced the short three-step loop of the cell. "I just got her back, and now she's on her way to a fucking dragon!"

Darestrum brushed his thumbs along the beard on his cheeks. "I don't understand... why do they need her?"

"I don't know." Clasa plopped down, fuming."At least they haven't found Hasdran." She hadn't seen her brother yet, but the message Darestrum had sent by bird had spoken of what happened. She was almost afraid to see it in person. Not that it mattered now, being locked up. 

A voice cleared in the room next to them. "Is it true? Has the king of the mountain truly returned, or was that an imposter?”

Clasa and Darestrum exchanged a glance. Bard slid his arms through the bars. “Please. I have children; if danger is coming, you must tell me."

Clasa's anger flickered. It's all in motion. No point in keeping secrets now. “He spoke the truth. He is Thorin Oakensheild.”

Bard’s fingers gripped the metal. “He has come for the mountain then. How does he aim to retake it? I saw no army.” Then his voice darkened. “You are in allegiance with him. You must know.” 

Clasa frowned, her back pressed to the wall. “He is not of the Iron Hills, Lake-man. He escaped West, not East. We are not keen to his plans.” That’s not entirely true. She thought guiltily. She didn’t know how much Darestrum knew. 

“But the Iron Hills dwarves are from Old Esgaroth.” Bard whispered breathily. “Do you really expect anyone to believe that you are not with him? When you arrive on the eve of a day that, apparently, is prophesied.” He mumbled something under his breath. “And you, Darestrum. Did you know this whole time?”

Darestrum glowered at the floor. “I am loyal to Lord Dáin, not his cousin or anyone else. If I knew Thorin was moving to such action, I’d never support it. It’s a fool’s errand to reclaim the mountain.” His eyes jumped to Clasa. “The Gathering. Did you remember him saying anything?”

Clasa foggily recalled Thorin and Dáin in a dark hallway, and then of course there was the meal they shared the next day. “H-he may have mentioned it.”

Darestrum bristled. “Excuse me?”

”He spoke of returning… but it seemed so distant. I don’t know. I thought later that maybe he was just airing out his thoughts. I didn’t think he’d do it NOW.” 

Darestrum’s brow knotted. “Does that mean that Dáin does know?”

”Not sure.”

”If you two are finished mumbling to yourselves, I’d appreciate being let in.” Bard complained.

Clasa turned to the wall like she could see the man through the solid wood. “We said what we said. We do not stand with Thorin.” Her face tightened. “I’m just here to bring the girl back home. And now she’s wrapped up in this mess.” With less vigor than before, she kicked at the metal door again. 

Bard’s accusations died on his tongue. She sounded genuine. And the older one, the one he’d carted across the water weeks ago; he learned later that he had been on the same mission. They were both connected to the child. But now the child was somehow connected to Thorin, the heir of Erebor. A twisted knot of fates, Bard thought. He tried to imagine his own daughter in Kamal’s place. It made him sick to his stomach. “So you are only here to retrieve your family and return home?”

”Yes.” Clasa answered firmly. 

Bard was quiet. The dwarves waited for him to quip back something distrustful, but it never came. Instead, the man sighed. “If Thorin means to retake the mountain, he can’t do it without waking the dragon who lies within. What if Smaug’s wrath turns on us?”

Clasa and Darestrum went slack-jawed with fear. “Do you think he could?” Darestrum asked.

“We are the closest settlement; and the descendants of his old victims. All I know is that no good will come from that Mountain.”

Clasa took hold of one of the bars of her cell door and gave it a shake. It was solid, but the metal was rusted. Old. There must be a weak spot. A light sparked in her head. “Well, we’re not staying here to find out.”

Chapter Text

Kamal huddled into Tilda's coat. The texture of jacket was rough like burlap on the outside, but smooth within. She’d drawn her fingers into the sleeves, brushing her knuckles against the silky fabric. She thought of Tilda in her frock on the pier, the cold wind whipping her skirts around her ankles. She’d looked cold.  

The wind was bitter as the ships cut through the dark, glassy surface of the water. The boat rocked gently as the dwarves rowed. Sat in the middle, Kamal and Bilbo were relieved of hard labor, but were stuck in awkward silence. Kamal pensively watched the orange light of Lake-town grow fainter and fainter. Bilbo glanced at her. "You mustn't be afraid. I-I'm sure whatever—"

"I'm not afraid." Kamal cut him off, setting her jaw. "If this is what I need to do, I'll do it."

Bilbo mouth sealed into a line. He shied away from her, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. Kamal looked back at him, and seeing him so dour she felt a pang of guilt. “Why are you with Thorin?” She asked, hoping to seal the rift she’d created.

The corner of Bilbo’s lips curled in a bemused smirk. “Because he needed a burglar."

"What's a burglar?

The hobbit winked at her cheekily. "Someone who is very good at stealing."

Kamal shimmied on the bench so she faced Bilbo straight on. "Stealing... what?"

Bilbo shrugged. "Whatever they need me to, I suppose."

”You know there’s a dragon, right?”

Bilbo laughed softly. “Yes, yes I had heard.” 

They talked over the noise of the oars chopping through the water. Small waves lapped at the sides of the crafts. Thorin sat at the bow, Corac still at his side. The raven had found a spot on the very tip of the boat, his feathers wagging in the breeze. He stared forward with eerily human focus. He looked very similar to Thorin, both sharing pointed profiles and dark features, and with the same intensity behind the eyes. 

✶

They crossed from the lake to a broad river. The ships fell in line to avoid jostling, with Thorin’s and Kamal's taking the lead. By the time the moon reached it’s apex, they had pulled the boats onto the river bank and moved to land. 

Grass gave way to a bleak landscape. Up in the highlands, it felt like winter had settled in full force. They moved swiftly through the dark. The dwarves’ eyes quickly adjusted. Kamal stuck close to Bilbo's side. They had equal difficulty seeing at night; Bilbo clung to Dori's pack, and Kamal to Bilbo's, making a chain as they snaked their way uphill. The charred earth crunched underfoot. As they traveled, the Lonely Mountain loomed ominously over them.

The sun was rising as they marched under grey cliffs, up and up until the air became thin. But they couldn't slow down. They had to make it to the peak before the approaching evening, or their window would be closed and any chance of reclaiming the mountain would be gone.

They only had time for the briefest of pauses at the base of the cliffs, right before the incline ascended sharply. Dwarves fell where they stood, unsaddling their packs and taking deep swigs of water. Kamal’s lungs burned like she’d just sprinted. “How much farther?” She asked Bilbo.

The hobbit was also struggling. Sweat beaded his hairline. His toes were curled into the earth as if their grip was the only thing keeping him from floating off. “I- huff- I really don’t know.” He squinted up at the cliff side, mouth open as he breathed heavily. “Anyone know where we are?”

Balin, or “Grandpa”, as Kamal nicknamed him, nodded up towards the rock. “That is Ravenhill,” he wheezed. “Home of Carc and his kin.” He coughed. “Though, Old Carc was ancient even before Smaug… I don’t know if he’s still around. Suppose we’ll see soon enough when we meet the flock.”

The hobbit patted his forehead with a handkerchief. “Meet the flock?”

”Aye. The ravens rule the southern slope of the mountain. We’re in their territory, and we must respect that. But we needn’t worry; dwarves and ravens are ancient allies. Not to mention you have your own feathered friend.” He nodded up ahead. Thorin paced impatiently while the others rested, Corac still riding on his shoulder. She knew it was silly, but Kamal felt a little twinge of jealousy. I could’ve carried him just fine, she thought moodily, although with all of the climbing they’d done it probably would’ve been too much trouble. 

✶

As they looped the cliffs and ascended, Kamal could barely keep up. Her feet dragged. The early morning mist wrapped around her legs. She’d long since fallen to the tail end of the group, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Her eyes itched for sleep.

The only animals she saw throughout the hike were birds, and not many at that. A few starlings lanced through the sky, twisting and diving like dolphins in a surf. Kamal jumped as a smaller bird suddenly flitted down around the dwarves’ heads. She smiled up at it. "Hi."

The sparrow-like creature was near black with a freckled yellow breast. It chirped, treading the air before looping back around the party.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Hmm.”

Kamal side-eyed him. “What?”

“I don't like the look of that bird."

"He's not doing anything wrong." 

Bilbo huffed. "He's got beady-little eyes."

"As do you, Master Hobbit," Thorin said as he suddenly stepped between them. They hadn’t realized he’d doubled back to make sure the group was together. "Yet you don't hear us complaining."

"I-I-I do not!" Bilbo sputtered while Kamal tried not to laugh. 

Thorin walked a few paces then stopped to watch the thrush. "Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks," He recited quietly, "and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole." He nodded towards the bird. "That is the very thrush. I'm sure of it."

After circling several times, the bird tweeted and zoomed towards the peak. Despite his weariness, Thorin smiled. He waved the company forward, the movement forcing Corac to climb from his shoulder to the top of his bag. "It will lead us to the door. We must press on!" 

✶

Eventually they reached to topside of the grey cliffs, their weapons clinking and clanging in their packs and on their hips. There, the company was met with the remains of scorched stone guard towers. It was like a blow-torch had been taken to the rocks. The upper levels of the towers lay in shambles at their base. A few arched bridges still remained, but even from way down below Kamal could tell they were too dangerous to cross.

When no one was looking, Kamal collapsed against a stone wall to catch her breath. She had only closed her eyes for a split second when an angry and VERY loud caw jolted her out of her micro-sleep. Right behind her, hidden in the shadows of a tower’s interior, a black raven hopped out onto the wall. Kamal pulled away from the stone, suddenly hit with the sinking feeling she’d trespassed. “Sorry!” She blurted out. The raven warbled back at her. Kamal looked right to see if the dwarves had seen, but they had already passed around the turn of the hill. Oh no. “Guys?” She held out her hands placatingly towards the raven. “Sorry again!” Then she took off sprinting after her group.

But as she turned the corner, she saw Bilbo was waiting for her. The dwarves weren’t that far ahead. Bags hung under the hobbit’s eyes. He seemed to be slowly getting crushed under his pack. He grinned warmly, but he was so tired he couldn’t hold it for more than a moment. “I thought we lost you!” He frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a — oh good gracious!” He squealed and ducked as another raven flew in out of nowhere, swooping at his head. 

Kamal started to move to help him, but yelped as she felt large wings brush against her head. The frantic wing beats of a third raven pulsed around her, sending her hair into her face and nearly blinding her. She covered her head with her arms. Suddenly there was a cacophony of offended squawking and croaking, and the air filled with the sound of wings. 

“Ahh!” Kamal peeked through her fingers and saw Bilbo topple over. He had fallen onto his knees, but the weight of the pack was so great it had pulled him sideways and onto his back. Now he was overturned like a tortoise, and just as helpless. His arms and legs punched at the ravens assaulting him from above. “Help!”

Kamal swatted at the birds and ran towards the small man. Her elbow caught a raven in the side, sending the bird flying away as it vocalized furiously. Claws nicked her scalp and the tops of her hands. She grabbed the straps of Bilbo’s bag and tried to help him get his arms out, but it was impossible to do while simultaneously fighting off the birds. 

Then, just as quickly as it had started, the chaos stopped. The birds scattered, taking roost in the various nooks and crannies of the ruined towers. They made softer sounds, clacking their beaks and bobbing their heads. 

Before she could look up, a wide hand reached down and yanked Bilbo to his feet by the bag straps. Thorin stood over him. Corac was on his shoulder, peering down at the scene curiously. “What happened?”

”T-the ravens,” Bilbo shook his head. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

Guilt rushed through Kamal like ice water. I shouldn’t have touched the tower. That must be why they’re going crazy. 

The other dwarves had doubled back, gathering around them as Bilbo brushed himself off. “What’s going on?” “Why’ve we stopped?” “Why was Mr. Baggins on the ground?”

Before Thorin could respond, Corac suddenly sprung from his shoulder. He dropped swiftly, and everyone winced as he landed unsteadily on the dirt below. But the injured raven was unfazed. He hopped over to the closest tower, climbing up a few steps to the platform of what used to be the entryway to the stairs. He stopped just before the door, his throat vibrating with a low sound. They waited.

Then, in the silence, they all heard the click-clack of claws on stone. A raven walked out of the shadow of the doorway and into the grey light of dawn. He was large; larger than any raven Kamal had seen. Corac looked like a hatchling in comparison. To her surprise, Corac bowed deeply to the large raven, who returned the gesture.

The big raven surveyed the party before him. He opened his beak, and Kamal expected a caw, or perhaps Corac’s garbled Westron. But instead what came was a steady, clear voice, as articulate as any speaking persons. "You are close, Oakensheild." The raven croaked. "The thrush will lead you to the door. You must not falter.”

Thorin nodded, stunned not so much out of surprise but from awe. “You are Roäc.” He spoke with great reverence. 

The raven nodded. “I apologize; my kin know dwarf-smell. They smelled others and assumed them enemies.” He said, poking his beak towards Bilbo and Kamal. Bilbo huffed. “You don’t say…”

Roäc ignored the hobbit. “Stay true, Son of Thrain. Your hour is at hand.” Roäc’s eyes drifted from Thorin to the girl. He cocked his head. “And you.” He walked past Corac and looked up at Kamal. She froze like a statue. He stared at her. “We did not know it was you. Welcome, Stone-breaker.”

"Stone-breaker. Stone-breaker. Stone-breaker." The other ravens chorused.

Roäc turned and hissed at them. The flock fell silent. The old bird picked something out of his wing before continuing. “The path of peace is a narrow one; tread carefully.” Then he winked, which was not something Kamal thought ravens could do. “Look for the light.”

Kamal could only nod, baffled by his request. 

Roäc finally returned his attention to Corac. “You have done well. Roost. You have earned it.” He gently nudged Corac’s head with the blunt side of his beak. Corac cooed in response. 

“Wait,” Kamal gasped. She took a step closer to the birds. “You’re not coming?”

Corac looked into her eyes. “Home.” He croaked. He hopped closer. Kamal knelt down. Heat pressed behind her eyes.

Corac pecked her knee. “Wrap.”

She sniffled. “Huh?”

“Wrap. Off?” 

“Oh.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah, bud. Hold on.” She undid the lower buttons of Tilda’s jacket and reached to her pant’s waistband. Murmurs erupted behind her as she drew her knife and carefully sawed through the elvish bandaging. She pulled the cotton away and tucked it into the jacket pocket. Corac’s broken wing was little more than a stump. But he didn’t seem to mind. He shook himself out, instantly turning two times as fluffy before his feathers settled. 

Kamal’s chin wobbled. She glanced up at the ravens in the towers. “This is your family?”

Corac chirruped. Kamal pressed her lips together. “I guess you’re good then.” She took a deep breath. “I… Thank you, Corac.” She slowly lifted her hand to his side. She wanted to pet him, but didn’t know if it was ok. Corac answered her by leaning his head into her palm. Kamal almost started crying right then and there. She laughed weakly and stroked his neck. “Good bird.”

Corac pressed deeper into the skin of her palm. Then he pulled away and jumped into her lap. She wrapped her arms around him in a loose cage and gave him one last hug. She didn’t let anyone else see the one tear that slipped down her cheek. Corac felt it on his beak and warbled. “I good bird.” 

Chapter Text

"Hey!" Clasa shouted. No response came. She rattled the barred door for good measure. "Hey! C'mere! I need to talk to you!” Still, no one came. Clasa backed up to the wall until her head bumped the wood. “You think they heard me?” She asked.

"Oh, they heard.” Bard said. “The whole town probably heard…”

Clasa rolled up her sleeves. “Good.”

Bard listened to her shuffle around. “What’re you doing?”

”I’m looking for a loose part…” She replied. “The hinges are almost rusted off… if I can hit it just right…”

”Are you insane? You think they won’t notice that?” Bard snapped back as he pressed his ear to the wall between them. 

“Dare’s going to make a distraction. He’ll yell over the sound— if the guards don’t care about us yelling, they won’t notice the bang.”

Bard felt like he was arguing with a toddler; something he was well versed in. “You’re right, it’s old, but the metal is strong. You can’t escape with brute force alone."

Clasa was about to argue back that yes, brute force could and would work, when the main door to the jailhouse swung open. Cold air swept inside. All of their heads turned simultaneously. Clasa hopped back down to her seat, hoping the guard hadn't noticed.

Bard's eyebrows quirked curiously as he recognized the intruder. "In fact, we may not need to use force at all." He muttered, mostly to himself.

"I hope you're hungry." Came a young-sounding voice. The guard stepped into the light of the nearby brazier and shut the door behind him. Three shallow wooden boxes were piled one on top of the other in his arms. He had a sad excuse for a beard, at least by dwarven standards, growing from his chin. He couldn't have been more than 20. Clasa didn't remember seeing him in the crowd, but at a certain point all the humans started to blur together. 

"Tom? Is that you? Good to see you." Bard gave a sigh of relief. "How're your folks?"

Tom shrugged. "They're alright."

"Your mum's knee still bothering her?"

"A bit..." Tom paused. "The cold's not good for it."

"No, no it's not." Bard agreed, nodding slowly. "Is she able to take days off?"

Tom's face sunk. "Sometimes." He opened the tray slot at the base of Bard's prison door and slid the food into Bard's hands. "I checked the bread for maggots; they're clean."

Bard smiled. "Thank you, lad." Tom moved over to Clasa and Darestrum's cell and slid their food in. The dwarves didn't move; they stared at him from the shadows, grim and silent. Tom hummed nervously and moved back towards Bard. Bard sensed that the young man's nerves were on edge. "Tom, this is Clasa and Darestrum. They come from the Iron Hills."

Tom looked down at his feet. "Hullo." He muttered. 

Darestrum grunted in response, folding his arms. Clasa got on one knee and took a box. She lifted the cover to find measly portions; hardtack, a bowl of mysterious grey soup, and what looked like a raw potato for each of them. 

As the dwarves poked at their rations, Bard talked quietly to the young guard. Tom looked uncomfortable the whole time, shuffling on his feet. "I... I need the money." Clasa heard him say. 

"I have money. And I need help, 'specially in the winter. I can hire you."

Tom frowned. "I thought you were broke?"

Bard looked a little offended. "I've had a good season." He lied. "I can pay you, son. You don't have to work for these gits." 

"I, they're, they're not..."

"They're gits." Bard finished. His hand slipped through the bars and took hold of Tom by the wrist."You can do better for yourself. For your family."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "W-what do you want from me?"

Bard sighed. "I want your help. My children don't know where I am."

"I can tell them."

"Good. And we also need you to get us out of here."

Tom's eyebrows flew up past the brim of his helmet. "I'm sorry?"

Suddenly Darestrum looked up. "Wait. You're the one who got Hasdran out of here, aren't you?" He realized out loud. Tom flushed. He waved his hand, motioning them to keep their voices down. "You can't tell anyone!" He hissed, his eyes pleading.

"Who'm I gonna tell? The wall?" Darestrum snorted. Then he looked at Clasa. "He got Hasdran to safety after the attack."

Clasa perked up. "Well why didn't you say so?"

"Because if I 'said so', the Master would have my head on a pike." Tom whispered fearfully . He kept glancing towards the door. "I have to go-- I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Tom." Bard snapped, forgetting to keep his volume low. "If they awaken Smaug..."

"The Master told us the dragon is a myth."

"Did he?" Darestrum rolled his eyes. Bard continued. "Tom, listen to me. If they awaken Smaug, it's only a matter of time before his fury turns on us."

The color drained from young Tom's face. 

"Tom?"

Tom swallowed. His hands were shaking. Bard finally released Tom's wrist. The guard pulled his arm to his waist, rubbing it anxiously. Bard observed him from his cage. He was so young looking; from his scruffy peach-fuzz beard to his ears flushed pink from the cold. He really was in over his head. Bard spoke; "If the dragon comes and no one is ready, we will all go up in flames. We have to warn them."

"Them?"

"All of them. Everyone. Even the Master."

"You... I... " Tom stuttered. "N-no. The Master says we must wait for the Mountain King."

"There's no point in waiting for treasure if you're all dead." Clasa cut in. "If your Master won't listen to reason, then you'd do well to go around him."

"T-t-that's a coup!"

"Not every disagreement with the Master is a coup." Bard said, sounding exasperated. "We need to get every able body ready to defend, and all the rest need to evacuate." Tom stared at Bard with wide brown eyes. He seemed at a loss for words.

Clasa moved close to her jail door. "Boy, come over here." Then after a pause she added, "Please."

Tom slid towards her, looking down under the shade of his over-sized helmet. Poor excuse for a guard, Clasa thought, although it was in their favor. I've seen babes with more facial hair. "The dwarf you pulled out of here... that's my little brother. You saved his life. I owe you for that." She gripped the bars with both hands. "But if we don't do something soon, it's all gonna be for nothing." She looked up at him, her gaze stern. "I know you have good in you. And I'm praying you're not the only good man here." 

The young man stared at the dwarf, his jaw clenched. Seconds ticked by in agonizing silence. Then Tom looked back towards Bard. "You promise you're not lying?"

Bard crossed his heart. "On my wife's grave, I swear to you."

Tom's jaw slackened. Bard never spoke of his wife, even in private as far as he knew. His hands clenched at his sides. "I'll be back." He said firmly, forcing a brave face. Then he spun on his heels and hurried back outside. The door slammed behind him. 

Clasa remained standing, dumbfounded. Darestrum smirked. "Yeh got the gift of gab, boatman."

Bard smiled, although the dwarf couldn't see. "I wouldn't call it a gift, but it comes in handy."

Chapter Text

Kamal felt empty without Corac. She had no idea what she was meant to do. He’s the one who made me come all the way up here. It pissed her off that he’d left her. Just like Beorn. Just like the elves. Just like everybody. She was starving, and exhausted, and worst of all moody. She didn’t know these people, except Thorin, a little. And she liked Bilbo. Still, she felt like an outsider.

Although the coat was a great help, the cold still sunk into her bones. Her toes had gone completely numb some time ago. They’d encircled the mountain towards it’s Western side, where the wind was strong and violent. They took a quick break under the protection of a rocky outcrop. The stones acted as natural barriers against the abrasive wind. Standing at the edge of the cliff, still shielded under the stone roof, Kamal looked down into the valley below. The drop was so deep and sudden that if she didn't feel the earth beneath her feet she would've thought she was hovering in the sky. 

“Quite the view!” A voice called. She looked and saw ‘Grandpa’ plodding down the slope from the back wall where the others had huddled. He peeked over the edge to see what she was staring at. “So, your friendly with the ravens?”

”With one of them.” Kamal replied. “I don’t think the others liked me.”

Balin hummed. “They’re not the friendliest of birds; they defend their own. They have to… It’s harsh living up here. But once you get one to like you,” he elbowed her playfully, “They’re loyal to the end.”

Kamal smiled sadly. She hugged herself to keep out the chill. “Do you know what the big raven meant, about the ‘light’ and stuff?”

“I do not.” Balin took out a pipe and began stuffing it. “But I’m curious about ‘Stone-Breaker.” Is that a nickname?” 

”I don’t know.” Kamal rubbed her face to get the blood flowing. “I don’t know what anyone’s saying.”

Balin sensed her frustration rising and decided to snuff it out. “Lassie, we’re not going to make you face the dragon, if that’s what your worried about. With luck, none of us will have to. That’s why we have Mr. Baggins.” He gestured over to the Hobbit, who was standing off on his own looking down at something in his hands. 

Kamal frowned. “He said you need him to steal something.”

”Aye. He joined the company as our burglar.”

Kamal remembered Bilbo mentioned stealing, but not what he was stealing. “So he’s going to just take the treasure? All of it?”

Balin chuckled. “No, no. Mr. Baggins is after a special piece.” He lit a match, the orange light illuminating his face for a brief second. “Our greatest treasure— the heart of the mountain.” He got the pipe going, taking a few puffs before continuing. “We call it the Arkenstone. Have you ever heard of it?”

Kamal shook her head. Balin took an extra long draw, closing his eyes for a moment. It always surprised Kamal how many people smoked here, especially in front of her. 

Balin looked again upon the land far below. “I suppose you’ll see it soon enough when we reclaim the mountain. But oh, lass, it is a wondrous sight.” He shook his head, beaming. “Like captured starlight. So beautiful that is shadows any gold. It was discovered under the reign of King Thror.” He glanced at her to gage her following. “Thorin’s grandfather.”

Kamal nodded.

”He saw it as a sign— a sign of the divine right of Durin’s lineage. And thus, the Arkenstone and the Line of Durin’s became entwined.” Balin went quiet, seemingly lost in his memories. Kamal chewed at the inside of her cheek. "So Thorin can only be king... if he gets a rock?"

"A gem." Balin corrected. "A gem beyond any measurable value. But in the chaos of Smaug’s invasion, it was lost to the hoard. And now it our dear Bilbo's task to recover it.”

Kamal’s eyes fell on the Hobbit, who’d paused whatever he was been doing for a swig of water. "But... what if the dragon sees him?”

Balin paused. “Smaug won't see him.”

"How do you know?”

Balin’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Because he’s clever, and light on his feet. Hobbits have a way of sneaking about unnoticed. It's their own 'little magic'.”

Kamal's stomach twisted. She may be a last minute addition, but at least she wasn’t about to be thrown into the direct path of a dragon. At least she hoped not. In the end, maybe it didn't matter. She just didn’t want Mr. Baggins to get hurt.

✶

Up and up they went. Bilbo found a narrow track that trailed along the side of a colossal figure of a dwarf carved into the rock face. Unfortunately for Kamal, it was the steepest and most dangerous stint of the climb. She tried her best not to look down as she climbed hand-over-foot up the steps with nothing to tether her from the deathly drop below. 

"You keep getting in the way, we're tying to a rock and leaving ye.” Dwalin grumbled, suddenly appearing behind her. "I don't care what the bloody raven says..." He swung around her, marching up without a second thought. They weren't even halfway up yet, but Kamal struggled to pull the thin air into her lungs. It was so cold, and every part of her ached. She pressed her forehead to the tops of her hands, her ribs straining. You have to do this. Don’t be a wimp.

A gloved hand came into her periphery. "Here."

It was the younger dwarf, the one with the funny bowl haircut. He was holding the end of a rope out to her. She took it, confused. The dwarf nodded to her end. “Tie it ‘round your waist.” He lifted the front of his jacket and revealed the other end tied around his middle over his cotton shirt. “See? This way neither of us will fall. Or if one of us falls we’ll… uh…” He lowered his jacket, fumbling. “Right, um, forget that. We’ll be just fine.”

Kneeling, Kamal wrapped the rope several times around her waist. The dwarf helped her with the knot, giving it a firm tug to double-check. “Nice and snug.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry… I’m usually the slowest climber. We can match pace.”

Dwalin stopped about a dozen steps ahead and glared down at them. "Ori, don’t weigh yourself down."

Ori frowned. “I’m not.”

"She's young." Balin chipped in, giving Dwalin a warning glance. He’d settled in the back of the party to keep an eye on the stragglers. "Go ahead with Thorin. We can handle ourselves."

Dwalin huffed and stomped away, his boots raining pebbles in his wake. Balin sighed. "Ignore him.” He said to Kamal. “It's been a long journey. Not all of us our on our best behavior." Like Ori, he offered her a comforting smile. "You're doing well. We'll make it in time, don't worry." 

Kamal nodded. She stood. Her knees wobbling from the height, she lifted her palm off the step she was leaning on and gave them a thumbs up. “Ready.”

✶

Eventually they made it to the top. They clung to a rocky wall as they walked singled file along a ledge. At times, the tether between Kamal and Ori grew tight as she struggled not to freeze up balancing several hundred feet in the air. But they kept moving.

Kamal almost collapsed with relief as the ledge curved inward and opened onto a little bay. It was open to the sky, but at the end was a flat wall. Thorin hurried towards it. Closer to the ground was a unmarked rectangle of perfectly smoothed stone. He felt the rock. There was no sign of an opening; only the perfect door-shape imprinted in the wall. “This must be it.” He gasped. He turned to the others as they stumbled gratefully onto flat earth. “Spread out!” Thorin ordered. “Check everywhere for a keyhole!” Anyone with working eyes could see the tension radiating off of him. There was no time to rest.

The dwarves snapped to attention. Shaking off their weariness, they ran to every inch of wall. They pushed and kicked and knocked, but nothing stirred.

The last moon of Autumn and the sun were finally in the sky together. Through one of the open sides, Kamal could watch the sun rapidly approaching the horizon line. The company was growing frantic. “Try the outer walls!” A red-haired dwarf suggested. The party split, scattering all across the elevated flat. Some even went way off, searching for another bay or cave. Kamal, after being untied from Ori, went with Bilbo and Balin, checking every nook and cranny on the stones. 

Almost half-an-hour passed with no results. Thorin slammed his fist against the smooth stone indentation. He cursed, his shoulders balled up near his head. For a moment, he opened the same hand and fanned his fingers on the rock, as if sensing for something. He looked towards the sun, he expression crestfallen. The few dwarves who hadn’t gone out hunting stopped punching the rock and watched him. 

Thorin withdrew his hand. Silently his walked towards the sunset. He stopped at the edge of the bay, as still and voiceless as a statue. The others’ waited for a command. When none came, several of them fell were they stood, completely despondent. Bilbo sat in the grass, gloomily gazing at the impenetrable door. Kamal came up and sat beside him.

“If only Gandalf was here.” The hobbit sighed, fumbling nervously with something in his pocket.

Kamal rested her chin on her knees. ”Who’s Gandalf?”

”Our wizard, Gandalf the Grey.”

Kamal eyebrows shot up. You guys have a wizard?! She thought with alarm. “Are they coming back?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t know… we haven’t seen him since before we entered Mirkwood.”

Kamal’s heart sunk. Well that sucks. If they had a wizard around, that probably would’ve solved half of their problems. Bilbo looked out at the lowering sun. “It’s almost gone.” His voice was tight with emotion. “This can’t be it… not after all we’ve been through…” 

Peering through her lashes, Kamal looked over at the rising moon on the other side of the sky. It hung like a polished silver coin, exceptionally bright even with the sun out. “At least it’s still light out.” She said offhandedly. 

Bilbo’s head was in his hands. “What was that?” He mumbled.

Kamal pointed at the moon. “The moon… it’s huge. It’ll help us find our way back down.”

Bilbo’s head snapped up. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking rapidly. “The moon.” He gasped. “The moonlight!” 

As soon as the words left him, they both heard a sharp crack behind them. They turned and saw a familiar creature. It was the thrush, the very one from the base of the mountain. It was knocking something with a shell on a flat stone in the center of the grassy knoll. Thrush-knock. Corac’s harsh voice echoed in Kamal’s head. Last-Light.

The orange glow of daylight finally slipped away. Bilbo turned back to the stone. “Look, look!” Kamal looked and saw a thin line of silver lunar light fall on the face of hidden door. It was so pinpoint accurate it couldn’t have been a coincidence. “Thorin!” Bilbo called, springing to his feet. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Thorin! The key!”

Kamal stood up. The thrush gave a sudden trill. In disbelief, the hobbit and the girl watched as under the moonbeam a flake of rock suddenly split from the wall. A hole appeared beneath it, illuminated by the moon. Bilbo gathered air in his lungs for another call, but deflated as Thorin suddenly teleported to his side. The two little ones stepped out of the way as the heir to the throne stared at the stone, his eyes wide as saucers. The other dwarves weren’t far behind— they came running and rolling over the stones, returning from their search for alternative door locations.

A key on a necklace chain was gathered in Thorin’s fist. He glanced at Bilbo, and they communicated something silently.

Thorin looked at the key in his hand. He put one hand on the stone, and with the other sunk the key into the lock. He turned it. There was a click. Spellbound, the company watched in stunned silence as Thorin pushed, and with the heavy rock portal opened inside. Goosebumps ran up Kamal’s arms as it revealed the impenetrable black void within the mountain. She could’ve sworn she heard whispering from inside. It’s just the wind. She told herself. 

But as the dwarves gazed at the open door stunned silence, a sinking feeling settled over Kamal. A dreadful thought leapt into her mind; that if they entered that shadow, they might never return. 

Chapter Text

Under the cover of night, Tom led the prisoners out a side door in the Guard's Office. The door led to a small balcony overlooking the water. But they didn't stay to enjoy the view of the mountain. Beneath the balcony lay a rope ladder which stopped just short of the dark depths below. Tom and Bard easily climbed from the ladder to the criss-crossed planks that supported the building. The dwarves were a little less agile. The slime that clung to the wood didn't help their descent either. After some struggling and a few slips, they came upon their destination. There, right under the prison, was a small floating platform. It was only wide enough for three men shoulder-to-shoulder. Empty bottles lay strewn across the top. Tom bashfully kicked them into the water. "Sorry for the mess." He muttered.

Darestrum fell heavily onto the float, sending it rocking for a moment. He steadied himself and smiled. "I see you've been busy."

"It's not just me." Tom blushed. "We just come down here on slow days."

"Do you mean everyday?" Bard asked teasingly. 

Clasa almost tripped on a carefully stacked pyramid of bottles. "Mahal." She cursed quietly. Once they were all onboard, Tom went to the side of the pontoon, rolled up his sleeves, and reached into the water. He fidgeted with something, tongue pressed into his cheek. Then there was a heavy metal sound and Tom pulled up a dripping hook. He jammed the pointy end into the nearest pole; its bark already rendered with deep scrapes. Tom crouched again and yanked the oar from its horizontal mount; two hooks on the outside of the "vessel. "Alright." He pulled his helmet off and rolled his shoulders. "You should sit down. We're going to have to navigate from below."

Clasa looked up to the dark underside of the dock. Darestrum was a strong swimmer, and she could guess the Lakemen took to water like fish. She on the other hand... Best not to think about it. She knelt with the others. Tom, bending his knees to keep balance, used the end of the oar to push away from the dock. The float bobbed precariously. Then he started to paddle, taking long, slow strokes. Bard exhaled slowly, watching the shadows through the gaps in the dock. He looked over at the young man steering the getaway craft. "Oi, Tom."

"Mm?" Tom answered, focusing on the maze of wooden legs ahead.

Bard smiled. "You're a good lad." He chuckled under his breath. "But you're a terrible, terrible guard." 

Tilda passed another pitcher of water to her sister. Sigrid poured it slowly into the washing pan. She knelt by the dark, short-bearded dwarf who lay flat on a pile of blankets. He was tossing and turning too much to be trusted in an elevated bed. He was ashen-pale. His skin burned with fever. Sigrid soaked a cloth and wrung it out into the pan. When she lay it gently on the dwarf's forehead, his eyes rolled and he groaned in pain. He tried to speak, but what came out was unintelligible. Three other dwarves sat opposite of her; the brother, Fili, Bofur and Oin. They watched over their companion with worry etched permanently onto their grim faces.

A few hours earlier, Sigrid, after hunting them down in the crowd, had dragged her siblings back to the house. She shut the front door and refused to let either of them out of her sight. If Da is in prison, it was up to her to keep the littles safe. Bain, of course, wasn't having any of it. "We have to get him out of there!"

Sigrid paced the suddenly empty kitchen. The dwarves had left so swiftly that she was still reeling from their missing presence. Now, it was just her and her siblings. 

"Sig?" Bain pressed.

"Hush!" Sigrid snapped back. A pit opened up in her gut. She felt like the house was rocking. "Give me a moment."

"What are we going to do?" Tilda mewled. She had a look on her face that signaled she was close to tears. Bile rose in Sigrid's throat. "We'll figure it out."

Bain's nose wrinkled in frustration. "So we just sit here till then?"

"No."

"We need to go to the cells, demand his release!"

Sigrid turned on her brother, her face flushed. "Don't be stupid! You think they won't throw you in with him just because you're little?"

"I'm not little!"

"Yes, you are! You're only a boy, Bain!"

"Yeah? Well you're not Ma!"

Sigrid recoiled, her jaw juddering as her voice failed her. Tilda stared at them, her face stricken with fear. Her hands rose to her mouth. Tension fell like a weight over the room. No one moved.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Shaking herself from her shocked stupor, Sigrid didn't speak as she went to answer it. Bain studied the floor, his face unreadable. Tilda looked at him, a cry bubbling up in her chest before she swallowed it down. Sigrid opened the door. She wasn't expecting to see four familiar dwarves. They were from the Company. One was keeling over, barely able to stand on his own as the blonde-haired one supported them. The dwarf in a furry hat moved to the front. His eyes were wide and pleading as he stared up at her. "We need your help."

Sigrid buried herself into her work, forcing Tilda to help to keep her from crying. Tilda helped with small jobs; refilling water, boiling rags soaked through with black blood. Sigrid could see her little sister shaking as she worked. But there was no time to delay. Bain remained on the sidelines, watching pensively, unsure of what to do with himself. Oin, the older dwarf, seemed to know the most about medicine. Together he and Sigrid tag-teamed observing Kili's condition and grinding poultices.

Kili's fever wasn't breaking. If anything, he was getting worse. But this wasn't an ordinary fever. This was brought on but the sickness in Kili's leg. Sigrid suppressed a gag as she changed the cloth over it for what felt like the umpteenth time. The gash was dark, like ink had been poured into it. The skin around the opening was welted, puckered and peeling. Whatever was on the arrow that struck him was eroding his flesh before their very eyes. Fili gripped his brothers hand tightly. Sigrid spared him a sympathetic glance. She felt pity for the blonde dwarf. Doesn't matter how tight your grasp is; you can't hold them here if the time comes. Then she glanced to Bofur. "These are beyond use." She held the reeking rags towards him. "We have a disposal near the toilet." Bofur, although he hesitated, took the bundle and hurried downstairs. 

Sigrid sensed Tilda's presence at her side, waiting for instruction. She shouldn't have to see this, the young woman thought. Sigrid looked at her sister. "You've been a great help." She winked, trying to imitate her father's ease-going nature, but she was struggling to keep her composure. "Go rest. I'm fine for now." Tilda walked off slowly towards the kitchen table. She must be exhausted.

"Your a skilled healer, young lady." Sigrid snapped to attention and faced Oin. He nodded to her approvingly. "Do you have formal training?"

Sigrid scoffed. "No." The dwarf frowned. He picked up a what looked like a large metal horn and popped it into his ear. Sigrid realized it was made to magnify sound. She repeated herself. "No, I'm not." She sniffed hard. They'd gotten a fire going, but the house never got warm enough; especially on cold nights like this. "Nothing formal. Just picked a few things up."

Oin was quiet for a moment. "How old are you, lass?"

"16." She lay clean strips of cloth back over the wound; The last useable ones they had... unless they wanted to tear up their winter blankets. But that was out of the question.

"That's awfully young for this much work."

Sigrid tried not to let his words sink in. She answered him flatly. "Been doing it since I was a lot younger, Master Dwarf." She shook her head. " You're dealt a hand and you deal with it. That's life."

Kili had fallen back into a restless sleep. Fili was silent, lost to the world. He never looked away from his brother. 

Sigrid frowned. "Do we have any more bandaging?" She asked Oin.

"No, it's all used up, I'm afraid." Oin rifled through the pack behind him with his free hand. "Nothing I have is strong enough... one of us is going to have to go out searching."

"Searching for—" Sigrid's question was cut off by Bofur bounding up the stairs. He swung around the bannister, breathless from the quick ascent. "Yer not gonna believe who I found!"

And then a dark-haired head rose from behind him. Sigrid gasped. "Da?!" Tilda swung around in her seat at the kitchen table, nearly dropping her cup. Her face lit up. "Da!"

Bard hushed them with a finger to his lips, but he beamed as the girls leapt to their feet and raced into his arms. Bain came hopping over, his sulking replaced by astonished excitement. He waited until the girls were finished, then hugged his father tightly. He buried his face into his Da's shoulder, trying to cover the tears rising behind his eyes. "You're ok..." He mumbled into the fabric. 

They heard more footsteps. The children looked to see two more dwarves, these ones unfamiliar. At the end of the line was a mousy young man in a guard's uniform. Sigrid cocked an eyebrow. "Tom?" Tom's face went beet-red almost immediately. "Hullo." He mumbled, taking a sudden interest in the ceiling rafters. 

"Tilda, where's your coat?" Bard ran her hand over his daughter's arm, feeling her goosebumps under her thin sleeves.

"I gave it to Kamal. She didn't have anything." A crease formed between his youngest's eyebrows. "Is she really going to the mountain?"

Bard deflated. "Yes."

"To find treasure?"

"I don't know." Bard rose. "But we need to get everyone on shore."

"Everyone?" Sigrid asked.

"It's not safe here... If Smaug awakens, we need to make sure we're not in his path."

Sigrid's eyes widened. "The dragon? I-it's real?"

Bard nodded. "Sigrid, you and Bain need to spread the word. Be quiet about it; the Master's spies are still out. Go to Mariam first... the rest will follow."

"But what about the guards?" Bain asked. 

"A handful of men in ill-fitting armor can't stop the whole town." He glanced at Tom. "No offense, Tom." Tom only shrugged. 

"What about me?" Tilda piped up, raising her hand. Bard's heart warmed. "You will stay and help me." He put a hand on the top of her head. His tight-lipped smile barely masked his nerves.  "I can't do this without you."

Tilda beamed. "Okay."

Clasa crossed her arms, shivering. She glanced past the humans to the dwarves gathered on the floor. That blonde one looks familiar. "I also need to find my soldiers. I don't know where they're being kept. They can help us."

Suddenly, cold fear jolted through them as a terrified scream ricocheted across the lake, quickly followed by something falling into the water. Tilda pressed herself closer to her Da. "What's that?" Bard shook his head. He didn't know. Did the dwarves send reinforcements? No, they were with him the whole time. He looked back at Clasa and Darestrum, who only stared back at him with baffled expressions. They all frozen, listening. The only sound was the fire crackling. Then came a new voice, deep and guttural like an animal's growl. It was too far to hear what it was saying, but it was loud. And it was big. 

Sigrid trotted to the window above the sink and peered outside. "There's something on the dock." She narrowed her eyes. "It's... ugh, it's too dark."

"Here." Darestrum moved over to her. He climbed up onto the counter, trying to not be bothered by how much shorter it made him feel. He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his nose to the frosted pane. "By Durin's beard..."

"Well? What is it?" Bard asked.

Darestrum shook his head. " 'S a great bear." Then, to the gathering's surprise, he grinned. "Lads... ladies... I think we have our way out." 

Chapter Text

Kamal's hair stood on end as they gathered closer to the dark void. Through a gap between the dwarves' bodies she could see Thorin with his hand on the low lintel of the doorway. He leaned forward, gazing into the shadows. He took his first step slowly, trying to tread as lightly as possible on the hallowed ground. Balin went in after him. Then, one-by-one, the dwarves filed through the door. Kamal was last. Before she entered the mountain she took one last look at the open sky, drinking in the fresh air before sinking into the darkness.

The Company shuffled in silently. The hall itself was rather plain. It had clearly been carved with skilled hands.  The only sound was the dwarves’ breathing and their gentle footsteps. Many of them ungloved their hands to touch their bare fingers to the stone. Thorin delicately ran his knuckles along the wall. "Do you remember, Balin?” He whispered with a voice heavy. He looked back, his eyes brimming with tears of relief. “Chambers filled with gold.”

Balin bobbed his white-crowned head. “I remember.” 

One of the dwarves turned and pointed up. “Look.” He whispered. They all did. On the back of the lintel there was shallow relief carved into the stone. The image depicted rays of light shooting out from a central point; a throne with a small oval hovering above it. The red-haired dwarf looked closer at the runes written above the carving. “Herein lies the seventh kingdom of Durin’s folk,” He read. “May the heart of the mountain unite all dwarves in defense of this home.”

Kamal, sticking close to Bilbo’s side, studied the relief curiously. She tried to decipher the runes herself, but her written Khuzdul had gotten rusty. Balin leaned into Bilbo’s ear. “The throne of the king.” He explained. “And… what’s that above?” Bilbo asked, gesturing to the epicenter of the rays.  Balin’s expression grew grim. “The Arkenstone.”

Kamal looked at Bilbo to gage his reaction. The hobbit hummed curiously. “Arkenstone… and what’s that?”

“That, Master Burglar, is why you are here.” Thorin spoke. He'd stopped his descent to face the hobbit. The moonlight cast an eerie white glow across his eyes. The dwarves moved in closer around Bilbo, staring at him expectantly. The hobbit’s curiosity was quickly replaced by nervousness. He swallowed dryly. “Ah. I see.”

Kamal stood with the others as Balin and Bilbo talked near the entrance of another dark hall. They spoke quietly. Balin seemed to be giving the hobbit instructions. Bilbo fidgeted about, pacing back and forth on his feet. Kamal nibbled on her thumbnail. A bad feeling stirred inside her. This is bad. Why are they letting him go in there alone? She jumped a little as a figure brushed past her. Thorin was oblivious to her presence. He walked over to Balin and Bilbo. Oakenshield addressed the hobbit. "Are you ready, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo drew a fortifying breath. "I promised I would do this." He smiled weakly. "So I think I must try." 

Kamal almost said something, but her tongue balled up in her mouth. Bilbo nodded to the company. He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, then began his descent. They all watched until he rounded the first turn and disappeared from sight.

Balin sighed shakily. “And so he’s off.” He looked to Thorin. “What do we do now?”

Thorin seemed like his was in his own world. He grazed his fingers back and forth on the wall. “We stand guard by the door and wait for our Burglar’s successful return.”

The dwarves started to file back up the steps to the outside bay. Kamal stayed put. She stared worriedly into the blackness below, bouncing on her toes. Don’t do it, the voice in her head warned. She closed her eyes, trying to shake off the voice. Don’t…

____________

Just before he stepped back outside, Balin turned in the doorway. “Kamal?” But she wasn’t behind him. He looked around. She wasn't passageway either. He hurried out onto the grass. Dwalin noticed him frantically searching about. “What’s wrong?”

“Has anyone seen the girl?”

When no one could answer, a collective feeling of dread fell over them. Thorin suddenly remembered her raven-companion’s words; Called to the stone. What if... He rubbed his hand along his short beard. What if the ravens are using her to seize treasure for themselves? They're own Burglar. His frown deepened. I was wrong. This was not fate. That raven... he must've found the text of my father's map somehow. His eyes widened, pieces clicking together in his head. The raven was sent for her. By whom? He never answered me. He recalled Lady Clasa cussing him out: "Master? And who is this master? Do you even know?"

What if it's master wishes to usurp our quest?! His jaw tightened to the point of snapping. They planted her among us. 

Thorin cursed himself for so willingly trusting the Ravenhill birds. Friends they may be, but the ravens were also fond of treasure. Perhaps they'd been promised gold by the one who "sent" Corac for the child. He spun around, his veins bursting out of his forearms as he tightened his fists in anger. "Dwalin, Balin, follow me."

____________

Kamal hurried down the steps. It was getting harder to see. “Bilbo?” She rounded the corner Bilbo had taken and found more stairs. Her legs ached just at the sight.

She descended the stairs to a lower floor. The hall split down the middle. Left or Right? She decided on right, then doubled-back to the left. As she walked into the left corridor, she noticed the lintel seemed a little too low. There was a wide crack down its middle. She looked up and saw that the crack expanded from the door way up to the ceiling. A funny feeling settled in her gut, but she ignored it and kept on.

The left-path ended at another stairwell. The passage was as straight as a ruler, dropping on a gentle slope into the void below. She stopped and listened. To her relief, she heard soft steps pit-patting below her. “Bilbo!” She whisper-shouted. The steps stopped. Then they returned, far quicker than before, and coming closer by the sound of it. Bilbo’s curly head popped out first. "What you doing here?” He whispered back in a sharp tone. He looked around, but saw it was just the two of them. 

Kamal dug her nails into the meat of her palm. “You can’t do this.”

Bilbo sighed, his head rolling down. “I’m sorry, but it’s not up to you.” He looked back at her. He seemed genuinely sorry, but his jaw was set stubbornly.

"Wait.” Kamal took a step closer. “I have a really bad feeling. Can’t we get the others to come?”

"No. I have to do it alone. They told me themselves; they’re far too loud. You’ve seen what dwarves are like. They’ll draw the dragon’s attention.” He glanced back into the waiting maw of the stairwell. “Which is why you need to go back outside, where it’s safe.” 

Kamal looked behind her, wringing her hands.

"What is it?”

"I-I think I’m lost.”

"You’re not lost,” Bilbo chuckled. “You’re just turned around. Now come.” He came out of the stairwell and put a hand between her shoulders, gently pressing her forward. “We'll set you straight, then I must get back to it." He patted her back and dropped his hand. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But this is no place for you.” He started nodding to himself. “This is my task. I signed the contract.” He wriggled his nose, probably to get the dust out of his sinuses, but it made him look like a bunny. Then he smiled. “Do you remember what you told me on the ship? That ‘If this is what I need to do, I'll do it’.” He pursed his lips. "This is what I need to do.” 

Kamal couldn't argue with her own words. Dejected, she let Bilbo lead her back up the stairs.

As they walked up and the Dwalin, Balin and Thorin hurried down, they all heard a sudden crashing of stones. Kamal and Bilbo dropped to the floor, covering their heads as the already dim hall was plunged into darkness.

Silence. It was pitch black. Kamal thought she could hear her heartbeat echoing. “Where are you?” She whispered meekly. Bilbo’s response was a god-send. “I'm right here. I'm reaching out."

Kamal felt around for his hand and found it. His skin was warm to the touch. "… Are we stuck?" She asked.

"I don't know." Bilbo got to his feet, pulling her up with him. His large ears perked at the sound of a voice from up ahead. "Someone's calling... Hello?" He echoed back, his voice bouncing through the chamber.

"Bilbo! Is that you? Follow my voice!"

"Thorin?” He led Kamal by the hand back uphill. Suddenly he stopped, smacking his forehead on fallen stone. He groaned in pain. “Augh... Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Aye, I can hear you!" Thorin’s muffled voice replied. "What’s happened? ” 

"I don’t know... This was the way I came." He touched the cragged piles of rocks. "What do you see on your side?

"It's a mess... I think the doorway collapsed."

Bilbo and Kamal jumped. What if we can't back through, Kamal thought worriedly. 

“Can you continue into the mountain?" Thorin asked.

"It's very dark, but yes. Y-yes, I believe so.”

There was a pause. “Continue forward, Master Baggins. We’ll find our way to you. ”

Another voice piped in. It was Balin. “ Young lady, you stay right where you are! We'll see if we can move the stones."

Kamal didn't answer. She felt Bilbo's pulse under her fingers. She pulled her hand out of his. "I can stay." She said.  She couldn't see his face, but she heard a hum of approval. "Alright. I-I'll be back." He didn't sound certain. Kamal listened to him walk away in the dark as the dwarves tried to shift the enormous rock pile. Dwalin cursed. "They're all wedged together! We need tools." "Get the others." Thorin ordered. "Fast! And girl, do NOT move."

The threatening iciness in his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Kamal stayed very quiet. She waited. And waited.

And when she was sure Bilbo was far enough ahead of her, and the dwarves were too busy to notice, she slipped back down the passage. 

Chapter Text

Kamal felt like she was walking towards the center of the earth. The dark hall was beginning to feel warm. Her eyes adjusted a little, but with no light she eventually couldn't even see her hands in front of her. She slid her feet along the floor at a glacial pace. With stairs, she forfeit walking and slid down on her backside.

But soon, as she wandered deeper into the mountain, the hall began to fill with a low reddish light. At first she though her eyes were playing tricks on her. But it was real; A ruddy light was slowly illuminating the hall. Roäc’s words leapt to the front of her mind. “Look for the light.” Is this what he meant?  The passageway became narrower until it was just wide enough to fit two men side by side. In the red luminescence she could see holes blown out of the wall in various spots. One looked particularly deep, but it was too dark inside to see what lay within.

Kamal stopped sliding and began to walk normally. As she did, she became aware of how loud her echoing footsteps were. Bilbo went barefoot... why couldn't she? She took off her shoes, tucking them under her arm. Luckily her woolen socks were thick. 

Then she heard something. A low rumble. It sounded like the mountain was snoring. 

She went farther, and the noise grew louder, and the air warmer. Heat crackled through the air like static, clicking and popping. She could feel it press against her skin. Her mouth went bone-dry, and try as she might she couldn’t get the taste of smoke off her tongue.

Kamal walked and walked, swimming deeper into the heat. Finally she came to the top of the final staircase. She leaned her shoulder against the wall. She felt like she was ready to drop.

At the base of the steps, the arched doorway smoldered like it was cast in flames. Down the way Kamal saw other exits, each opening onto a different floor, just like the grand hall of the Iron Hills. She eyed the bottom door wearily. She didn't feel inclined to see what the source of the devilish light was. Maybe I can get a view from up here. She took the first exit and found herself on an open arcade that encircled the chamber. She walked up to an open window and looked out.

She’d never seen a dragon's hoard before. She expected something big; maybe a gymnasium’s worth of treasure. But what she found was an ocean. The chamber was so large she couldn’t see the far ends. Massive stone columns erupted from the mountains of priceless riches, soaring up to the towering ceiling.

She spotted a dark speck moving amongst the gold. Bilbo had gone in a ways. He was working between two pillars. She could hear the tinkling coins even from her perch. She peered out into the cavern. The red light had to be coming from somewhere. There were no skylights, or windows, or torches. It was like the treasure itself was glowing. 

Bilbo was inching his way up the first “hill”; he was amazingly quiet given how many loose metal objects were lying around. But at least there was no sign of a dragon. Kamal wiped the sweat from her forehead, feeling a little overwhelmed by the size of the place. At least she could be Bilbo's lookout.

She traipsed farther down the arcade, groggy and overheated. Her head was spinning. She felt like she’d get sick if she stayed in here for too long. Down below, Bilbo picked something up. He grumbled, clearly exasperated, and without thinking tossed it aside. Watching it all unfold from above, Kamal gasped. The hobbit realized at the same time he’d made a mistake as the object fell heavily in the coins and started a small landslide.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, to their simultaneously surprise, the chamber began to tremble with a deep, guttural growl. Bilbo ducked behind a column that was perpendicular to an elevated stone terrace and hid.

Kamal ducked so only her eyes and the top of her head poked up over the arcade wall. She watched from her loft as the treasure began to move. It was like a snake wriggling under sand, only on a much, much larger scale.

She helplessly watched Bilbo huddle in the shadows as the mass closest to him began to rise. Through the bronze and gold she spotted patches of deep crimson. Skin, she thought, no… scales. A great red head crested above the sea of treasure. Its face alone was as long as a school bus. Hot wind moved throughout the cavern. Kamal realized it was the behemoth’s breath. Then a great eye the color of melted gold opened. Its gaze cast a burning spotlight on all that it observed.

Kamal saw Bilbo try to inch further under the cover of the flat stone. The searchlight of the dragon’s eye was moving in his direction.

She had to do something. There was a chunk of the cobblestone wall that had fallen loose onto the walkway.  She grabbed the loose rubble, ran two steps to the window, and chucked it as hard as she could. Unfortunately it wasn’t very far. The rock dropped right below her.

The enormous golden eye swiveled towards the sound. Kamal dropped behind the wall, hand pressed over her mouth. 

There was a rumble like a jet engine starting. “Well, thief!”

Kamal’s eyes blew wide open. No one had said that the dragon could talk.

“I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath."

Neither she nor Bilbo responded. Kamal couldn’t tell if the dragon seen Bilbo at all. Hopefully, the creature would be distracted long enough for the hobbit to slip away. She crawled beneath the wall back towards the stairs. She listened to the dragon move, dragging his weight through the treasure. All of that tinkling metal rolling around sounded like waves crashing.

Smaug stopped. “Where are you?”

Kamal’s heart jumped into her throat as a blazing light passed over the arcade window just above her head. Swallowing a cry, she fell flat on her stomach.  The searching eye glowed through the portal. His head must’ve only been a few yards away; she could feel the heat of his breath through the wall. Kamal buried her face into her hands, stifling herself. Her heart hammered a mile a minute.

Then a voice, far smaller and more meager, sounded through the chamber. “Here!” The light fell away from the window. Kamal exhaled. When she was certain the dragon’s eye was turned away, she dared to peek back over the rim.

Smaug had twisted his neck to look back towards where Bilbo was hiding. Kamal didn't see the hobbit, but she could hear his voice. “I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them." His voiced wobbled.

The dragon snorted. He rose his body up out of the gold; sending a tsunami of metal crashing in his wake. “Well? Do you believe them now?” He asked, puffing up like a cobra. Bilbo nervously cleared his throat. “Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities.”

He’s really going for it, Kamal thought, impressed. Smaug wasn’t immediately setting the room on fire, so Bilbo must’ve been doing something right. If anything, the dragon seemed to perk up. He looked for the source of the little voice, but not even his piercing gaze reveal the intruder's location. “You seem familiar with my name. Who are you, and where do you come from, may I ask.”

The dragon’s frilled ears flared at the sound of the formless voice responding. “I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. And through the air. I am he that walks unseen."

A series of clicks sounded in the back of Smaug’s throat as he lowered his head closer to his hoard. Bilbo continued; “I am the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider…”

“Barrels?” Smaug snapped all of a sudden. His frills pressed flat to his neck. “Is that who sent you? Is this some nasty scheme of those miserable tub-trading Lake-men?”

“No, no! I-I came here alone, of my own will, t-to gaze upon your glory!”

Smaug’s stone-shaking growl lowered. “Alone you say?”

“Y-yes.”

Smaug made a noise like a harsh, disgusted chuckle. “You have nice manners for a thief. And a liar.” His nostrils flared. "Your smell I do not know. But there is a mannish stench nearby— you are not alone, Underhill." Smaug looked up again, turning his head so Kamal could see it from the side. He didn’t spot her. She watched his scaly lips peel back to reveal rows of sword-like teeth. She realized with dawning horror that he was smiling. “I haven't been down that way for an age and an age; but I will soon alter that!"

Kamal couldn’t stop herself. Her gasp burst out of her. “No!”

The dragon’s eyes snapped around, and this time he pinned her down with a searing gaze. His toothy grin widened. “There you are.”

Kamal fell back on her hands and knees. SHIT.

"I knew I smelled something… ” Smaug filled his lungs, creating an airstream that whistled like steam through a pipe. “A rat, scuttling in the walls."

As the dragon spoke, Kamal rushed back to the stairs and started climbing, completely forgetting her shoes on the arcade. The stone stung her palms as she raced hand-over-foot. Her nose burned with the smell of sulfur.

"Do you know how I deal with rats, Underhill?" Smaug asked his invisible guest. Bilbo, cloaked by the ring, looked up over the edge of the platform. His whole body shook with nerves. "N-n-no." He stammered.

Smaug pulled his head back. His lifted his gigantic wings, sending treasure speeding towards the hobbit from hundreds of feet above. Bilbo panicked and ducked, narrowly missing getting clocked in the head by double-handled chalice. Smaug hooked his wings’ claws onto two of the arcade’s open windows to prop himself up. An orange glow lit inside his jewel-encrusted chest. "I burn them out."

______________

Kamal reached the top of the steps. She stumbled into the hall she had first come through. She took deep draws of air, her throat making a hoarse rattle as she struggled to gather herself. Hands on her knees, she looked over her shoulder down into the stairwell. At first, nothing. Did I lose him?

Then she noticed that the reddish-glow coming from the bottom of the stairs seemed to be brighter than before. She leaned towards it, squinting. 

Realizing what was happening, she jumped up and booked it down the hall. Heat bloomed against her back. A great rumbling filled the corridor. Her shadow stretched long in front of her as the light rushed up the stairs, filling the tunnel. The hot air rose to an unbearable sting. Her arms and legs pumped like pistons. Lips peeling, she bore her teeth in feral panic as she ran for her life.

Then, up ahead, was one of the openings in the wall.

She could hear the fire approaching. She stretched her legs to their limit, practically flying across the stones. The opening was getting close. She thought she smelled something burning, and realized it was her clothes. “AAAAHHH!” With a scream, she leapt headlong into the gap.

The floor dropped out beneath her. She went rolling down a bumpy slide, tumbling over herself as she fell towards the hard stones below. She landed with a thud at the bottom. Dust plumed around her. It went straight up her nose and she started to sneeze. Her maroon jacket was coated in grey.

A millisecond after she jumped, the blast of dragon fire exploded through the passage above her, filling the room with a sudden burst of bright light so intense it blinded her. For a moment, her world was blistering flames and a deafening roar. 

And then, just like that, it was gone. Kamal blinked the white dots out of her eyes. The light had subsided, but the blast had left the hall's stones scorched black. Some small fires still burned. She didn’t think stone could burn.

Kamal stood, her knees shaking. Her body ached. With the little fires lighting the gloomy pit, she finally had a chance to see what she'd landed on.

Skulls. Skulls and mummified, emancipated corpses. Some even still had their hair preserved. There was a gloved hand belonging to a skeletal arm, but the owner of the arm was not attached.

This wasn’t a room. It was a tomb.

The lurch of fear that jumped through her was so fierce she almost wet herself. She cried out in terror, scrambling back until she collided with the wall. 

She tried in vain to wipe the grime from her mouth with an equally filthy sleeve. Her chest hiccuped with fearful sobs. She wanted nothing more than to get out. Am I going to die? She curled in on herself, trying to block out the image of the corpses. The wall at her back wasn’t naturally formed; it was a pile of collapsed boulders, like the ones that had blocked Bilbo and her inside. And given the height of the door compared to the floor of the room, there must’ve once been stairs here. Now, none were to be seen. Kamal looked up at the gash in the high wall. The pile of bodies draped over one another had almost reached the top. 

They got trapped in here.

Kamal heard a rasping sound, only to realize it was coming from her. She was hyperventilating. It seemed no matter how wide her lungs expanded, not enough air would come in. The tips of her fingers and toes began to buzz with nerves. 

Out. How do I get out?

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Slowly, she lowered both of her hands to the floor. Her nails dug into the stone, scraping along the top. Stay awake. Get out.

Her head swirled as she stood. Her lower lip trembling, she dug her heel down on the floor to ground herself. The dark pile straight ahead looked like a bulbous, shadowy monster. Here and there she could see face pressing out of the dark. She moved a little close, bile rising in her throat. The highest point of the pile was close to a bit of cobblestone poking out of the upper floor. If she could get up there...

She almost vomited at the very thought. I can't. She dragged her fingers through her hair. A strangled sound escaped her. "Help." She wet her painfully chapped lips. "Help." She couldn't even raise her voice above a whisper. 

Eyes burning, she swallowed her nausea. She took one foot and tested a step. Something crunched under her sock and she recoiled, retching. "I can’t!" She croaked. The eyeless faces stared at her. They all looked like the boy on the horse; The one with the arrow in his heart.

Kamal returned to the back wall and paced, mumbling to herself. 

Time passed. She waited. The fires were shrinking. The darkness would soon return.

She stopped pacing. She gathered a lungful of stale air. There was no choice. If she was going to get out, she would have to climb.

She stood at the base of the mound. She let her eyelids fall heavy, hoping her lashes would help cover up the faces. She set her jaw and held her breath. Be fast, and it'll be over sooner. Shaking the nerves out of her arms, she huffed and started to ascend. She grabbed onto clothes; cloth, leather, chain-linked metal. Her lungs began. Out of her periphery, she could've sworn she saw the faces turning to watch her. Don't think about it. Just go.

The 'peak' was narrower than the bottom. An overturned figure in a long-destroyed dress was facedown on the very top of the pile. Kamal tried to stand and balance herself but almost fell. She leaned forwards, buckling over the body before wrenching herself back. She shivered. It's like Halloween. Just... decorations. She planted her foot on the body's back and reached up. The stone of the hall was only a few inches past her fingertips. The hollow corpse creaked under her weight. Kamal winced, finally expelling the breath she was holding with a rough cough. Little, terrified sounds slipped past her lips as she strained to reach. It's not real. More crunching. She whimpered. "Please." She cried quietly. She tried standing up on her toes and almost lost her balance again.

She was so close. She moved one of her feet. Trembling, she gathered whatever strength she had left and hopped. Not high enough. As she fell, the body suddenly shifted. Kamal screamed, grabbing for anything she could. The body she'd been using as a step stool rolled down the pile. Catching herself on a shoulder pauldron, Kamal righted herself onto her knees. She shifted on her legs, her arms flying out like a fledgeling learning to use its wings.

She must have finally gathered enough water to muster tears, because as she got back up they began to pour down her face. She cried, the sound ricocheting through the room. Snot dribbled out of her nose. Why me? What did I do? She wobbled on her feet, scrubbing at her eyes furiously. She sniveled. Through her watering eyes, she glared at the wide, rectangular floor stone over her head. It was almost like it was taunting her. Her face contorted into a snarl. NO. She'd come too far for it all to end here. I'm going home. 

Kamal swallowed the lump in her throat and grit her teeth. She bent her legs. Just a little higher. I can do it. She exhaled, flexing her hands. She didn't think about the scary darkness, or what she was standing on, or Sverne, or the dragon, or the boy with no eyes. She just thought about her mom.

With a desperate cry, Kamal gave one final leap…

And a hand closed around hers. “I’ve got you!” Bilbo cried. 

Kamal dangled from his grip, her legs kicking wildly before finding the wall. She stared up into his soot stained face, and broke out into a huge grin. She used her leverage to grab the stone with her free hand. It was still hot to the touch. She winced, struggling to get her leg over the edge.

Bilbo grunted. “You can do it! Push yourself up! C’mon now!”

Kamal got one knee up on the walkway, hooking her heel on the side. As Bilbo pulled her up, something shiny caught the girls' eyes. An object had slipped from the hobbit's pocket. Without thinking, she let go of her handhold and reached out for it.

As her fingers wrapped around the polished gem, the world was suddenly drenched in shadow. Kamal drew the stone close to her chest, her mouth falling open. Bilbo was gone. The hall was gone. She heard was a faint ringing in her ears. The overpowering smell of fire subsided, replaced by the gentler scent of salt water. The ringing softened until it transformed into a soothing hum. Not a hum. Singing. 

She felt her body go slack but couldn’t do anything to rouse herself. Bilbo, groaning from effort, heaved her up to safety. As she rolled onto the floor, the gem slipped out of her grip, and just like that the world was back. Bilbo scooped it up and slipped it back into his pocket. "Kamal? Kamal, get up! You’re smoking!”

Kamal’s chest rose and fell with shaking breathes. “What…” She didn’t know what he meant until she looked a saw literal smoke floating around her. The woolen coat was being seared by the hot floor. "Ah!" Kamal hopped up, dancing on her covered toes. The floor was too hot for her to stand in one spot for long. And if it wasn't bad enough for her, poor Bilbo was barefoot. He waved for her. “We have to hurry!"

But Kamal hesitated. She dared one more glance into the tomb. The bodies waited; silent and cold. Her blood turned to ice just looking at them. As she gazed upon what was nearly her own coffin, she thought she saw something standing in the shadows right were she'd been just seconds before. They definitely weren't dwarfish; they were tall and lean, their head draped in copper hair. Their face was pale, but it was too dark to see any specific features. She rubbed her eyes with an ash-covered knuckle. When she looked again, the figure was gone.

Bilbo and Kamal ran as hard as they could with no clear sense of direction. The corridor turned, dipped, ascended and twisted. They tried to stick to the same path, but at a certain point they couldn’t even tell anymore. The thought of getting lost within the mountain didn’t even occur to them; they just had to get out of Smaug’s way.

Suddenly there was an earth-shaking BOOM. Their feet lifted from the ground, sending them scrambling mid-air for a moment before another thunderous explosion sent them face-first onto the stone. They hit the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of them. Kamal curled in on herself like a pill-bug, straining to breathe. Bilbo gawked next to her, retching from the force of the hit. Debris rained down from the ceiling. The hobbit and girl, dressed head-to-toe in soot and rock-dust, looked at each other speechlessly. That sound had been too big to just be the dragon moving around…

 ___________

The Company dropped to the grass at the sound of the explosion. It felt like an earthquake, but they were quick to spot the smoke pouring out of the face of the mountain. Dwalin was the first to act. He swiftly climbed up the craggy protrusion that looked out over the valley towards the entry gate of Erebor. His eyebrows flew up. “It’s him!”

The others scrambled up the incline, pushing each other to look first. Dwalin was right; they saw the great red dragon crawl from the rubble of the parapets. Smaug opened his gargantuan wings. He began to flap, the power of each wing-beat strong enough to uproot close-by trees straight from the ground. He lifted himself from the earth and up into the sky. The dwarves looked on in shock. Thorin, who’d climbed up next to Dwalin, felt an uneasy shudder rush down his spine. 

"Look! It’s headed towards Laketown!" Bombur exclaimed.

"We have to warn them!"

"How? There's no time!"

"The ravens- we can send a raven!"

“What about Bilbo and the girl! Oh, Mahal, what if they—“

“QUIET.” Thorin wasn’t looking at the dragon anymore. Instead, his eyes fell on the front entrance. Smoke churned and billowed like storm clouds from the rubble. In the distance, Smaug roared. The sound clanged like a bell through Thorin's body. But the dragon was no longer in Erebor. There was an opening.

All other thoughts on the periphery of his mind fell silent as Thorin honed in on the ruined mountainside. “We have our way in.”

 _________________________

Many miles away…

Clasa stared at the smoke rising from the Lonely Mountain. The very marrow of her bones felt cold. An unholy roar boomed over the valley. The Lake-town evacuees ducked into the trees, crying and praying.

Clasa remained frozen on the path overlooking the Long Lake. She was petrified. Her child was on a mountain now torn asunder… and there was the possibility that she may never see her again.

Chapter Text

Beorn arrived on the dock as an animal. Fragmented words floated through his head; dock, town, girl. Even after spending several days straight in his wild-state, s omething had driven him to the shores of the Long Lake. He looked out at the stretch of the dock. He snuffed at the air. People. Fire. His nose wrinkled. Refuse.  Beorn set a paw on the first plank and it groaned beneath his weight. He huffed, snorting as he backed up. Girl. Town. Go. The mighty black bear shook his ruff and proceeded. The wood below him complained but did not buckle.

Down the dock a ways stood the entrance to the main courtyard of Esgaroth. On it’s outward-facing side, several guards stared in disbelief at the massive bear ambling towards them. Snapping out of their haze, one ran for the warning bell and pulled the rope attached to it. The gong sang through the air, making Beorn’s sensitive ears ring. A low growl escaped him. His heart started pumping faster. The gong sounded again. His animal half stirred, but he bit it down in his throat. If he let the anger take over him, he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Beorn stopped only a few feet from the entryway. A line of a dozen or so men stood between him and the gate, their pikes pointed right at his wet nose.

They had no chance.

Beorn felt a familiar electric fizz dash up his spine. He muscles tensed then contorted. With a mighty shake that almost sent the men sprawling, Beorn shed his animal-skin and took the form of a man. Grunting, he stood up on two legs, his breath pluming in the cold air. The guards stared at him; or they did for a moment before realizing that the giant man was as bare as the day he was born. All of their eyes went in different directions; anywhere but his stark nakedness. 

"Where is your Master?" Beorn boomed. The guards shifted on their feet, still refusing to meet his gaze. Beorn sighed gutturally. "Bring him out, or I'll draw him out myself!"

When none of the men spoke, Beorn's temper snapped. With a snarl, he stomped forward. He pushed right past the humans. Some dove out of the way, other's stood frozen, their pikes shaking like cattails in the wind. Beorn grabbed the handles of the gate; ornamental grips too large for human hands, and pulled. The double doors almost flew off their hinges. Without looking back, he barreled through and entered Esgaroth.

As the gate guards sent for reinforcements, Beorn put some distance between himself and them. Luckily it was late; not many where out. The few who were promptly scattered at the sight of him.

It was a while before Beorn finally noticed he was missing a few layers. He paused to scrounge around the abandoned docks. There was plenty of garbage, but nothing large enough to cover his frame. Then a spot of color caught his eye. It was sticking out of the side a folded tent. Beorn tugged on the corner of fabric and a long stretch of cloth yielded from the fold. This'll do. He felt a bit guilty for taking cloth which clearly was meant to be sold. 

Thankfully the tapestry was long, falling well past his knees, but it did nothing to hide the patchwork fresh cuts and scrapes on his bare arms. He tied the two ends of the fabric together at his waist. As he pulled, he winced. It hurt. Everything hurt. His hands, thick-skinned and rough, were bruised. Bear-form was always strange. What damage he took as the animal seemed to double when he became humanoid. He flexed his fingers and found he couldn’t bend them all the way before the pain became too much.

The cuts were bad, but the bludgeoning was far worse. His middle was so tenderized he doubted he could bend to sit. It was a dull and heavy pain, not to mention far more difficult to mend than surface level slices. This would hurt for a while. What bothered him more is that he knew that healing as a man would be slow. But he needed his voice. He caught the sound of faint voices on the air. Seemed that people were overcoming their initial fear. Good. Let them come, he thought. No more time for hiding. Not when— 

“Skin-changer!”

Beorn turned at the sound of a somewhat familiar voice. A black-haired man in a long, dun-colored robe jogged out of a narrow alley that let out onto the marketplace. The man stopped on the edge of the shadows, hesitant. Beorn smiled as he recognized him. “Boatman.” He greeted, wondering why the human was suddenly cautious after blurting out loudly.

Bard put a finger to his lips. “What are you doing? You can’t be out in the open.”

Beorn shook his head. “Don’t fret for me, little man. They already know I’m here.” 

Bard shuffled a little ways out of the protection of the buildings. As he did, Beorn noticed three more figures behind him.

Darestrum and Clasa hung back in the safety of the alley. Right behind Clasa was a frightened Tilda, who had refused to go with her siblings after her father had promised she could help him. Bard didn’t want to leave with alone with the grisly scene in the house, so he obliged to bring her along. Beorn was friendly enough… he hoped.

Bard’s eyes darted around nervously in search of the Master’s men. “What ever happened to secrecy?” He asked.

“The time for secrecy is long gone.” Beorn said, his light smile dropping. “I’ve come to warn you.”

”Warn us?”

”There are orcs headed this way as we speak.”

Clasa audibly gasped. Tilda looked at the dwarf woman worriedly but didn’t make a sound. Bard’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “From where? How close are they?”

But Beorn didn’t launch into his tale. He looked farther into the shadows of the alley, trying to make out Bard’s three companions. “Wait… where is Kamal?”

Clasa’s eyes widened. He knows her?

Beorn noticed the color drain from the Bard’s face. Like a switch, anger boiled up inside him. “You know something…” he growled. “Tell me. Now.”

“She’s at the mountain.” Bard eyed the Lonely Mountain's shadow. “She went with Thorin, the heir of Durin's Folk."

Beorn's eyes blazed. "She WHAT?" 

Bard moved to put his finger to his lips again, but the look on Beorn’s face warned him against it. “She left with him the last night of autumn. The Master had us locked HRK!—“ Bard yelped as the skin-changer snatched him off the ground with both hands. The man’s legs kicked wildly, his wiggling useless against the giant’s grip. Beorn wasn’t squeezing him too hard, but even a minute twitch of his fingers could break a rib.

Beorn ignored the sharp pain in the tendons of his hands. “I warned you, boatman.” He grimaced. 

“Stop!” Clasa cried, running out of the alley. Darestrum followed. Beorn glared at the dwarves at his feet. “Who are you?” He rumbled.

”We’re with the girl”, Clasa said. “Put him down, you’re going to kill him!”

Beorn was preparing a scathing reply when his seething blue gaze turned on the shivering figure still lingering in the alley. He realized with a start that they were very young. The child looked on in horror as the man in his grip struggled to breathe. “Da!” A quick cry escaped her before she retreated backwards in fear.

Beorn, in a moment of shock, had almost forgotten the man in his hands. Bard’s face was starting to turn purple. He fruitlessly tried to pry away Beorn’s fingers, but his motions were becoming weaker. Beorn unfurled his grip slightly. Immediately Bard gulped down a huge lungful of air. “I’m sorry.” He wheezed as he found his voice. 

“You’re a father?” Beorn’s question was pointed at Bard. Bard propped his elbows on the side of Beorn’s hand to alleviate the pressure on his ribs. “Y-yes.” He was trying not to shake. He coughed hoarsely. 

Beorn’s gaze returned to the girl. She stared worriedly at her father dangling in midair. Shame washed over the skin-changer. At last, he lowered his hands and released the a man onto the dock. Bard stumbled to his feet, still reeling from the rush of being lifted up into the air by force. He winced as he stood. Ooh, that’s definitely bruised. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, Tilda ran to his side. She rounded his legs, stepping into the gap between his body and his long dun coat. He hissed in pain as she accidentally pressed to his side. “It’s alright.” He lowered himself onto one knee and gave her a quick, tight hug. As he stood again, he smiled at her. “He knows Kamal.”

Tilda tried to look at Beorn, but when she saw him watching her right back she buried his face into her father’s pant leg.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Darestrum stepped forward. “It wasn’t the man’s fault. It’s all of us. I’m the one she was looking for.” His hands clenched at his sides. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Darestrum nodded at Bard. “He’s been good to all of us, Kamal included.”

“None of us wanted her to go.” Clasa added. “We tried to stop her. The Master practically endorsed it.”

As the dwarves spoke, Bard shimmied out from Beorn’s shadow, dragging Tilda along with him. “Tilda, get off my leg.” He whispered.

”No.”

”He won’t hurt me, I promise.”

”No.”

”Alright, then would you at least hold my hand instead?”

Tilda paused. “Ok.” Tilda submitted and took his hand. She could feel his pulse racing under his skin. 

Beorn glowered at the ground. “Sending a child on a quest— Bah!” Beorn spun away, expelling an angry burst of disgust. As he turned back, he eyed Bard. “The people… are there soldiers?’

”No. You already spooked the best of our guards. It’s mostly families.”

Beorn’s frown deepened. His eyes settled momentarily on the child gripping Bard’s hand. “Children?”

Bard nodded.

Beorn shook his head in disgust. ”What gain does the Master have in all of this?”

”I don’t think even he knows. All he’s certain of is that if Thorin succeeds, dwarven gold will return.” Bard gathered his breath, his ribs still sore to the touch. “Beorn, we have the same goal; we need to evacuate Laketown.” He pointed towards Erebor. “If Thorin and his company enter the mountain, they will awaken the dragon that lies within. I have no doubt his fury may turn on us. Please— help me get these people to safety, and we will find Kamal.”

Beorn’s blue eyes glowed under his heavy brow. “Alright, Boatman. What would you have me do?”

Bard gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I have an idea… it’s not a promise, but it may work.”

”Speak.”

Bard put his hand on his chest. “Let me be your voice. You can be the… body. Don’t hurt anyone, just give them a light scare to convince them. Trust me, when they see me standing with you and not torn to shreds, they may be more inclined to listen. I already have friends among the people… I sent my eldest children to spread the word. Now we only have one more to convince.”

Beorn was quiet. He pondered over it before nodding. “You are the most diplomatic fisherman I’ve ever met.” He said, almost sounding impressed.

”Am I?” Bard grinned weakly. “Well… that’s a compliment, I suppose.”

“But how do we gather the people?” Clasa asked.

Then, as if by divine chance, there was a harsh shout. They turned to the alleyway to meet the guards, sobered by fear and regrouped, advancing on them with pikes. Bard looked up at Beorn. “Remember, we stick together. And let me do the talking.” Beorn grunted in response. Darestrum and Clasa moved close to each other. Bard squeezed Tilda’s hand reassuringly. 

The captain of the guard stormed forward. He glared at Bard. “I should’ve known you had something to do with this.” He spit, this referring to Beorn. Beorn’s eyes shone with a nocturnal glow as he looked down his nose at the men. Bard moved a step ahead of him. “You have your prize, Braga. Take us before the Master.”

”Master’s busy.” Braga said. “You’re going right back from where you came from. And your sending your creature back to the mainland.”

Beorn’s upper lip curled in disdain. Bard gestured at the giant. “You can tell him that yourself. He’s perfectly capable of understanding you.”

”Hm.” Beorn hummed affirmatively. “That I am. Would you like to repeat yourself, little man?

Braga swallowed nervously. “Y-you’re trespassing.”

”I didn’t see a sign.”

”We have a gate.”

”Oh? Is that what that was.” Beorn crossed his arms and chortled gruffly. “Could’ve fooled me. Now…” He moved closer and the guards shuffled back. Beorn loomed over them. “Now, like a said before… bring the Master out before I do it myself.”

The Master and he posse were enjoying celebration drinks. Gold would soon be in there pockets. And if the Company of Thorin Oakenshield ended up roasted alive, at the very least the Master could enjoy having his least-favorite citizen behind bars. He and Bard had always butt heads. The Master didn’t like the boat-man’s quips nor his pull with the other townspeople. Although it had been a few generations since the dragon arrived, he had not forgotten that Bard was of noble blood; the line of Girion, the last Lord of Dale. It haunted him. Lines of Lords and Kings were not easily broken. Though nearly 200 years had passed and most had forgotten the man’s noble heritage, the Master did not. It was a threat to his claim to power not to be treated lightly. 

So imagine his surprise and dismay when the grand doors of his hall swung open and an enormous beast of a man stepped through. The Master nearly choked on the whole chicken he was digging into with his hands. Alfrid, always present, jumped up with a napkin at the ready. The Master waved him away, coughing and spluttering. “Wh-what’s? Who the blazes are you?!”

Beorn almost knocked his head on one of the lit chandeliers. He scoffed at the gluttons before him. “You’re the Master?” He looked behind him. “I expected more.” He said. Four more people stood in the doorway; two dwarves, Bard’s youngest daughter, and the bloody boatman himself. Bard walked up to the giant’s side. Smug as ever, Bard put his hands on his hips and looked up at the giant. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He replied. “He is rather underwhelming.”

The Master sprung from his seat, sending crumbs and bits of food everywhere. Dogs happily jumped on the scraps dislodged from his lap. "Bard!!" The Master came bounding out from around the dining table, his robes flowing behind him, napkin still tucked into his collar. Alfrid, no surprise, was right on his heels. The Master’s face was as red as his hair. “What’s the meaning of this? You have some gall showing your face.” He skidded to a stop, realizing he now stood a little too close to Bard’s very large companion. “You’re supposed to be behind bars.”

Bard ignored his confused rambling. His sable long-coat was slick with frost that had gathered on it outside. “We must evacuate the town immediately.” He said sternly.

The Master was opening his mouth to retort when one of his guests suddenly stood. It was an older man with thinning grey hair and a deep scar running across his jaw.“You’re the beast.” The old man gasped, staring at Beorn fearfully. “You’re the one who attacked the merchants we sent to the Hills.” 

The dining hall erupted. Some ran from the table, cowering against the far wall. There were screams and shouts. “Would you shut up!” Darestrum snapped. “We’re trying to save your sorry skins!” None of the humans listened.

“SILENCE” Beorn bellowed. The boom of his voice shook the rafters. A few people fell back into their seats, stunned. Beorn shout still rung in their ears as he spoke. “I am no beast. I am Beorn. And I have come to warn you.” His gaze zeroed in on the Master. “My home lies west of Mirkwood. I came to these shores to repay a debt. But I have seen evil gathering in the South; Orcs, Several hoards under the same banner. I don’t know their plan, but trust me, they are too close for comfort.” Beorn gestured outside. “They’ve camped along the South-Western edge of Mirkwood. Usually they’re not so stupid to show themselves in large numbers. But something has emboldened them.”

Beorn nodded to the old man who’d spoken before. “The beast you speak of stands with them.”

Then Beorn’s eyes fell on Bard. He gave an expectant eyebrow lift. Bard stepped forward. “Don’t you see? We’re in danger from the South, and in danger from the North. If we don’t leave now, we’re doomed.”

Nervous whispers filled the air as the Master’s guests struggled with the news. The Master hated what he saw; the heir of Girion passing orders as if he had any right to do so. To everyone’s surprise, the Master burst out in ugly laughter. “You think you can walk into my halls and tell me what to do just because you brought your animal with you?”

Bard immediately felt the energy around Beorn darken. 

The Master went on; “You’re a wild thing, skin-changer, but that is all you are; wild.” His eyes traveled down to the conspicuous metal cuff on Beorn’s arm. “Although they did try to beat the wild out of you, didn’t they?”

Bard’s blood ran cold. Beorn stared hollowly at the floor. 

“I’ve heard the tales; you’re one of the last of your kind, aren’t you?” The Master wagged a chicken-greased finger at the giant. “The white orc… how could one creature decimate an entire people? I suppose you’re not as tough as they say—“

The Master choked on his own words as Beorn suddenly lunged at him. No one had time to react. Beorn gathered up the front of the Master’s robe in one fist and lifted him sky high. Bard winced. He knew all to well what must be going through the Master’s head. Alfrid looked up in horror as Beorn held the Lord of Laketown at arm’s length.

Beorn’s wolfish his face contorted with rage. The Master whimpered pathetically. “You- You’re a pacifist. Y-y-you don’t consume living beings… I-I know this!”

Beorn clicked his teeth in irritation. “Aye, I won’t take a bite out of ya’.” He drew the Master slightly closer. “But didn’t say I was a pacifist.”

With that, like a shot put thrower, Beorn drew his arm back and launched the Master at full speed back towards the long stained glass window behind his chair. The window exploded outward, the ear-splitting crash followed by the sound of something heavy smacking the water. Alfrid shrieked and bolted towards the exit, disappearing into the night. 

Beorn turned back to the hall. “Anyone else?”

No response.

”No? Good. Now get up; we’re leaving.”

The small party watched as the newly recruited guards running to wake up sleeping families. Bard felt a moment of guilt; It’s all so sudden… no one deserves to be pulled from their homes in the dead of night, not like this. But what choice did they have?

“Dare and I need to get find my soldiers” Clasa interrupted Bard’s train of thought. “And my brother is… incapacitated. We’ll take care of our people…  you find your family.” Clasa held out her arm. Bard reached out to shake hands and they awkwardly collided limbs. Clasa grabbed his forearm, indicating the Dwarven goodbye. “Oh,” Bard realized. He squeezed her arm. “Good luck. I’ll see you in Dale.”

As they released each other, Clasa faced Beorn. “Thanks for helping my girl.”

Beorn smiled tenderly. “Of course.“

Then Clasa grinned, chuckling under her breath. “That was satisfying, watching you chuck someone out a window. Wish I could do that to a few arseholes in my life.” Beorn laughed. “I’ll see you on the shore.” 

Clasa’s smile broadened for a split second. Then she and Darestrum proceeded to make their way towards the Laundry-house.

Tom, who they’d forgotten was there, shyly raised his hand. Bard and Beorn looked at him. “Tom?” Bard asked.

”Um, I didn’t know if you need me for, I dunno, anything else...” Tom was antsy. He was clearly itching to get out of Lake-town as fast as he could. Bard sighed. “Go get your parents, lad.”

Tom sighed with relief and scampered off. 

Sigrid ran out of the house as Bard and Beorn approached. “Da, I can’t find Bain.”

Bard’s heart dropped. “You’re positive you don’t know where he went?”

Sigrid trotted off the steps, shaking her head. “He ran out the house. Da, I’m sorry…” But Bard cut her off. “Don’t— I’ll find him.” He grabbed her shoulder. “Stay with Tilda; I’ll catch up with you.”

“No, Da!” Tilda pulled on his arm. “You promised I can come help!”

”You are helping,” Bard replied, taking her shoulder as well. “The best thing you can do for me is to help Sigrid. Can you do that?” 

Tilda nodded. Beorn watched the scene solemnly. ”What does your third look like?” He asked Bard.

”Me… well, in the face.” Bard looked up at Beorn. The skin-changer could see the panic in the man’s eyes. Bard continued. “He’s got short hair, and he’s in a fur-lined coat. His name is Bain.”

Beorn made a sound of confirmation. In truth he had trouble telling the little people apart from up above, but the man could clearly use some comfort. “I’ll keep an eye out.” He offered.

Just then a short, stocky silhouette appeared in the light of the open door. “Is that… oh.” Bofur hovered over the first step as he caught sight of the giant. “I, uh, hello.” He cleared his throat and called down to Bard. “Kili’s breathing a bit more steadily but… it’s not looking good.”

Bard cursed in his head. How are we going to transport a dwarf on death’s door? He looked up at Beorn. “We may need to ask another favor of you…”

… 

The dwarves carried Kili’s limp body down the steps as carefully as they could. They approached the giant cautiously, making way so Beorn could reach down and take the dwarf in his arms. “Poor fella.” He muttered, looking down at the tiny creature’s pallid face. The dwarves craned their necks to keep an eye on their brother as Beorn gathered him up and held him close to his chest.

Bard’s mind was elsewhere. He stared at his girls loading the final few essential items in their packs. Please, please be safe. He prayed. He approached them without a word. Sigrid made a surprised sound as he kissed her on the forehead. Tilda grabbed his coat. “Are you going to follow us?”

Bard cupped her cheek. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” He looked at them one last time, drinking in their features. They look so much like their mother. “Take care of each other. Stay with Beorn and the dwarves.”

Sigrid nodded, her neck straining as she choked down her rising nerves. Tilda was watery-eyed. “Be fast, Da.”

Bard kissed his girls on their heads one more time and turned away. There was so much more he needed to say, but so little time. He swam into the slow-moving crowd of evacuees and out of sight. 

Sigrid took Tilda’s hand. “Be brave.” She said in a hushed voice, half to her sister, half to herself.

As the odd party walked away from the boat-man’s home, two silent figures stared at them from the cover of a high roof. Legolas leaned forward, his sleek hair slipping over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. “I do not see Oakenshield.” He whispered.

Tauriel remained rigid beside him. Her lips were drawn tight. Her eyes trailed the frail body of the barely-bearded dwarf. The dwarf with the rune stone. At this rate he won’t survive, She thought. She looked out over the stretch of Laketown, watching as people still rubbing the sleep out of their eyes filed out of their homes with what few belongings they could carry. 

Legolas looked at her, waiting for a reply. Tauriel exhaled slowly through her nose. “Come.” She said, and they slunk back into the shadows. 

Chapter Text

Kamal and Bilbo rested in the dark hall. They’d run until couldn't take another step. The thunderous sound of Smaug breaking through the side of the mountain had long subsided, giving way to the eerie stillness of the abandoned fortress. Their own breathing was echoed tenfold.

Kamal's chest ached. She stood on wobbly legs, her vision swimming. Bilbo plopped down on the ground. He wiped at the sweat beading on his hairline. "Good gracious." He huffed, puffing out his cheeks. "At least we lost the dragon."

Kamal shot him an angry, albeit exhausted look. We didn’t lose him. He’s going to Laketown. She fell on her rear end, almost rolling over onto her back and passing out right there. “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Bilbo forced a smile, although it was hard to see his face in the dim corridor. “You know, I live underground. This is like a second home to me. Just a bit... bigger." He held one hand up, palm turned upward, and with the other hand sat two fingers on his palm. He walked his fingers like legs. "We came in on the Western Side, and I believe we've stayed at the same elevation. So... and the... mmm..." He lost his train of thought. “Oh dear…” 

“What?”

”Nothing! I just need to gather my bearings.” He patted the floor next to him. "Sit with me."

Kamal shuffled over to his side. She pulled her legs close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Bilbo watched her shrink in on herself. Strands of hair clung to her dewy forehead. It was significantly cooler here than in the chamber, but her body burned from exertion. Bilbo’s eyebrows knotted together. He didn’t have children of his own, but he didn’t mind them. Often he found the little hobbits more tolerable company than the adults. Regardless, he hated seeing a little one so miserable.

Bilbo hooked his lower teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip. “Are you alright?” He asked her.

Kamal shrugged dismissively. Then she lay her cheek on her knee. "I’m scared." She finally said in a small voice. 

Bilbo sighed. “You have every right to be. To tell you the truth, I'm scared too." He looked away. "I'm not an adventurer. I'm happiest at home. We hobbits like good food and good drink, good stories; not the discomfort of the open road." He laughed softly. "How I even got here, I don't know. I suppose a small part of me wanted… more." He didn't sound certain. "And of course Gandalf came along, and those dwarves." His smile broadened. "Those dwarves... I meant to ask… how do you find them? The Company, I mean."

Under her gloomy scowl, Kamal’s eyes lifted slightly. "The guy with the white hair is nice. And the one who helped me climb." She offered a smile back to Bilbo. "And you're nice... but not a dwarf."

"Ha, well, I'm not even sure if I'm a true hobbit anymore. I feel like this journey has turned me half-dwarf. At least in spirit." He winked at her. "So let's say I'm an in-between sort of fellow." Then his smile faltered. "But you don't like the others?"

"I don't really know them." She pressed her nose between her knees. "I don't think they like me."

"Nonsense." Bilbo scoffed, surprising Kamal with his gusto. "They're gruff; it's their nature. But they have good hearts. And once you know what they’ve lived through, you can't blame them for being stand-offish." He shook his head, looking around the dark room. "My home, Bag End, is it's own little world. I had no idea of the sufferings of the dwarves before I met Thorin." He looked terribly sad for a moment. "Their people have endured so much hardship that sometimes I can't even wrap my head around it. A whole kingdom razed to the ground... Do you know what the few who survived did after? They wandered. Smaug is the reason the Iron Hills exist.”

Kamal recalled the vibrant gardens and stunning scale of the palace to the East. How long had it been since she’d run away from it’s safety? Months? "It's pretty nice at the hills." She commented, feeling guilty. 

"I'm sure it is. But there are many who are still angry, like Thorin. Their hearts won’t allow them to settle.”

Kamal thought of the dark haired dwarf with the ancient demeanor. “I met Thorin before. But now he’s…”

Bilbo frowned. “He’s what?” He asked cautiously.

”He’s different. He’s… kind of intense.”

Bilbo’s frown flipped into a small, closed smile. “Ah, that’s Oakensheild. Peaceful one moment, a terror the next. You must understand the enormous strain he’s under. He has an entire kingdom on his shoulders. Not to mention the lives of all those in the Company.” Bilbo nodded to himself. “It’s a perilous mission. But it’s righteous. Everyone in our Company has their own reason for joining him."

Kamal side-eyed him. “What your reason?"

Bilbo chuckled. "Well, as I said, I was sort of pushed into it. But the idea of an adventure was alluring. And now..." His gaze softened. "I've grown very fond of the dwarves. Very fond indeed. We've been through a great many dangers together... but also seen the beauty of the world." He dipped his head into his chest. "I wouldn't trade it for anything." 

After a moment of reminiscing, he met Kamal's eyes again. Then he held his hand out. She looked at it. Realizing he was waiting, she slid her hand out from under his chin and laid it on his palm. Bilbo closed his fingers around hers. "It's quite alright to be scared. But you're not alone. I would've never survived this quest without the bravery of the company. I'm sure it's been similar for you and your own dwarf family." 

Kamal's chin wobbled. My dwarves. They’re in Laketown. And Smaug… 

Bilbo released her hand and she scrubbed at her face and nose. Don’t cry, she thought bitterly. Bilbo smiled at her, not noticing her battling emotions. He brushed the soot off his sleeves. "And apparently I'm never alone either… Do you always follow others into danger?"

"No. Sometimes I go in first."

”Ha!” Bilbo barked, surprisingly loud. Then he let his hand slip into his pocket. "Well, at least finally I have the blasted thing." He said, fumbling with the wrapped stone in his coat. He gave her a look. "Should we take a peek?"

Kamal brightened up. She nodded.

They twisted to sit crossed-legged across from each other. Bilbo pulled the bundle out of his pocket. He set it carefully on the stone floor and began to unfurl the handkerchief. The polished, oval gem tinted the hall blue as it was revealed from the cloth. Kamal stared. It really was beautiful. She didn’t know how it could glow with its own light. Little flecks of white crystal sat within the outer crust, like glitter trapped in resin.

Bilbo sat back. “I can see why the dwarves treasure it so.” He said quietly, as if in reverence. “Quite magnificent.” 

Without thinking, Kamal’s fingers began to creep towards it. But she stopped herself. Bilbo saw her hesitation. “It’s a good thing you have quick reflexes; I almost lost the thing earlier. I should stitch up my pockets.”

The fractured light sparkled in Kamal’s dark irises, like stars scattered across the black swath of space. The girl’s fingers dug into the course wool sleeves of Tilda’s coat. ”Can I hold it?” She asked.

Bilbo paused. “I would say yes… but when you snatched the gem from the air, you went limp. Do you remember?”

How could I forget? Kamal thought. 

“You had some sort of reaction to it. I-I don’t want you to hold it if it hurts—“

”It showed me something.” Kamal interrupted.

Bilbo choked on his own tongue. His eyebrows shot up. “Showed you something?” He repeated, stumped. “Showed you what? A vision?”

“I want to see if it happens again.”

Bilbo stared at her dumbly. “I don’t think that’s…”

”If something happens, you’re right here. It’ll be fine.” She looked away from the stone and right into the hobbit’s eyes. “Please?”

Biblo deflated. He couldn’t say no to those doe eyes. “Alright. But if anything goes wrong, I’m putting the stone away. Deal?” 

Kamal nodded. She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. Bilbo watched nervously as she reached for the Arkenstone. Her fingers touched the polished surface. 

THWOOM

Kamal smelled the ocean. The faint call of gulls rang out. This time the vision was bright; bright white like starlight. Soft voices curled around her, kissing her ears. The plucking of harp strings sang through the air. Like staring straight into the sun, the light burned her eyes. Kamal cringed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyelids. She squinted under her lashes. She could’ve sworn she saw low waves lapping at a shore a few yards away. She started to walk towards it, then stopped. Her feet had begun to sink. She looked down and noticed with a start that her shoes had sunk into pure white sand. 

The wind suddenly turned bitter with the smell of metal and fire. The singing voices grew sharp, crying out in a terrified crescendo before disappearing on the breeze. The harp played on. 

Staring into the white void towards the faint waves, Kamal watched two shadowy figure appear from the haze. Both were decked in full armor. One was dark-haired, his face pallid and gaunt. He had large, sad eyes and an aquiline nose. The man standing beside him stood as tall as a tree. He had long red hair and a face marred by heavy scarring. Kamal's heart flipped. He looks like the person I saw in the tomb.

The figures stared back at her. They both brandished swords; the red-head's almost as long as Kamal was tall. Their faces were as vacant and still as masks. Then they turned and began to walk back towards the sea.

Kamal leaned forward. "Wait!" She called, trying to lift her feet. But she was suctioned to the earth like she was stuck in quicksand. They ignored her, shimmering like mirages. They walked straight into the water, sinking lower and lower until they disappeared beneath the light. 

The sand around her ankles pulsed. Kamal gasped. She was starting to sink. She flailed, clawing at the sand as her body was sucked down farther into the earth. I can’t get out. Dread leached into her bones. She tilted her head to the empty sky. As she sunk up to her ears, she took the deepest breath she could and plunged beneath the world. 

Darkness. The sounds of the ocean were gone. The acrid smell of burning metal still lingered around her. Kamal turned about, looking for any source of light. Then, up ahead, like a stage spotlight, a pillar of light shot through the pitch black. Beneath it’s eye was what looked like a stone bed; and on the bed, a figure lying very still. 

The ground was now solid stone. Kamal’s footsteps echoed as she crept towards the light. Based on the acoustics alone, she could tell she was in a small, enclosed space. 

The stone bed stood just at her eye level. Her heartbeat lurched through her body. The person was lying supine. They were dressed in full regalia; a thick, fur-lined robe, metal-studded gloves and boots, golden-stitched clothes. They were short and stocky. Not human. 

When she was only a foot away, Kamal lifted herself up on her toes to look at them. Her heart dropped. She recognized the grey-skinned face.

It was Thorin. 

His eyelids didn’t move with dreams. There was no color in his cheeks. His chest was too still. 

Is he…

Her eyes were drawn away from his face by a glow emanating from his hands. Clasp tightly between rigid fingers was a solid object shining with it’s own light. Kamal’s throat closed. That’s the stone. Thorin has the Arkenstone. She glanced back at his deathly face. Thorin said needed the stone. And now here was his body, lifeless, with his prize in his grasp. 

Kamal stumbled backwards, shaking her head in shock. Is this the future? What happened? Nerves fizzled under her skin. The stone. Does it have something to do with the stone? Her pulse grew louder and louder. She felt it shake the room like a gong. She pressed her hands to her ears but couldn’t block it out. I have to tell someone! Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum. The beating of her heart shook her brain around her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Wake up.” She ordered herself in a tight voice. “Wake up. Wake up!”

”Kamal, wake up!”

Kamal’s eyes snapped open. The pulse evaporated into silence. Bilbo was surprisingly close. He was gripping her shoulders. The hobbit’s face was pale. “I tried to wake you! I thought— I thought—“ He swallowed dryly and loosened his grip. “Thank heavens you’re alright.” He looked down at her hands. “Look.”

Kamal did. Her hands were locked around the Arkenstone like steel traps. She didn’t recognize her fingers as her own; they were curled likes claws. With effort, she unfurled them, her tendons stiff and sore. Bilbo caught the stone in the handkerchief as it rolled out of her grasp. As soon as it was in the fabric, the gem was bundled up and stowed away back in Bilbo’s jacket. He looked shaken. “No more of that.” He exhaled wearily. “That was a mistake. I’m sorry.” 

Kamal was still looking at her hands. She flexed them, feeling detached from her own body. Ice dripped down her spine. “Mr. Bilbo. You can’t give Thorin the stone.”

Bilbo frowned. His hand rested over the top of his pocket. “Pardon?”

Kamal looked up. Her eyes were wide and hollow. “If you give him the stone, he’s going to die.” 

Chapter Text

Bilbo's expression was a mix of confusion and unease. "What are you saying?"

"I... I saw Thorin with the stone. He was dead."

Bilbo sat back. Kamal watched his emotions dance behind his eyes. "Are you sure it was him?" He muttered.

Kamal nodded. "I'm sure."

Bilbo's mouth drew into a line. "Did he speak to you?"

"No. He was dead."

Bilbo swallowed nervously. "Yes. Right." He frowned. "Why don't I see anything when I touch the stone?" He asked, almost sounding disappointed. 

"I dunno." Kamal looked at his full pocket where the Arkenstone was tucked away.

A few awkward seconds ticked by. "Are you clairvoyant?" The hobbit asked.

"Am I what?"

"I mean do you get visions often?"

"It's kind of a new thing."

Bilbo kneaded his forehead with the heel of his hand. "W-what else did you see? Was it the same as before?" 

Kamal looked at the ground, searching her memory. "I keep seeing this tall man with red hair."

"A tall red-head?" Bilbo ran his finger over the thin line of his lips. "He doesn't sound familiar. Not the Master of Laketown?"

"No, not him. He was skinnier." Kamal's frown deepened. "And there was another guy this time. He had black hair." She straightened her spine. The strangers' faces slowly materialized in her mind's eye. "They had really pretty faces. Sad, but pretty."

"Pretty?" Bilbo hummed. "Are you sure they were men?"

"What else would they be?"

"Elves, I would assume. Unless you know another race of tall folk I'm unaware of."

Kamal's eyebrows lifted. "I guess they could've been elves. I didn't see their ears." She looked at the hobbit pointedly. "Do you think they're ghosts?"

"No. Surely not." Bilbo responded reflexively, although in all honestly even he wasn't sure. "I'm no expert on the matter... but perhaps the stone has properties that cause hallucinations. I've never heard of such a thing, but at this point not much surprises me. We could ask Thorin..."

Kamal jerked to attention. "You can't give it to him." She snapped.

Bilbo looked taken aback. "Kamal..." 

"I just said that he was dead."

"I heard you. But you can't take what you saw as foresight."

Defiant anger flushed through her. "Why would the stone show me it if it's not real?" She asked snippily. "You saw me pass out. I'm not pretending." Her voice grew louder, her irritation sending her heart racing. "It's trying to tell me something."

Bilbo's brow furrowed. "The stone is trying to tell you something?" He repeated. To Kamal's dismay, he shook his head. "It’s nightmarish, granted, but it’s not the future, Kamal." He tilted his head. "He's not going to die."

"But--"

"No, no, no buts. I said it's final, so it's final." Bilbo cleared his throat affirmatively. "The Arkenstone stays with me until we get it to Thorin."

Kamal fumed. He's not listening to me! The elves believed me with the giant in the water. Why is he being so stubborn? She grit her teeth, preparing another retort, but stopped herself.

Bilbo didn't look angry. He looked scared. He was gazing at the floor again, his lips pressed into his knuckles. The age lines around his eyes crinkled. He looked older. He was pensive and quiet, the way her dad got when something was bothering him. She could almost hear the tension broiling inside him. Bilbo sighed heavily through his nose. He lifted his mouth from his knuckles, his fist still hovering. "The Arkenstone is incredibly important to Thorin. I-I can't just take it away from him."

Kamal felt bad. The thinly veiled emotion in the hobbit's voice was obvious. "I don't mean take it." She said, softening her tone. "You could just hide it." 

Bilbo snorted. "So lie to him?"

"No... well..."

"I can't lie. That's horrible." Bilbo suddenly shot to his feet. He paced a bit. "Thorin's not going to die... he can't."

Kamal's eyes widened as she realized what was happening. She followed suit and got to her feet. It was still bizarre to her that she stood taller than the adult hobbit. She wrapped her arms around her torso. "I don't want him to die either." She said softly. "I want to help him too."

Bilbo couldn't meet her face. He was barely aware of her speaking. His pulse pounded in his ears. We've come so far... he needs to stone. This is why he brought me on. I can't... I can't fail him. He sighed and finally drew his attention to the anxious looking girl beside him. He slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingers grazing the wrapped gem. "I believe what you saw. But you need to trust me. This is my quest, not yours.”

Kamal gnawed the inside of her cheek. Her racing heart slowed to a gentler patter. He wasn't trying to deny her. He wasn't calling her a liar. He was scared; Not for himself, but for Thorin. She wondered if they had something more going on than just traveling together. Maybe they're friends. Now she understood his apprehension. She would probably be defensive too if someone told her a friend was going to die. Her brain conjured her friends in Thorin's place on the stone table; Stella, Morgan. Tilda. She felt sick just thinking about it. She nodded, not saying a word.

The tension in Bilbo's shoulders eased slightly. "Shall we press on?" 

They kept walking, feeling out the dark halls for any sign of fresh air or daylight. But at points it felt they were only moving deeper into the mountain. They were truly beginning to lose hope when Bilbo stopped short. "What's that noise?" He tilted his head so his right ear was turned to the source. "Listen."

Kamal did. It was faint, but way off in the distance she could hear a muted clang reverberating through the halls.

"It almost sounds like an anvil." Bilbo listened for a moment. "It is an anvil." Kamal didn't know what an anvil was, but it didn't seem like the time to ask. Bilbo was practically levitating with excitement. "They relit the forges! Come!" 

Bilbo's hearing was keen. He led her along a sure path, following the siren song of metal colliding with metal. They knew they were close when the bang was loud enough to rattle their bones. The hall ended at an open portal. Orange light emanated from archway.  They squinted against the sudden flare of light that flashed in unison with another BANG. As they stepped through, Kamal pressed her hands over her ears.

The force of the great mechanical hammers dropping on the anvils sent scalding hot air blasting across the room. She was hit with the hot wind, hair hair lifting off her shoulders and whipping behind her. Her eyes watered. She shielded them with her arm and pressed forward.  "Do you see him?" She yelled.

Bilbo shook his head, squinting in the bright light. "No!" He called back. He winced. "Don't look directly at the fires!"

Kamal nodded, her throat already raw from throwing her voice. She cast her eyes low as they crept further into the forge. 

The whole hall was churning. Water poured onto melted metal, sending steam billowing towards the ceiling. Several large fires burned under what looked like towers.  ”It’s all functional.” Bilbo said loudly, laughing in disbelief. “It’s been years since a soul’s been in here… it should all be ice cold.”

“Aye! It should be!” 

Kamal and Bilbo looked up. On the platform above them, an apple-cheeked face framed by ginger braids beamed down. “It’d still be as cold as a corpse in winter if it weren’t for the stupid slug blasting his way through here!”  The heavy-set dwarf stood and jumped right off his perch. He dropped heavily off the platform. “What’s a better match than dragon fire, huh!” His grin shone between soot-stained cheeks. “Bilbo!” When he saw Kamal, he hesitated. “And… you!” He exclaimed, clearly having forgotten her name. “By my beard, you’re both alright!” He looked back over his shoulder. “Lads! It’s Master Baggins! He’s alive!”

The dwarf’s surprise that the hobbit had survived was a bit upsetting for Bilbo. ”Yes, I’m fine, Bombur.” But Bilbo couldn’t help but smile as other shielded faces popped up from behind the machinery. The hall filled with excited whoops and greetings. The dwarves ran up to him, joyously knocking the hobbit around and slapping him on the back. They left fat, smudgy handprints on his already dingy coat. Their enthusiasm was contagious; Bilbo laughed, lighting up as they pulled back their metal face-shields. Kamal recognized most of them, including Ori, the quiet dwarf who’d helped her ascend the mountain. He waved at her shyly. “Glad you’re alright.”  She smiled back at him.

The party ushered themselves a little ways from the intensity of the active forge. They stopped near a set of ascending stairs leading back into the wall.  Bilbo studied the company. “How did you find your way in?”

“Smaug blew a hole through the side of the mountain; it opened up into a hall right over the forges.” Gloin replied. “Yeh didn’t hear all that commotion?”

“Oh, we heard it.” Bilbo scoffed, giving Kamal a knowing look. She bounced her eyebrows in agreement. “Sent us tumbling off our feet.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Does anyone have water?”

The dwarves did; Kamal and Bilbo drank greedily. As Bilbo passed the water skin back to Kamal for her second drink, he finally asked, “Where’s Thorin?”

The energy in the room shifted. The dwarves glanced at each other. Nori answered for his companions; “He’s in the throne room with Balin and Dwalin. They headed straight there after we got the fires stable.”

Bombur bounced on his heels. "I'll go fetch them. They'll want to you know you're here." He took off at a brisk walk for the stairs. Nori cocked an eyebrow. “So, did yeh find it?” He asked Bilbo. Kamal stiffened. She watched Bilbo silently, her heart pounding. Don’t give it to them. The hobbit's hands hovered at his sides. But he didn't reach into his pockets. "No." He said.

Kamal drew her cheek between her teeth, trying to keep a neutral expression. Her exhale of relief almost exploded out of her. Bilbo huffed, feigning disappointment. "I-I couldn't. It was too much treasure. I'm sorry."

The dwarves mumbled in dismay. Gloin closed his eyes for a beat. "It's alright." He sighed at last. When he looked back to Bilbo, he offered a small smile. "Erebor is ours. We'll find the Arkenstone in time. You did well, Master Baggins.”

Kamal, who stood between the red-haired dwarf and Bilbo, poked Gloin’s arm. Gloin looked at her. “What is it lass?”

"What happened with the dragon?"

Gloin stared at her. “He’s dead."

Kamal's throat went bone dry. Her brain barely registered what the dwarf had said. Bilbo also looked stunned. “What?”

Nori jumped back into the conversation. “We saw it all happen. He was lighting the village up like a candlestick… And then, he reeled back, like he'd been struck. Smaug twisted and lunged; he looked like he was in pain. You could hear his roars all the way from up here. We saw him fly up, up, up... and he went slack. He fell into the lake and hasn't come back up."

Bilbo and Kamal gawked at Nori. None of the other dwarves spoke up to contradict him. “And you're certain he's gone?” Bilbo asked.

"He must be.” Nori replied. “Unless he swam off somewhere, but I dunna think drakes can swim.” The others mumbled in agreement.

“And the townspeople?” Bilbo pressed. 

“… We don’t know.” Nori lowered his voice. He looked crestfallen. “I’m sure some of them got out in time.” 

"Fili and Kili were down there." Ori mumbled.

"And Bofur and Oin." Dori added. 

Kamal was silent. The forge faded into a haze. Clasa. Hasdran. Dare... Tilda, her family. All of those people.

Just then, over the clank and whir of machinery and the belching flames, they all heard heavy footsteps approaching. Thorin descended the steps, followed by Dwalin, Balin, and Bombur. A grin played on Bilbo's face, but it immediately dissolved upon seeing Thorin's expression. The dwarf’s eyes were glazed over with anger. Bilbo fumbled with his hands. "Thorin! You're alright! Thank heavens." Bilbo and Kamal looked past Thorin's glowering figure; the three behind him looked uneasy. Bombur's cheerful glow had faded. 

Something was wrong with Thorin; he seemed too thin-skinned for the clothes on his back. There was a slick sheen on his forehead like he was battling a fever.  Thorin’s haunted gaze landed on Kamal. “You.” He rumbled, drawing to a halt. "Do you think you’ve fooled us?”

Kamal stepped back. "What?"

Thorin took a long step towards her. Bilbo put his arm out and the dwarf stopped his advance. Thorin ignored the hobbit. His glare pierced Kamal like a laser. "Who sent you here?" He demanded in a low, threatening tone.

"Wh- nobody?" The girl stammered, bewildered. 

The others were on edge, but no one else was moving to stop him. They seemed as stunned as she was. Thorin's eyes darkened. "Someone sent the ravens to you. What do they want?" His eyes shifted in their deep sockets. "Stone-breaker. Stone-breaker... the Arkenstone. That's it, isn't it? You mean to steal from me.”

"No!” Kamal gasped. 

“Liar.”

“Thorin, this is madness." Bilbo squawked. Bilbo had been flippant about Thorin's intensity. Now, he looked properly scared. “Do you even hear yourself?”

”Quiet." Thorin snapped. He looked down near Kamal’s hands. "Turn out your pockets."

Shaking, Kamal reached into Tilda's coat and made a scene of fishing around in her pockets. She came out with nothing, even going as far to pull the fabric out to show him. But Thorin didn't back down. "You must've stowed it away. Tell me where it is. NOW.”

Dwalin, to Kamal’s surprise, was the first to move. He planted himself between Thorin and the two little ones. “Thorin!” He hissed. “Calm yourself. Mahal, what’s wrong with you?”

Feeling panicked and defenseless, Kamal slipped her fingers into her boot. She felt the wrapped knife and pulled it out. The cloth dropped to the floor, and the blade shone in her grip. Bilbo made a surprised squeak. Thorin’s eyes widened. Dwalin looked back and froze. Kamal repositioned her grip around Beorn’s knife. She held it at arm’s length in front of her. She had to force hands not to shake. “Back up.” She warned, the wobble in her voice betraying her nerves.

Thorin's gaze landed on the metal. The group waited with bated breath. Then Oakenshield gasped. He stumbled back a few steps. His face drained of color. “I—“ He fastened his palm over his mouth. “I— I’m…” He looked mortified. 

For a second, Kamal felt guilty for drawing the knife. But he'd scared her. There was nothing else to defend herself with. Bilbo had been kind to stand in front of her, but he wasn't exactly the best line of defense. She kept herself pressed close to the hobbit's side. Thorin turned away, dragging his hand from his mouth down his beard. His broad shoulders were hunched. He looked like he was going to be sick. Bilbo reached back and took Kamal's elbow. "Go upstairs." He whispered. Kamal nodded. She lowered the knife and backed up until she reached the stairs, scurrying up the steps as fast as she could while being careful of the blade. As she climbed, she dared a glance below. The dwarves were frozen in a ring around Thorin. The tension lay like a blanket over them. The glow of the forge fires cast their shadows long. 

Kamal was shaking like a leaf. She’d never drawn a knife on a person. She just kept walking, even when she was far past the top of the stairs. There was light at the end of the unbelievably long hall. She followed the light until, at last, she was met with open sky.  The dwarves were right; Smaug had literally opened up the side of the mountain. The winter wind was seeping into the stale hall, rustling long undisturbed dust and cobwebs. She felt the chill creep around her. But she didn't care about the cold. The breeze was a relief after hours of stale, phosphorous air.

She wasn't quite outside when something caught her eye. Kamal slowed down. Her heel tapped the ground, but she froze mid-step. Her throat closed around her scream. She drew in her breath, trying to slow her heart beat. The organ thumped hard against her ribcage. She stared into a portal on her right. Across from her, like a mirror, stood another figure trapped in the same frozen motion as her. Long legs, a thin frame, a scarred face draped with copper hair. They both froze, staring each other down. Kamal was instantly reminded of being under the scrutiny of the elven king; and how small she'd felt in his presence. This person was tall; not giant like Sverne or Beorn, but menacing none the less. The way they hovered in the threshold didn't help them look less threatening either. He regarded her with the cold passivity of a wild animal.

Kamal let her foot fall; the tall man did the same. She moved her other foot, and he did too. 

"I have a knife." Kamal blurted out awkwardly, gesturing at him with it. He didn't seem to care. The red-haired man didn’t look like a ghost. He seemed as real as any flesh-and-blood person. Kamal swallowed. Cautiously, she stopped walking and turned her body to face him. He turned to her. Kamal tightened her grip. “Who are you?” She asked in Westron. 

A chip of rock tumbled somewhere down the corridor, clattering on the stone floor. The tall man didn’t speak. Then, to Kamal’s surprise, he ducked under the low, dwarf-sized door. He pulled his long body through, holding the side of the doorframe with a spindly hand. His hair fell like silken drapes over his shoulders. Kamal craned her neck, her legs begging her to run, as the man stepped out of the portal and rose back to his full height. 

It was definitely the same guy from the chamber and from the stone-vision. He was hard to mistake for anyone else. He wore a simple, long sleeve tunic. The way it was tailored reminded her of Tulusdir’s clothes. His hands were gloved.

Silently praying for one of the dwarves to come and rescue her, Kamal gathered her courage. “Are you an elf?”

His gaze sharpened ever so slightly. He gently dipped his head. I think that’s a yes, Kamal thought. Her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth. “What’s your name?”

The elf didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and Kamal feared she’d said something wrong. Her blood tingled. “It’s ok, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” She took a step back, feeling queasy under his shadow. “But I don’t know what you want. Can you talk?” 

The elf didn’t speak. Instead he pointed a finger at her coat pocket. Kamal frowned in confusion. She reached up to the pocket… and found there was something inside. Her stomach flipped. There wasn’t anything in there before. She looked inside, and to her shock she recognized Bilbo’s handkerchief wrapped around a familiar shape. She shook her head. Her nerves were so frazzled that she must not have noticed. “No, that’s… but I didn’t have it! It was in Bilbo’s coat.”

The red-head seemed unfazed. He retracted his hand. Kamal paled. "I didn't... " But she could feel the weight. It was there. Did I take it? No. There's no way I... "I didn't steal it. I don't know how it got there." She'd been right next to Bilbo, but she didn't remember reaching for his jacket or anything of the sort. I'm not a thief. That'd just be proving Thorin right. Kamal's eyes darted wildly as she tried to understand. I would know if I stole it, wouldn't I? Unless...

Unless Bilbo gave it to me.

He must have slipped it into her pocket when she wasn't paying attention. Hesitating, she fished the wrapped-up Arkenstone out of her coat. The tall man looked on. Kamal eyed him as she cradled the bundle close to her stomach. She noticed the minute flare of his nostrils at the sight of the handkerchief. Her eyebrows bunched. "Do you want... this?" She held out the bundle. The elf, to her surprise, recoiled slightly. Kamal tucked it back against her body.  She looked down at the unassuming bundle. "Can you please say something? I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want." She looked back up at him. "Can you just say if you're a ghost or not? You're kind of freaking me out." She admitted, mumbling. 

But the elf still didn't answer. Instead, he started to walk away towards the light. Kamal watched him for a moment before she stashed the Arkenstone and followed him, keeping a few feet back. She stepped out of the hall and found herself at the top of a large pile of rubble. The tall elf waited for her on an exterior walkway framed bu debris. Kamal looked at the knife still grasped in her right hand. Her own warped reflection stared back at her. Not wanting to accidentally cut herself, she gently put it in her other pocket. Having a loose knife while climbing was not ideal, but she still wanted to keep it on her just in case. She climbed down the chunks of stone and met the elf at the parapet.

Clouds were draped in thick layers across the candy colored sunrise. The valley lay before them, silent and vast. Far out into the landscape was a mirrored surface reflecting the sky. And on it, like a burning wick suspended over oil, was Laketown. The fire licked the surface of the water, a hot spot in a world washed cool with the low morning light. Esgaroth felt so distant, but Kamal had only just been there. She tasted bitterness in her mouth. She thought about Hasdran, bedridden in the laundry house, and Darestrum and Clasa locked behind bars. What if they were burned... Her chest clenched and she screwed her eyes shut. No. Don't think about it. They're fine. "They're fine." She said aloud, hoping to convince herself. The elf didn’t react to her talking to herself.

Then her eyes caught something. At least a few miles below where she stood, a dark river flowed out of the trees onto the wind-whipped slope of the mountain. It crawled along slowly, like molasses poured across a table. Kamal leaned over the wall, ignoring the jolt of nerves at the sight of the drop below her. As she strained to see, she saw the mass break in some places, and figures became clear. People! She realized, her blood rushing hot and cold at the same time. It's the people from town! They got out! Based on their trajectory, the mass was marching towards the ruins of Dale.

Heart fluttering, she spun on her heels. Her fear of Thorin flew away. "Bilbo!" She screamed, her voice cracking with excitement. "Bilbo! They made it!" She started back towards the rubble pile, but suddenly the tall man was in front of her. She reeled backwards, affronted by the sudden obstacle. "Move." She ordered, her voice stuttering. He didn't listen. His eyes lifted and he stared far past the wall. Kamal glanced behind her then back at him. "Yeah I know there're people, that's why I'm telling the others." She tried to move around him, but he held out a splayed hand the size of a baseball glove. Kamal pulled back. There was nowhere she could go; the parapet and a steep drop to her back, and a man with the wingspan of an NBA player in front of her. "Why are we out here?" She snapped, her teeth already chattering. The fresh air was nice, but it was bitterly cold. The elf gestured to his right. There, the wall ended with the landslide of rubble. Kamal gave the elf a look of confusion. When he kept looking, she stood on her tip toes and peeked over the rubble. There, right on the outer edge of the wall, the drop was slightly less significant. She could see what looked like footholds leading down the cliff face in the rising light. Still, the ground was far enough below that the sight of it made her squirm. Growing more nervous, she folded her arms for warmth. "I cant go down there. It's too far."

The elf looked at her blankly.

Kamal sighed, her breath pluming in the cold air. "I wanna make sure Bilbo's ok." 

The elf still didn't move. Kamal's anger finally boiled over the edge. "Say something!" She barked, her nose crinkling. 

The wind filled the gap of silence. Then the tall elf opened his mouth. What came out was a voice deeper than she'd expected, and a language that she'd never heard. She stared at him, dumbfounded, as he spoke. He gestured to the hoard approaching Dale. Then he pointed to the pocket with the Arkenstone. 

"Let me go back inside." Kamal said. She wondered if he could even hear her soft voice, since his ears were at least three feet above her head. An image of Thorin's anger-glazed eyes jumped to the front of her mind. "My friend's in there. I don't want him to get hurt."

The elf lowered his chin towards the lake. Kamal glanced in the direction of Dale. "You want me to... leave? But..." 

The tall elf's intense stare rendered her silent. His red locks seemed to glow with the rising sun. He jutted his chin towards the townspeople, a hum escaping the back of his throat.

Kamal wet her lips. If he was a bad guy, he would've done something bad by now, right? He hasn't gone for the stone. She was pulled from her thoughts as the elf suddenly moved. He floated down to one knee; even kneeling, he towered over her. The movement disturbed his fine hair. Here, up close, Kamal had a better look at the ugly trenches of scarring criss-crossing his angular face. He was fair skinned. Kamal gasped as she saw the rising sunlight passing through his face and body like light through gauze. He seemed unaware that he was partially transparent.

"Hína." He spoke. "Estelio nin." He lifted his right hand. Kamal cringed as his gloved fingers gently tapped her shoulder; and she realized something was off. The hand felt too rigid, almost as if it was made of metal or wood. As beat after he touched her shoulder, he withdrew. For the first time, he grim facade gave way to the tiniest hopeful glitter in his eyes. "Estelio nin."

Chapter Text

Kamal weaved her way between the wreckage. The blackened grass crunched under her shoes. The slope of the mountain was a war zone. The blast point from the entrance of Erebor had flung debris at least a few hundred meters in a fan shape. Enormous chunks of stone that had made up the entryway left deep grooves in the earth from their crash.

The descent from the parapet had been harrowing, but Tall Elf was right; it was a real path. After securing her knife back in her waistband, she inched her way over the drop-off using the handholds set in the rough stone wall. The slots in the wall were clearly meant for wider hands, which luckily gave her fingers plenty of room to grip. The 70 degree angle of the slope also helped as she could press her body to the rock. But as she inched her way down, she realized with a start that the wall suddenly fell away. Her palms immediately started to sweat. Her arms started to shake. She tentatively reached around with the toe of her right foot, feeling for another hold. Her foot wrapped under the turn of the wall. It was smooth. She squeaked, pressing her forehead to the tops of her hands. How do I get down?! She dared a glance towards the drop. She could see the ground, but she couldn't tell how far it was. Her whole body shaking, she started shimmying a little lower. It doesn't look that bad. Maybe I can hop—

Suddenly the soles of her shoes lost purchase. All of her weight landed on her fingers. Her grip gave out and she started to slide. Kamal screamed, scrambling for another hold, as she skated on her belly over the drop. "No no no no no!"

She slipped right off the wall. Instinctively she ducked her head under her arms and rolled up like a pill bug. Her stomach flew up into her throat. As she opened her mouth to scream again, her side suddenly hid something solid and her shriek died in a wheeze. Stars danced in her eyes. As the sparkles faded, she blinked and looked around. The outcrop of the cliff hung over her head. She looked down. She was on the ground. As she stood, her head brushed the top of the rock. Oh. 

Kamal finally walked out of the scorched earth onto a field of wind-swept heather. She glanced behind her a few times to see if anyone was following. Through the gaping wound in the side of the mountain, the halls of Erebor glowed a faint gold. Under different circumstances, it would look welcoming; a cozy hearth on a brisk morning. But she couldn’t go back. Thorin's pale, furious eyes appeared everywhere, like an image burned into a screen. Kamal wiped at her eyes. She thought of Bilbo. I hope he's ok.

The altitude made her a little woozy. Her ears popped as she trudged through the brush. She lost sight of the Lake as the hillside dipped into a shallow ravine. She lifted her knees high as she hurried along. She wanted to catch the crowd before they made it to Dale. Who made it out? It looked like a lot of people. She did a double take to be extra sure the dwarves hadn't caught on. No one. She also saw no sign of the Tall Elf. He did have a penchant for disappearing... Still, it bugged her that she couldn't see him when it was his idea to leave the mountain in the first place. His? It's? He never said what he was.

The wind blew hard. With no trees or buildings to block the brunt of it, the gale caused her to stumble slightly. She wrapped her arms around her waist. The chill was bone deep. All she wanted was to submerge in a hot bath. Moisture dribbled from her nose. The tall man; if he's a ghost, is he haunting the mountain? She felt the weight of the Arkenstone in her pocket. Is the rock cursed?  She felt unease rile in her belly. Does that mean I'm cursed? 

She shuddered hard. The hill pitched up. She started to climb, but suddenly stopped.

Her ears started to ring. Her chest tightened. She threw out a hand and caught herself as she began to lean forwards towards the ground. The heather shivered. As she tried to right herself, all at once she felt an enormous weight on her back. She used both hands to try to push herself up, but found that she couldn't. Her vision swam. What’s happening? She gripped the plant-life tightly between her fingers. She opened her mouth, but nothing was reaching her lungs. It felt like the world was crushing in around her, but as she craned her head up, there was nothing but open sky.

She tried to stand but her body sunk until she was kneeling in the heather. Her muscles seized. She could hear her strained breathing rattling through her body. I can't breathe. She sank onto her belly and rolled onto her side. Without warning, tears poured out of her eyes. Why am I crying? Why am I always crying?! She sobbed quietly as her brain screamed for oxygen. Stop being a baby! She felt hands all over her. Teeth sunk into her shoulder, as cold and sharp as icicles. She kicked at nothing, frantically seizing the heather and tearing chunks out of the earth. She buried her face into soil-stained hands. The petrichor scent was strong as her tears mixed with the dirt under her fingernails. Her throat ached. She felt separated from her body, like she was watching a stranger writhe at her feet. She punched and rolled and kicked, her silent cries compressing what little air she had out of her body. She couldn’t get away. She couldn’t get out.

The pine needles

The long dark halls

The dead boy with no eyes

She felt like she was drowning. She cried out of pure desperation.

Silver riddled with arrows

Silver’s insides; as pink as bubblegum

She could smell all of it, taste all of it. Every part was as real as the earth beneath her.

The freezing water

Teeth

The black bear with the silver coin eye

“Endure what is to come”

Why? Why are you making me do this?

The spiders

The dragon

Bodies clothed in dust-coated dresses and armor

Thorin’s hollow stare as he grabbed for her

Then, just as fast as it had come on, the panic eased. Her body went slack on the ground. Her ribs strained as she tried to swallow as much air as she could. It was a horrible feeling; to have your heart vibrating a million miles an hour in a petrified body.

Time passed strangely, slowly. She could sense the sun moving over her out of the corner of her eye.

Kamal curled in on herself, her cheek pressed the the ground. Everything swirled together; the heather bled into the sky, the clouds seeped into the earth. She was so tired. I don’t want to move. I never want to move. I just want to lie down until it’s all gone. The cold didn't help. As tightly as she balled up her body, she still couldn’t get warm. She flexed her rigid fingers. Maybe I can just stay here. What’s stopping me? She drew thin breaths through her clogged nose. It was so heavy— voices circled in her head. The mumbled garble of the dwarves, which transformed from gibberish to words over the course of a few months. Her grandparents' voices. Her mother’s voice. And, overlapping all of them, Clasa trying to console her in those early days. Clasa, who stepped in as her mom. Who'd done everything for her; even braving the wilds between the Long Lake and the East. 

And Kamal had left her.

Tears silently slipping down her face, Kamal reached into her pocket with a shaking hand and pulled out the bundled up Arkenstone. Still lying on her side, she folded back a corner of the handkerchief, keeping the rock in the cloth so her skin avoided contact. The stone glowed, lighting up her face like a flashlight. Her strained eyes narrowed at the offending glare. Why's everyone after you? Her bleary brain wondered. "You're just a rock," she mumbled blackly. She turned her hand and held the stone up to the pale sky to see if any of it was see through. As she did, it caught the light of day. The glow suddenly became frighteningly bright. She winced as a sharp beam flashed. She covered her eyes with her arm. The beam glowed brighter and brighter until it peaked. Then the light faded. A few seconds passed before she dared to check again. The Arkenstone had dimmed to its neutral glow.

Kamal stared at the stone, shaken out of her trepidation by confusion. What was that?

Lucky for her, someone else had seen the flash of light.

When Beorn saw the strange illumination, he'd passed the sick dwarf to their companions and took off uphill. Others had tried to follow him, but his stride outpaced them by enough that they'd given up. About half an hour later, Beorn came bounding up the hill. His weight left a trail of smashed heather behind him. "Kamal!" He bellowed. His deep voice boomed like a cannon across the open plain. Beorn stomped about, scanning the land for any sign of the child. The overcast sky let through enough sun to get a good view of the mountain slope. He looked for anything abnormal; well, besides the chaos left behind by the dragon. He still hadn't fully processed seeing it set Lake-town ablaze, or watching the beast subsequently fall into the water.

He turned back towards Dale and there— a spot of color in the dull green. It was hidden under the ridge of a low hill. He must've walked right past it. His heart skipped a beat as he hurried towards it.

As he drew closer, Kamal shot up from the ground. She shoved something into her coat pocket as she stumbled to her feet. She looked terrible; her coat and face were dirty, her hair was a tangled mess. There was something unsettling behind her gaze. Kamal watched at him wearily, like she might nip if he got too close. Beorn slowed to a halt a few paces away. They stared at each other, both speechless. Beorn’s breath puffed from his mouth like smoke from a steam engine. He looked for the raven, but didn’t see Corac with her.

Kamal studied him with wide, dark eyes rimmed by dark circles. “Where’s Clasa?” She whispered hoarsely. It sounded like her voice was shot. 

"She’s safe." Beorn said. "She’s on her way to Dale with her brother and your friends.” His brow knotted with concern. “What happened?” 

Something shifted behind her gaze. Beorn wasn’t sure what he saw; anger, fear, hurt. Maybe all of the above. Kamal took a stuttering breath. Then she hiccuped. Her shoulders started to shake. Beorn’s blood ran cold as fresh tears dripped down her cheeks. He started to move towards her but stopped himself. Wait. You’ll scare her. The girl wiped at her nose, rubbing mud across her jaw by accident. “You left.” She whimpered.

Beorn deflated. He'd been dreading this. “I know."

"You said you wouldn't leave."

"I know. I'm sorry." Feeling utterly rotten, he looked down at her pitifully. Sighing, he lowered himself onto his knees, drawing the tapestry under his legs. His head rolled forward and he bowed low. Kamal watched the top of his head, momentarily stirred from her crying. Beorn sat up, his eyes cast to the ground to hide the sheen of tears. “I’m so sorry, little one.” He mumbled, his voice thick.  Kamal stood frozen in place. She was shaking. She’s still afraid of me, Beorn thought, his heart aching.

But then she took a step towards him. Then another. Soon, she was within arm’s reach. Beorn paused, waiting with bated breath to see what she’d do.

To his shock, she lifted her arms to him. 

Very, very slowly, Beorn leaned forward. He was extremely aware of how his large body cast a shadow over her. As stilted as an automaton, he gently wrapped one muscle-coiled arm around her back and the other behind her legs. He drew her off the ground, almost stopping when he felt her tiny heartbeat skyrocket. He brought her to his chest so she had something to lean on for support. Her head flopped onto his shoulder. She was still shivering, but it was only the chill of the morning. She didn't flinch as one of his hands gently caressed the back of her skull. “It's alright.” He stroked down the length of her hair, fingers barely making contact. “You’re safe.”

Beorn's skin was warm. Kamal felt his heart pounding under her chest. He held her close to keep her from keeling out of his grip. His coarse beard tickled her nose. She knew she should be scared. She was being lifted into the air by a giant, trapped under arms wider than her body. A giant just like Sverne. She knew he had the same teeth that had torn into her shoulder. And yet she wasn't afraid. Her body was exhausted. She could barely keep her eyes open. Utterly spent, she could feel herself melting; the rhythmic thumping of his heart and the warmth enveloping her made her eyes flutter.

Beorn stood slowly, Kamal held securely in his arms. He sighed; his rising chest lifting her up before it settled. “Ya know, if the elves ever find out where you've been, they're gonna kill me.” His ears perked as Kamal giggled weakly through her sniffling. He huffed. “Suppose I deserve it though, don’t I?” 

Kamal wiped her eyes on his shoulder. She smiled, gave one more soft laugh, and suddenly fell quiet. Beorn craned his neck and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her face finally passive. Her arms were drawn up between her body and his chest, hands folded under her chin. His stomach fluttered. There was still that bit of dirt on her cheek. He stopped petting her head and licked his thumb, quickly cleaning the blemish with one swipe. "Let's get you back." He muttered, and turned for Dale. 

Chapter Text

Beorn cradled the girl close as he lumbered down the embankment. The craggy remnants of Dale lay just up ahead.

Kamal sighed softly. Beorn slowed his gait, but she was still asleep against his shoulder. If he held his breath he could feel the little pitter-patter of her heart. He hadn’t held anyone close like this in a long time; well, anyone who wasn’t an animal. The last time he could remember was…

A little boy with scruffy black hair and pale grey eyes.

His mother’s eyes.

How foreign he felt in Beorn’s arms.

And how strange Beorn felt when he looked down and saw a little creature with his features and nothing behind his gaze.

Beorn shook his head. No. This isn't the same. She's not the same.

Sverne had brought her to him, inadvertently. The mark of his greatest shame was torn into her shoulder.

For so long, he'd let his past fade into distant memory. The wheel of time spun; the years slipped through his fingers. The feeling of the little body in his arms became too faint to remember.

There were signs… He let them pass. And then Sverne was grown.

Beorn moved his arm slightly so the broken metal shackle on his arm didn't press against the girl. Sverne was away hunting when Azog fell upon their people. Beorn’s son never returned to the Misty Mountains.

Soon only Beorn remained. But he knew he wasn’t completely alone in the world. One more may be out there. One more of his kin.

Beorn settled on the border of Mirkwood. He rebuilt. He waited. Still, no word from Sverne.

When he first heard of missing merchants, he thought nothing of it. Then more stories. Skinned bodies. Ransacked farms. There were signs. Although he knew, he didn't want to believe it. How could he bring himself to accept it? At the end of the day, he and his son were the last of his kind. He couldn’t bring himself to think that half of what was left of his people could be capable of such atrocities.

And then he met Kamal. In a strange twist of fate, she dredged his past back to him. He knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Beorn looked down at the girl and felt a pang in his heart. She was full of contradictions; she could be as fragile and skittish as a yearling, but when her blood got boiling she would lash out with untamed ferocity. Blamed him, even, right to his face for what Sverne had done. Her relentless pushing had made him angry. And he’d scared her.

Beyond the guilt and the shame, Beorn knew she told the truth. Although he’d joked about it on the Boatman’s barge, he still wondered if he was right; did someone send her to punish me?

He rubbed his thumb gently across her shoulder blades. Not punishment. A gift.

His only remaining family was the enemy. But she could be his new family. Or rather he could be part of hers. She seemed to have collected followers despite being dropped into Arda from a strange land. How she’d gotten the notorious prickly Mirkwood elves to help her was beyond him. Not to mention a whole posse of dwarves, equal to the wood elves in their distrust of outlanders. “You have yer own little army.” Beorn remarked under his breath. Kamal didn’t respond. Beorn looked back up towards the stretch of land ahead. “I’ll make this right. I promise.”

Mariam met Beorn by the gate when he returned with the girl. “How is she?”

“Cold.” Beorn replied. “She needs layers.”

Mariam sighed. “Aye, all of us do. I can see if there’re extra blankets, but most people grabbed only enough for themselves on the way out.” The woman eyed the child. “If you need your arms free, there’re some groups warming up in the old sanctuary. I think I saw Bard’s girls in there.”

Beorn didn’t really want to let Kamal go, but he did need his hands available if he was going to be of any help to the refugees. He was about to ask the woman to take Kamal when he remembered; “There’s a dwarrowdam, Clasa. She’s her guardian.”

Mariam nodded. “I know where she is. Follow me.”

Beorn started after the human across the old bridge. “Speaking of the boatman; any sign of him?”

Mariam shook her head, not looking back. “No. Not yet.”

They walked into the public square. It was in rough shape. The chipped stone was overrun with brambles and lichen. A sad excuse for a fountain rose in the center of the square. Tepid ice water sat low in its basin.

The refugees were huddled against the outer walls of disheveled buildings with caved in doors. The walls protected them a little from the full force of the winter gale. The people of Laketown were exhausted, but alive. They’d filed across the bridge into the entry gate of Dale, having eventually made their way into the center of the city. There was a quiet air of reverence about them; most had never set foot in their ancestral home. Haggard-looking men and women silently scurried about with kindling in their arms, hurrying to make fires.

Wind rushed into the square and Kamal shivered hard. Her eyes cracked open. She looked around groggily. “Where are we?”

“We’re in Dale.” Mariam piped up before Beorn could answer. Kamal looked down at the woman, brow furrowed in confusion. Mariam smiled up at her. “It’s good to see you, love. Your mum’s been worried sick about you.”

Kamal inhaled and pushed herself up. Then she shuddered, immediately pressing herself back against Beorn’s warm chest. “I-it’s f-freezing.” She said, crossing her arms.

Beorn chuckled and lay a hand over her back. “I know.” Heat radiated through his palm. “We’ll get you warmed up, just hold tight.”

Kamal nodded. Then her head shot up. “That’s Sigrid!”

At the east-facing end of the square, Sigrid was bundled up against the petrified bark of a scorched oak. She had a blanket wrapped around her, although her frame looked oddly bumpy.

Kamal started to squirm. Beorn, sensing her impatience, knelt and carefully let her drop out of his arms. Kamal stumbled on her feet and started towards Sigrid, ignoring Beorn and Mariam’s watching eyes.

Sigrid sensed movement and looked. She smiled. She tucked her chin down and whispered into the blanket before lifting it up. When Tilda peeked out, her face lit up. “Kamal!” She exclaimed. Kamal’s heart did a flip. Tilda wormed her way out of her sister’s embrace and started running. “You’re ok!”

Kamal was about to sprint towards her when an angry bark echoed across the courtyard. "KAMAL!"

Tilda skidded to a stop. Kamal blanched and looked towards the source of the shout.

Clasa was storming towards her, shoving tall folk out of her way. Even at a distance, Kamal could see her temple popping out of her head. Kamal yelped as she was swung off her feet and spun around. Clasa hugged her so hard that her lungs compressed. Then the dwarf held her at arms length, shaking her lightly "Are you out of your mind?!" She snapped. "You're in SO much trouble, young lady." Her voice was angry, but Kamal could hear the relief behind her tone. Clasa’s frowned deepened. “Why are you smiling? You think this is funny?”

Kamal hadn’t realized she was wearing a stupidly wide grin. She shook her head. “No.”

Clasa sighed, but she let a smirk slip through. She planted a rough kiss on Kamal’s forehead. Then, to Kamal’s surprise, the dwarf hooked her arm around her neck. She lowered Kamal’s head, and with her other hand gave her a noogie. Kamal’s squeezed her eyes shut. “Ah!” She squawked as she wriggled against Clasa’s hold.

Finally the dwarf relented and let her go. “That’s what you get for running off again.” She said. She put both hands on her hips and gave an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, girl, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Kamal rubbed her palm on the top of her head. The noogie left her skull tingling.

Clasa shook her head. She held out her arms, and without a second thought Kamal jumped back into her embrace. She buried her nose into Clasa’s long hair. “How’d you get out?” She mumbled into Clasa’s neck. Clasa smiled. “A friend of yours gave us a warning.” Kamal felt Clasa jab her head towards someone. “The big fellow.”

Kamal leaned back and looked Clasa in the eye. “Beorn?”

"Mm-hm.” Clasa’s returned her look with a stern, albeit curious, gaze. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

Chapter Text

“Let me get this straight… you think there’s even a slim chance that your crow was telling the truth?”

“He’s a raven.” Kamal corrected. “And it wasn’t just him. His family said so too.” She took a hearty bite of bread. It was the first bit of food she'd had in hours. She sat with Clasa in the shade of an old bell tower, the roof long-blown away by Smaug's fire. Kamal had been talking for at least an hour, trying to explain everything that'd happened since she left Laketown.

“Family?” Clasa asked.

“The other ravens.” Kamal replied with a full mouth. “They said the same thing as Corac. They said called me..." Kamal faltered. It sounded ridiculous.

Clasa frowned. "Called you what?"

"They called me 'Stone-breaker'. The biggest one said they were waiting for me." 

Clasa's only reaction was more confusion. Stone-breaker? She ran her fingers over her lips. "Where's your bird?"

"He stayed with them. He didn't come with me up the mountain." Kamal felt a pang of sadness. She missed him. 

Clasa glowered, pressing her chin into her palm. Kamal tilted her head slightly. "He's nice, Clasa. He saved me."

"I don't like that he left you." Clasa muttered. "... What did Thorin say of all this?"

Kamal shrugged. "They told him stuff, too. They wanted to help him. He let me go all the way up to the door, but they didn't want me going into the mountain."

Clasa exhaled the air she'd been gripping in her lungs. "Well, that's a relief. So there is a secret door..." Her mouth quirked up at the corners. "I'll be damned." But when the dwarf saw Kamal nervously picking at the hollowed out bread roll, her smile dropped. "Kamal you didn't go inside, right?"

Kamal flushed.

"Kamal."

 “I might've... walked in... a little... just into the front part.” Kamal mumbled. She didn't feel hungry anymore. "But..."

"But what?" 

"But then I had to tell Bilbo something, and some stones fell. We got trapped."

”Who’s Bilbo?”

"The short guy with the weird feet.”

Clasa hadn't met him. She withdrew her hand from her face. “How far did you go? When Kamal didn’t respond, Clasa went pale. “Sweet Mahal. Did— please tell me you didn’t go into the treasury.” Kamal pressed her lips into a firm line. Clasa’s eye started to twitch. She raked her fingers through her hair and fell silent. 

Kamal looked on worriedly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get stuck." Clasa still didn't speak. Kamal's heart jumped. "I thought they were going to hurt you." They being the Master and his men. "And Corac said they needed me there. I had to go." She felt the weight on the stone in her pocket. "Clasa?"

Clasa closed her eyes briefly. "You really scared me, Kamal.” She said in a low voice. 

The girl shrank back, all but forgetting the bread clenched in her fingers. She slowly placed it on the stone beside her and folded her arms around her middle. She felt nauseous. "I'm sorry."

To her surprise, Clasa snorted sharply. “Are you?” She muttered just loud enough for Kamal to hear. Kamal looked back up, her ears growing hot.

There was a firm crease between Clasa's brows. “Kamal… You can’t keep running away from me.” She shook her head. “You can’t.” 

“I said I’m sorry.” Kamal repeated, her tone a bit more terse than before. 

Clasa said nothing. Then she moved forward. Kamal tensed, but Clasa only held out her hand. After a pause, Kamal relented and took it, feeling a strong rush of déjà vu.

"I love you." Clasa said, staring into Kamal's eyes. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” When Kamal looked away, Clasa took her other hand and tilted the girls chin so she faced her. “I mean it.” Kamal nodded, but Clasa wasn’t convinced. “Do you have any idea how scared I was when you went missing? Not even a note left behind. What if something had happened to you? And then you leave again.” Clasa brought her fingers away from Kamal’s chin. Kamal prepared herself for a verbal lashing.

Clasa’s face was grim. “I’m sorry for whatever drove you out of the Hills. I am.” Clasa caught her cheek between her teeth before continuing. “But one day, you’re going to run off, and something’s going to happen and… and I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”

The guilt felt like a barb stabbed through her heart. It wasn't you. Kamal thought. It was never you.  She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. Don't cry.

Clasa used her own thumb and cleaned a bit of grime off Kamal's cheek. “From now on, we tell the truth. Both of us. Okay?”

Kamal nodded. "Okay." 

Clasa smiled, her chin wrinkling. Then she pulled Kamal into another deep hug. Kamal sniffled, trying her best not to let her nose drip onto Clasa's shoulder. The truth. “Clasa.” 

"Yes?” Clasa asked near her ear.

Kamal’s hand slipped into her coat pocket. She felt the shape of the wrapped stone. “I need to show you something.”

Darestrum and Hasdran both looked like they were about to faint. Kamal glanced at Clasa. It seemed like the dwarf was also waiting for their reactions. Hasdran’s eyes travelled up to his sister. “You’re joking.” Clasa only shook her head.

Darestrum blew out his cheeks like a pufferfish. He cursed in Khuzdul. "Kamal, do you understand how much this is worth? Why did you take this?” How did you take this? He wanted to add.

"Bilbo's the one who found it, but he gave it to me." Kamal explained. "All that stuff that Corac said... I think this is what the ravens wanted me to find."

Hasdran peeled his eyes away from the glow of the stone. "Why would the Ravenhill ravens want the Arkenstone?"

"Because they're greedy little shits." Clasa grumbled.

"I never saw any signs of them coveting it." Darestrum said. Clasa and Hasdran glanced up; they had forgotten that he was there when Erebor fell. Darestrum rubbed his temple. "Why now?"

Clasa hummed. "It may not be their plan. Thorin spoke of a master; someone pulling their strings. Did they give you any more instructions?" She asked her ward. Kamal shook her head.

"Useless birds." Clasa muttered.

“This is bad.” Hasdran pointed out the obvious. "Keeping an heirloom from its rightful owner is a crime. Treason when it's the line of Durin." He swallowed nervously, gripping the edges of his portable chair. "What do we do now?" 

"We can't exactly pass it back to them." Clasa said. "If they even know we have it..."

"I don't think they know." Kamal spoke up. "Bilbo didn't show Thorin. Only I knew."

Clasa raised an eyebrow. "He didn't show Thorin?"

"He said something was wrong with him."

The male dwarves looked at each other, both at a loss for words. Clasa broke the silence for them. "Thorin is afflicted by gold-sickness."

Dare and Hasdran's faces stretched in shock. "No..." Darestrum gasped. 

Kamal shuffled in her seat. "Bilbo said I needed to get the stone away from Thorin because it was making him sick. He almost..." She clammed up. Maybe there wasn't any need to mention Thorin's freak out. They got the point. She didn't need to stress out Clasa anymore than she already had.

Darestrum scowled at the floor. "Gold-sickness runs in Durin's line. His grandfather fell under its spell. His father's mind was weakened by tragedy, but he went completely mad. No one has seen him in years. Such a shame." 

"So he was already sick before he went inside the mountain?" Kamal asked.

"It may have lain dormant within him." Clasa said. "Reawakened by his grandfather's horde." Clasa rolled her neck. Her shoulders were stiff. "But we have a more pressing issue... we have a flock of homeless townspeople stuck on top of an unprotected ruin, and a band of orcs on their way here. Beorn said he saw them moving out from the South-Western edge of the forest. The dragon's gone. The mountain is open." She gestured. "If I were to guess, they're after the Erebor."

"Like vultures to a carcass." Hasdran mused sourly.

"Aye, but Beorn spotted them before Smaug fell." Darestrum pointed out. "They were going for the treasure with him still kicking around?"

Clasa shrugged. "Beorn said something 'emboldened' them. Regardless, they're coming and we can't stop it." Clasa lifted her chin. Her eyes were stern. "Hear me out..." The others leaned closer. "If we don't get these people out tof here, all of us will die. We need to reclaim the mountain before it's taken again."

Kamal gave her a look. "But didn't Thorin rec- reclu-"

"Reclaim."

"Reclaim it?"

"Yes, he has." Clasa said.

Darestrum narrowed his eyes. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with the mountain. This may be our only opening to get back to the Hills."

Clasa glanced over to her heart-daughter. Kamal watched her with keen eyes, her fingers curled protectively over the bundle.

"You're right." Clasa said to Darestrum. "I didn't. But everything's changed." She returned her gaze to her brother and mentor. "We can't let these people get overrun. Dale is useless against an assault. It can barely contain us as it is. We're all done for if we can't fortify behind Erebor's walls." 

The two dwarves didn't interrupt her. Their expressions were blank as she continued; "If Thorin's as bad as you say, Kamal, he's not letting any outsiders into the mountain, mark my words. But his company is less than fifteen strong. There's no way they can secure an entire castle. If we can get the people to the entrance..."

Kamal raised her hand. "The front part isn't a big door. I had to climb down a wall."

Darestrum frowned. "So there's only one entrance into the mountain, and you say it's difficult to access?"

Kamal nodded. "It was too high to jump from, but once you get up there it goes right into the castle part."

Darestrum's frown deepened. "We can't rush the palace if we need to climb in one at a time. This being if we can convince the townsfolk to help us." 

"You think they won't?" Hasdran wondered aloud.

"I dunno. I think they're all too worried about the men left behind." Darestrum said. "There's still no word of them."

Kamal looked at Darestrum. "Thorin said he'd bring gold back to them."

A sad waver passed behind Darestrum's eyes. "People say things they don't mean, Reed. He said what he had to."

Hasdran spoke; "If Thorin figures how to secure the entryway, he may actually be actually be able create a decent blockade. I wonder how long he could hole up in there."

Clasa rubbed her chin. "Kamal, were they well supplied?"

"They had backpacks, that's it."

Clasa raised her hand as if to say See?  "That may be enough food for a few days. Then?"

Darestrum rubbed the back of his neck. Then his eyes brightened. "The four that stayed behind in Laketown... they are with his company. They must know something of his plan. But I can't promise they'll be in the mood to talk, especially with how Kili's faring..."

Kamal perked up. "Kili?"

"Aye. You know him?"

She did. She'd heard that name ages ago, way back when she was in the Hills. "My sister-sons". "Isn't that Thorin's nephew?" She asked. 

The dwarves swiveled towards her. "Is he?" Hasdran asked.

"By my beard..." Clasa said, standing. "I'd forgotten, he does have nephews. I knew that blonde fellow looked familiar." She'd seen an illustration of the brothers in a manuscript documenting the line of Durin at the Iron Hills. "What about the other two? Are they family?"

"Dunno." Darestrum said. "But they're all loyal to him." 

Clasa's eyes shifted as she thought. "They are, are they?" She muttered. Her eyebrows jumped up. "They have his best interest at heart. And his best interest is getting him out of Erebor before he grows sicker."

Darestrum frowned. "You want them to turn coat just like that?'

"No. But we need them to help us help him." Clasa said. She crossed her arms. "... Because whether we like it or not, if we're going to get into, we need Thorin."

Hasdran and Darestrum looked uneasy. "What are you suggesting?" Hasdran asked tentatively. 

Clasa lowered her head, scanning the back wall as the cogs in her head churned. "Thorin has claim over the mountain. It's his birthright. I don't expect to him to leave Erebor without a fight." Her dark eyes flickered to the stone. "But if we had something to convince him to help us... a bargaining piece..."

Darestrum sat up. "That..." He sounded like he was going to argue, but his chest fell. "That could work."

Kamal listened intently. She was following along as best she could. She sat very still, absorbing everything, tucking the conversation into the back of her mind.

Hasdran shook his head, sitting back in his chair. "Clas... this sounds like a coup."

"No." Clasa said. "Not a coup. Just diplomacy. If we can convince his company we can help him, we can get these people to safety." She rolled her shoulders back. "I don't care if he festers in his treasure till the end of his days." Clasa said blackly. "I just need him to open the mountain." She pointed at Kamal's hands where the stone lay. "And that is our key."

Darestum nodded. "Do we send word to Dáin?"

Hasdran looked at him hopefully. "Would he be willing to help?" 

"Thorin is his blood. He'll want to help." Darestrum stood up. "I can see if they smuggled any of the messenger birds out of the village." 

Kamal and Clasa stood after him. "Thank you." Clasa said. Then Clasa her arms out on either side of her. "This must stay between the four of us." She looked at Kamal. "Not another soul, Kamal; not Beorn, not your friend. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Kamal said firmly. 

Hasdran took one arm and Darestrum the other. Catching on, the girl clasped each of the male dwarves' elbows so they formed a circle. "Blood of my blood," Clasa recited. The other three repeated her under their breath. Kamal smiled. She was finally back with her family. It felt good. Safe.

Should I tell them about the ghost? She wondered. She studied the other's faces. She'd hate to disturb the moment. No. Maybe later.

Chapter Text

While the Iron Hill dwarves conspired, the left-behind members of Oakensheild’s company huddled in the vestibule of a demolished town house. The high stone walls kept them out of the wind, but they kept close to the door in case the ceiling were to suddenly collapse. It had been years since Smaug had desolated Dale; they weren’t about to take the chance of a cave-in.

Bofur lit the tinder he’d scavenged from the dry trees, and soon a small fire was crackling. The light glowed upon the walls. As the vestibule grew lighter, the dwarves saw there were pictures on the stone. The bright colors of the frescoes were muted under a thin layer of ash. The paintings depicted humans dancing, eating, playing music. Childlike figures ran with paper kites trailing behind them.

While Bofur studied the walls, Oin looked through the doorway into the day beyond. A human would occasionally pass, but most had gathered in or near the town square. The dwarves had set up camp a little ways off in a quiet alley. They could tell just by the entryway that the house was large. The frescoes indicated someone who appreciated culture must’ve once lived here; perhaps a patron of the arts. I wonder if any of their descendants are in the square. Oin pondered glumly. Or if they all burned together that day.

Kili lay in the back corner of the room on a makeshift bed of blankets and coats. Fili sat cross legged at his younger siblings side. He’d draped his tan coat over Kili. Fili held his little brothers hand tightly. Shadows flickered past the open doorway as more refugees searched for shelter. It was odd to hear living voices among the ruins. Fili pressed Kili's cold knuckles to his lips. " It's alright ." He whispered in Khuzdul. Kili’s chest was so still Fili wasn’t sure if he was breathing. A frightened jolt ran up his spine. He held his fingers up to Kili’s mouth. There was some movement, but not enough.

Fili drew his hand back. His eyes itched with tears. “I'm here, Kili. S'alright." His eyes flicked down to the freshly bandaged wound on Kili’s leg. Pus was already leaking through. Dammit. Oin just cleaned it. Fili tried not to focus on how cold Kili's hand felt. "Kili, can you hear me?" The dark-haired dwarf didn't respond. His breath came thin and rasping from his parted lips. Fili swallowed hard. "You're as tough as stone. You know why?" He squeezed Kili's fingers. "Cause your a son of Durin. And a son of Dís." He smiled weakly. "And you know mother will kill me if anything happens to you."

Bofur looked at the brothers as Fili spoke quietly. Then his eyes met Oin’s. An unsettling message passed silently between them. Bofur cleared his throat. “Fili, we should move him closer to the fire. Warm him up a bit.”

Bofur helped the blonde dwarf slide Kili on the blankets a bit closer to the small fire. Kili’s skin looked grey, even in the bright light. Fili looked down at his brother, silent.

Oin put a hand on the young dwarf’s shoulder. He had no idea what to say.

Fili closed his eyes for a beat. He bit hard on the inside of his lower lip.  “I can’t believe he left us.”

“Time was ticking, Fili. You could’ve gone if you wanted.”

Fili shook his head. “Not without Kili.”

Out of his periphery, Fili saw Bofur’s eyes sparkle. His face was a strange mix of sadness and pride. “Aye. That’s why you’ll be a good king, son.”

Fili flicked his gaze towards Bofur, returning an unenthusiastic smile. He didn't care that he missed the end of the quest. That he'd abandoned his uncle, his leader, in his hour of need. This is where he needed to be: with his brother. “Oin?”

“Aye?”

“… How long?”

Oin paused. “I can’t say.” He replied, his voice gentle. He drew a long breath through his nose. “Just be with him… that’s all you can do.”

With his back to the doorway, Bofur suddenly shivered involuntarily. He tried to rub the chill out of his arms. “Brrr… you feel that?” He asked. He took a peek over his shoulder and nearly flew out of his skin. “AH!”

Fili and Oin jumped.

Two tall figures stood backlit in the doorway. Their silhouettes were human, but something about them was off. These weren’t villagers.

Bofur scrambled backwards. “You two?” He exclaimed, his panic turning to annoyance.

One stepped through, and as their eyes adjusted the dwarves' saw long, red hair flowing over their shoulders. The guard captain . Tauriel looked down at them with keen, fox-like eyes. Then her attention flickered to Kili. A twitch betrayed her concern. “Has he passed on?” She asked them all.

The directness of her question threw the dwarves off-guard. Fili drew the short-sword he’d received from the Laketown guards from it’s sheath. His ears burned with anger. "What do you care?"

Legolas slid into the entryway behind Tauriel. Tauriel moved a step closer and the dwarves lifted their weapons defensively. She stopped. She looked at the young dwarf’s festering leg wound. She could smell the sickness even at a distance. Her nose wrinkled.

She lifted her chin. "I believe he made a promise to return home." She said, speaking directly to Fili as if he was the only one in the room. Fili's eyes widened. How did she know of our promise to mother? Tauriel watched the shock pass over him before she continued. "Let me to help him keep his promise."

Fili stared at her, his chest rising and falling. The other two dwarves looked back at him, waiting for his response. Legolas remained by Tauriel’s side, unnervingly silent.

Bofur wet his lips. “Fili?”

Fili’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword. Then he released it. White-hot emotion danced behind his stern eyes. He squared his jaw. As he unclenched his teeth, the elf saw his jaw flex as if to hold back a sob. He looked at Tauriel dead in the eye. “Help him.”

Tauriel wiped the remnants of the Athelas paste onto the scrap cloth Oin had provided. “You did well to treat the wound before you left Laketown.” She said. “He could have suffered sepsis if you did not.”

“There wouldn’t be a wound if we didn’t have to run from you lot.” Bofur grumbled sourly.

“Bofur, leave it.” Oin scolded, though he secretly agreed. He turned to Tauriel. “We were lucky there was King’s Foil. Do you need more?”

Tauriel shook her head. “This will suffice. Legolas?”  Legolas peeled himself from the shadows.

“See if you can find fresh water.”

Legolas nodded. He pulled his hood over his ears and slipped outside.

As the elf left, Kili groaned. It was the first noise he’d made in hours. The dwarves perked up. “Kili?” Fili ducked next to his brother. “How you feeling?”

Kili’s glazed eyes cracked open. They swiveled wildly in their sockets before landing on the statuesque elf. Kili gasped. “What? What is it?” Fili asked, but Kili didn’t answer. He continued to gawk at Tauriel. “You…” He whispered, his words slurring, “You cannot be her. She is far away. She… she is far, far away from me. She walks in s t a r l i g h t in another world. It was just a dream."

The others stared at him in confusion. "What's wrong with him?" Bofur asked, turning his hat in his hands nervously.

Tauriel shook her head. "He may be having a strong reaction. The herb can have hallucinogenic properties when it enters the blood stream."

Oin crossed his arms. "I've been usin' King's Foil for years and I've never seen such a thing."

Tauriel grazed her pointer finger over her lips as she thought. "It could be a reaction between this specific poison and the medicine. His blood has been tainted for several hours. The athelas will strengthen his body enough to repel the toxins. Perhaps…”

Her train of thought was interrupted by Kili’s giggling. Kili tried to roll over and Fili caught him. "Whoa, easy."

"Do you think she could have loved me?" The delirious dwarf whined. Tauriel froze.

Fili blanched. "Ah-hah... Ignore him. He doesn't even know who you are."

"Tauriel..." Kili groaned.

"Who's Tauriel?" Bofur tested.

"She's... red. And... sharp." Kili made a limp-wristed stabbing motion. "She's sha-a-arp."

Bofur's nervous expression melted away and he grinned. He waggled his eyebrows at the elf. "Well, he's not wrong."

" Amrâlimê."

"All right, lad, that's enough."

Tauriel frowned. "I do not understand."

Bofur waved her off. "He's just rambling."

Tauriel suddenly met Kili's fever-glazed eyes. She saw something behind them; genuine feeling. Then Kili grinned. "Mmmmmm.... walnuts ."

"Ok, you need to rest." Fili laughed, standing up. He quickly leaned down and tapped Kili's forehead with his own. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

Kili continued to ramble as his fever broke. “Spiders…”

“There’re no more spiders, Kili, we’ve left the woods behind.” Fili answered patiently.

“Th’ biggish spider i’ere SEEN.”

“Yes. They were very large.”

Kili’s head rolled sloppily. “My leg…”

“It’s healing. Do you feel any pain?”

Kili just shrugged. “D’you see her jump on th’ spider? Wow.” He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. “Wow wow wow. How’she do that?”

Fili gave him a dead look. “I don’t know.” This better be the medicine; he’s acting like he’s actually smitten.

“Lass.”

Tauriel looked at Oin as he addressed her. He nodded his head towards the front-face of the entryway. She stepped aside with him. Bofur saw them gathering and headed over.

"Why're you here? The elf king send ya?" Oin asked.

Tauriel narrowed her eyes. "No. We came on our own accord."

Bofur grimaced. “Breakin’ the rules, are we?”

Tauriel stared daggers at him. Bofur stared right back. “So why are you here, then?”

Tauriel paused before answering with a question. “Where is Oakensheild?” Bofur and Oin shut up like steel traps. Tauriel had expected this. “Is he still in the mountain?” She asked.

Oin stiffened. That was answer enough. Tauriel shook her head. “What did you expect would happen? Fools, all of you.” She snapped acidly. “Thranduil warned you—“

“Thranduil locked us in a dungeon!” Bofur snipped back. “Or, really, you did under his orders.”

Tauriel’s face was turning the same shade as her hair. “He ordered you imprisoned to avoid exactly this.”

Bofur rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. He doesn’t give a shite about Laketown. You lot just hate us dwarves; it’s envy, plain and simple.”

Tauriel wanted to argue that actually, yes, the King cared a great deal about Laketown, if only for their trade agreement , but she wasn’t in the mood to explain.

“Well, yer never getting to Thorin now.” Bofur said, crossing his arms. “You lost, elf. Erebor is ours. So what’re you gonna do now, huh? Drag us back to Mirkwood?”

Tauriel was preparing a rash retort when Legolas stepped through the door with a full water skin. He took it to Fili. “To drink.” He said. Fili took it, nodding but still eyeing the elf wearily.

Tauriel’s attention turned to the blonde-dwarf. “You are his kin, are you not?”

Fili kept his back to her as he held the spout to Kili’s lips. “If you’re looking to use me for ransom, you’re out of luck.” He popped the cap back on the spout. “Thorin’s got no use for me.” Not true. He wanted you to come. Traitor. He glared at her over his shoulder. “I appreciate the help. We’ll call it even.” He finally twisted to face her. “But you elves have brought us nothing but trouble. So would you kindly fuck off back to your forest and leave us alone?”

Legolas and Tauriel exchanged a glance. Neither were sure how to proceed. They were too late to stop Thorin. Clearly there was a rift between him and his relative. “Why did you not go?” Legolas asked. Fili looked at him sideways. “Because of Kili.” His fingers gently took hold of the dark-haired one’s sleeve.

Legolas cocked his head slightly. “Your uncle was resolute in his quest. Are you not?”

Fili’s nostrils flared. “I am of the line of Durin. I hold my brothers and sisters above all else.” He exhaled slowly, his chest tight with stubborn anger. “If you think I'm a coward for not crossing the Lake, fine. I did what I had to.” He shook his head. “This kindness doesn’t shake that you held us captive; or that you abandoned us when Smaug came.”

Legolas frowned. “I doubt you were even alive to see it.”

Fili snorted. “I know enough stories.“

“From Thorin, I presume. A rather biased sourced.”

“My uncle is NOT a liar.” Kili got to his feet. Though he was small in stature, he was wide and sturdy. His golden hair flowed around him like a lion’s mane. “Now, like I said… Fuck. Off.”

The elves went quiet again, as still as statues. Fili looked into both of their faces, but couldn’t determine what they would do next. The only indication of life from them was when Tauriel’s shoulders suddenly rose as she inhaled. “Fine. We’ll take our leave.” Then she leaned over Fili. The dwarf bent backwards to meet her eyes. “But tell me first; There was a girl in Lake-town. Kamal.” Her eyes seemed to sharpen. “Where is she?”

Chapter Text

Beorn paced pensively. What’s taking them so long? The Iron Hill dwarves had been talking to Kamal for at least an hour.

He’d busied himself a bit while he waited; lifting carts that’d gotten wheels stuck in the shambled road, retrieving spooked goats and pigs, little things. Most people ignored him. They were still trying to get settled. Night was already creeping in around the edges of the sky, and they were in a race against the frost.

Beorn felt out of place among the low buildings; or at least they seemed low to him. He’d have to squat and turn sideways to get through any of the doors. He’d noticed while wandering around some of the portals seemed particularly short, until he realized they were made to dwarf proportions. Makes sense, given the trade between Dale and Erebor. Of course the city would accommodate both peoples .

He sensed movement to his right. The first thing he saw was the top of a little head of dirty blonde hair. It was the boatman’s youngest. Dammit, what was her name? They’d walked to Dale in the same pod, but neither spoke on the journey. She’d mostly clung to her older sister’s side. Speaking of…

“Where’s your sister?” He asked.

The girl wiped under her nose with her sleeve. “She’s getting food.” She craned her neck to look up at him. “Do you want any?”

He was surprised. Before, she’d been as timid as a mouse around him. He hadn’t exactly made a great first impression. “No, thank you.” He said. He was too frazzled to think about eating. He just wanted to see Kamal again.

The girl looked behind him. “Is she still talking to her Mum?”

“Aye.”

“… She’s not in trouble, is she?”

Beorn’s eyes softened. “No. She’s fine. They’re just having a little chat.”

The girl sighed dejectedly. “I didn’t get to say hi.”

Beorn looked over his shoulder to watch the closed door with her. “It shouldn’t be much longer.” He looked back down at his hands, picking his forefinger with his thumbnail. “I’m sorry if I frightened you earlier.”

Tilda leaned against the low stone wall. “S’ok.” She muttered.

Beorn felt a pang of guilt. Her Da still hasn’t come back. He struggled with the right words to comfort her when he was interrupted by the tapping of shoes on cobblestones. Her older sister was hurrying down the street, her arms loaded with bread and dried meat. Beorn couldn’t imagine what they would have done if people didn’t have time to grab supplies before rushing out of Esgaroth. His tongue curled in disdain at the sight of jerky, but he said nothing.

The older one, who he remembered was Sigrid, gave him a courteous smile. “Here, Tilda.” She passed her sister a roll. Tilda, that was it. Beorn thought. His eyebrows jumped as Sigrid held her hand out to him. In her fingers was a few pieces of jerky. “You should eat, ser.”

Beorn tried to hide his repulsion. “Thank you, but I don’t eat animals.” He held up his hand. “You girls go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

Sigrid looked surprised. “Oh.”

There was a bit of irony to it; two petite carnivore’s digging into animal flesh while a vegetarian three times their size stewed hungrily beside them, dreaming of honey cakes. He could eat the bread if he wanted, but their portions were like crumbs to him; and he wasn’t about to steal food from the mouths of babes.

Beorn’s keen ears caught the creak of an opening door. Kamal, Clasa, and Hasdran pushed in his chair by Darestrum, filed back outside. Kamal blinked in the sunlight.

Tilda’s grinned with cheeks full of food. “Kh-Mhl!” She chewed quickly and hurried around the wall to greet her friend. Beorn watched with a warm heart as the girls embraced each other. But he sensed eyes on him and looked at Clasa. The dwarf was studying him intently. We need to talk, her eyes belayed.

Tilda continued to grip Kamal tightly, rocking from foot to foot. Kamal held her back, a wide smile plastered on her face. She closed her eyes, basking in the hug.

“Come.” Beorn said, glad to see his charge again. “Let’s gather with the others. We don’t want to get caught in the cold.”

Sigrid tied the food up in a cloth and threw the satchel over her shoulder. “Tilda.” Tilda took Kamal’s hand and the girls formed a chain with Sigrid, taking the lead of the party. Beorn followed behind the rest.

Fathers play-fought with their little ones. Children scrambled around the ruins as they chased and tagged each other. Women talked and laughed in little pods by the fires scattered around the plaza. The town square pulsed with life, a patch of light on the hillside. It was as if Laketown had been plucked from the water and set down several kilometers uphill.

But not all was well; Many waited anxiously for those who’d stayed in Esgaroth. While some townspeople slept and others ate and sang, another group had gathered at the bridge.

Sigrid stood with the adults on the walkway. Night lay ahead like a black slab, almost as impenetrable as stone. She recognized a few faces in the torch-light; Tom’s father, Braga’s wife. Mariam was there as well; her husband was among the missing. Sigrid wrapped her arms around her middle as she shivered under her shawl. The night waited for her.

The darkness gave no sign of life. Sigrid thought of her sister; she’d left her with her friend and the dwarves in town. What if… What if I need to take care of Tilda? Granted, she’d been doing it ever since her mother had passed, but not alone. Da was always there. If Da doesn’t come back… if Bain… What do I tell her? What do I do?

Her heart hammered as the crowd started to walk across the bridge. The plan was simple; everyone would keep to the light and scour the hillside, retracing their steps. With luck, they’d find something. Someone.

Sigrid looked down into the valley; miles below, her home still simmered with dragon fire. Everything she’d ever known had been reduced to coals.

The search party inched downhill, eyes peeled for any sign of life. Frost-coated grass crunched under their feet. Sigrid focused on her footsteps, watching for potholes and roots. She couldn’t focus on her fear.

Minutes passed. A grim silence lay over them. Sigrid walked beside Mariam for a bit, but after a while the young woman swung to the outskirts of the crowd, keeping to the shadows.

People in Laketown prayed, but she rarely did. There was never time for prayer. But now, alone with her thoughts and the quiet sound of marching feet, she called out to whoever would hear her.

Please. I can’t take care of Tilda alone. Please, please, I’m begging you, please.

Time dragged on. The cold was bone deep. Some people started to call out names. “Tom!” “Hilde!” “Clark!” “Braga!”

Sigrid swallowed down the dry pit in her throat. “Da—“ Her voiced squeaked. She looked up, saw the torches bobbing in the black night. Her lungs swelled. “Da! Bain!”

Suddenly there was a shout. A torch-holder burst out of the fray, running alone into the pitch dark. People called after him. The torch swung as he stopped and yelled back, “Here! In the grove!”

Sigrid lifted her skirts and started to jog. The earth was uneven; she stumbled as she followed them into the hollow. The skeletons of trees loomed over them. Sigrid squeezed between bodies, jostling her way to the front until she found herself face-to-face with more people.

As the torch-bearers made a ring around the newcomers, the light flowed into the grove.

Sigrid halted. She saw a ruddy-face dotted with acne, and a weary man with kind eyes and dark hair.

Everything else fell away.

Sigrid’s breath left her body. She covered her face with her hands as she began to sob uncontrollably. Bain didn’t say anything as he walked up to her and nestled his head into the crook of her neck. Following his son, Bard wrapped his arms around his children, drew them in as close as he could, and they cried with joy.

Chapter Text

The only light in the dim room behind the old sanctuary was a smattering of candles on the floor. There was barely enough fire to give off any warmth. Bard and his children sat side by side on an old pew. Tilda slept peacefully against her father’s chest.

Bain’s cuts were cleaned and stitched up. He stared at a blank spot on the opposite wall, unnervingly still. Bard reached out and brushed his son’s bangs from his forehead. Bain, to his surprise, didn’t pull away. The boy’s eyelids fluttered.

“You can sleep if you want.” Bard offered. Bain shook his head. “I'm alright, Da.” He muttered.

A few feet away, the Iron Hill dwarves and their charge hovered around a stone nook. Kamal perched on the armrest of Hasdran’s rolling chair. Hasdran patiently braided her hair into a fishtail that reached her waist. His bruised fingers slowly folded segments of dark locks over each other. It felt good to get his mind off the pain. 

The door opened. Mariam and Beorn walked in; Beorn almost bent his body in half just to squeeze through the doorway. The skin-changer, finally dressed in a real (if not hastily made) set of trousers and tunic, shuffled in a crouch until he settled against the back wall. Mariam shut the door, her shoulders sagging. "Right." Her gravelly voice carried a tinge of bitterness. She turned to face the others. "Never in my 63 years have I seen anything like this." She looked pointedly at the dwarves and the outsider girl. "We have hundreds out there with limited supplies and a cold snap already on us. Not to mention orcs on the way. You say you have a plan?" She folded her arms, fighting back a shiver. "I'm all ears."

Hasdran's fingers fell still, the ends of Kamal's hair still wrapped around his knuckles. Clasa leaned off the wall. "Dale can't support these people. Our best bet is to get them to Erebor."

Mariam frowned. "Erebor? Erebor's destroyed."

"Not all of it." Kamal spoke up. Multiple pairs of eyes turned on her. She drew her blanket closer around her shoulders. "The dragon left most of it alone. And the part with the fire-pits and metal is working." She shivered hard. "It's warm there, and there's tons of room."

"Firepits and metal... you mean the forge?" Bard asked, perking up."They relit the forges?" 

Darestrum gave him a look. "What did you think that glow was?"

"Dragonfire."

Darestrum hummed. Alright, a fair guess.

Bard sat up. Tilda stirred a bit and he pulled her into a tighter hug. "It's a good idea, Mariam. I say we leave first thing in the morning." 

Clasa wet her lips nervously. "There's one small problem; Thorin Oakensheild has been taken by gold-sickness." 

Mariam exchanged a glance with Bard. "Gold-sickness?" She asked, eyes narrowing.

"It addles the mind, makes one angry and irrational. It's often trigged by proximity to dragon hoards. My people are particularly susceptible to it."

"... You're saying he went mad?"

Clasa shook her head. "He's going mad."

Sigrid clenched her hands in her lap. "Does that mean he won't let us into the mountain?"

“If they're gonna be arseholes about it, why not just break past them?" Bain slurred, barely able to keep himself awake. "We outnumber them 100 to 1.” He slouched and mumbled, "Sorry, Da. Shouldn't curse."

"No." Clasa said sternly. "Violence should be our last option." She grabbed her belt. "I’m no friend of Oakenshield— though I’m sure most of you already know that. But his company are not our enemies. I will not shed the blood of my brothers, nor allow your people to shed it willingly.” 

Kamal leaned towards Clasa. “Can I show them?" She whispered.

"You have something to say, girl?” Clasa and Kamal’s heads whipped towards Mariam. The woman unfolded her arms and put her hands on her hips. “Speak up.”

Kamal eyed Clasa, waiting for permission. Clasa sighed. “It’s alright. Go on.”

Kamal hopped off of Hasdran’s chair, her braid untied and loosening a bit at the bottom. She saw confusion flash across several pairs of eyes as she pulled the bundle out of her pocket. She folded the fabric back, and in an instant a pale blue light washed over the room. Voices pitched higher. Tilda groaned as the noise woke her. “Da?” She asked, squinting against the light.

Kamal looked down into the stone. Like captured starlight. A shiver ran up her spine as she felt something cold moving behind her. The light of the stone dimmed for a split second. Kamal heard shoes tap on the stone floor, but no one was moving. Still as a statue, she searched the room and saw only familiar faces— But she knew someone else was there. 

Clasa pointed at the stone. "This is the heart of the mountain. This is the greatest treasure in all of Erebor." The light of the stone danced in her dark irises. "If push comes to shove, this is our bargaining chip."

Suddenly, there was a heavy knock on the door. Before anyone could answer, it opened a crack. Kamal tucked the stone against her stomach, smothering the light. A small voice floated in. “Mrs. Mariam… Bard… someone’s here to meet you.” 

Mariam glanced at Bard. “Let them in.” 

The door widened. Four figures slipped into the room; two tall, two short. Kamal got a glimpse of curious faces in the sanctuary hall ogling the strangers just before the door shut. The two tall folk removed their hoods. Blonde. Red. Tauriel looked around the room, her brow knotted. Her shoulders were tensed. She looked like she'd sensed something. Then she saw Kamal. A smile jumped across her face as she recognized her. "Pîn mellon!"

And then her eyes fell on Kamal's hands. Kamal blanched.

Tauriel's mouth fell open. "Is that what I think it is?”

Kamal untucked the stone more from its cloth. The glow returned to the room for a split second before she covered it up again. She met Tauriel's wide eyes and just shrugged. 

One of the shorter figures barged forward. “Thief!” He snapped. It was the blonde dwarf who'd chased her in Lake-town. “How dare you!”

His companion grabbed him arm to stop him, but froze when he saw the stone. The blonde dwarf wrenched his arm free. Everyone moved at once; Tauriel grabbed Fili's collar like the scruff of a kitten; Legolas went for a knife; Beorn stood up too fast and smacked his head on the low ceiling; Mariam and Bard moved to shield Kamal, and Tilda squeaked as she nearly rolled onto the floor; Clasa and Dare stepped forward, ready to tackle Fili to the ground.

"Stop!" Kamal snapped. They all did. Kamal's face felt hot. She dug the soles of her shoes into the earth. "I didn't steal it. Bilbo gave it to me."

Fili's rage faltered. He stopped pulling against Tauriel's hold. "Mr. Baggins? No. He wouldn't..." 

"He gave it to me because he said it's hurting Thorin." 

"Hurting him?" Fili's gaze traveled to the other dwarves. Clasa nodded. "Gold-sickness." She confirmed. "Dragon-sickness... call it what you like."

Fili's face paled. First I almost lost Kili, now this? His mouth felt dry.

After catching her, Bard eased Tilda out of his arms. She climbed into her father's seat as he addressed Fili. "How is your brother, Master Dwarf?" He asked, his voice low and gentle. 

Fili blinked. "H-he's well. He's recovering."

Beorn huffed in the corner. "He actually made it? That's incredible."

Fili looked at his shoes. He mumbled something under his breath. "Pardon?" Bard asked.

Fili sighed. "I said the elves helped." He spoke like the words stung his tongue.

Clasa looked down, the wheels turning in her head. Then in two long strides she planted herself between Fili and Kamal. Fili stood about an inch over her, but he seemed to shrink a bit in her presence. Clasa dug her tongue into her cheek. "Listen to me, son of Durin..." She glanced at Bofur. "And you too, son of whomever. There are orcs headed this way as we speak. No one is equipped to fight, and we all know Dale is no fortress. Only Erebor can offer the protection we need."

Fili stiffened at the word orcs. "If Smaug is gone, the mountain is under my uncle's command. I know he would welcome refugee's with open arms." Clasa frowned. Fili matched her suspicion. "You doubt me?" He asked accusingly. 

"He did let us get locked up in jail, lad." Darestrum said. 

Fili fumbled. "He... he was under an immense amount of pressure... Durin's day was..." He thought of his uncle turning away from him and stopped talking. 

Clasa nodded to Tauriel. Tauriel released Fili's collar. The dwarf made a show of repositioning his coat. He cleared his throat, straightening himself up. When he looked back at Clasa, he suddenly worried that she was about to slap him across the face. To his relief, she kept her hands on her belt.

The darrowdam moved even closer to Fili. The candles under-lit her face eerily. Her dark eyes seemed to burn red. She leaned close to his ear and whispered in Khuzdul. "Listen to me." She said, just loud enough for Fili to hear. "These people have nothing because of you and your company. As far as you should be concerned, the only thing keeping them from drawing and quartering you right now is the promise that you'll return their gold." Clasa sensed the humans trying in vain to listen in on her periphery. "How do you think they're going to react when Thorin refuses to part with a single coin?"

The thinly-veiled threat was not lost on Fili. "I'm his kin. I can reason with him." Fili set his jaw. "My uncle is honorable."

Clasa smiled, putting the non-khuzdul speakers slightly at ease. "He almost got my heart-daughter killed. His greed destroyed a village." Clasa tried to keep her tone even to not betray her anger. "You say he's honorable? Have him prove it. And then..." She jutted her head to Kamal's hands. "We'll return the Arkenstone."

Fili clenched his teeth. "You say it's affecting him..."

"The Arkenstone is his birthright. It belongs with Thorin." Clasa tilted her head. "The hobbit could easily be wrong. If he's ill, the source is likely Smaug's hoard, not this. Besides, what choice does he have? You know he cannot rule without it."

Fili went quiet. He seemed to be lost in his own head. He took a shaky breath. "I must ask for one more thing." He said in Westron. Clasa glowered at him but didn't interrupt. Fili swallowed. "Will you help me save him?"

Nobody moved a muscle. Clasa exhaled slowly through her nose. "Elf." Her attention snapped to Tauriel. "You're a healer?"

Tauriel studied the dwarrowdam. "It's not my specialty, but I am trained." 

Clasa nodded. "We need to coax the sickness out of Thorin. In that regard, your magic would be indispensable."

Tauriel nodded in return. Satisfied, Clasa leaned away from Fili and held out her arm. Fili paused for a beat before taking it. Clasa dipped her head approvingly. "You get these people into Erebor, and we'll save your uncle from madness." Her fingers clawed into Fili's sleeve. "Deal?"

Fili almost smiled. "Deal."

Chapter Text

Oin, Bofur, and Fili ascended to the open walkway using a rope sent down by the others. Fili came up last on his own insistence. He accepted Bombur’s arm and hauled himself onto the balcony. “Some entrance”, he laughed, clapping Bombur’s shoulder.

The other dwarves clamored over each other to inspect Fili. “You’re alright!"

Bombur's eyes widened, "Wait, where's Kili?"

Fili waved his hand. "He's fine; he's recovering."

"You left him alone?"

"No with... a healer."

Bombur and the rest exhaled a single relieved breath. Fili smiled, a little winded from the climb. He playfully wiped at Bombur’s face. “What’s all this mess? You step a little too close to dragon fire?”

The heavy-set dwarf chortled. "We're getting the forges up an’ running again.”

Fili's eyes glittered. "They're working?" He felt his focus drifting and shook himself. Then he noticed Nori’s hauberk. “What’s with the get up?”

Nori picked at his armor  to show it off. “Do ‘ya like it? It’s just my size.”

”The whole armory got blasted open.” Gloin said. “There’s enough for an army and then some.”

Fili titled his head. “An army? We're expecting a fight?"

The others glanced around nervously. "We've been making some preparations." Gloin explained.

Bofur and Oin looked at Fili, waiting for his reaction. Fili looked uncomfortable. "Preparation for what, exactly?" He asked. 

Nori shrugged. "Word's gonna spread about Smaug goin' down. And the humans are sitting a little close for Thorin's liking." 

Fili's frown deepened. "They're refugees."

Nori blanched. "Wasn' me... that's just what Thorin said." 

Sweet Mahal, Fili thought. If Clasa is right... "Take me to him." 

Thorin paced across elevated dais. He looked up at the enormous stalactite hovering over his grandfather's throne. It had always made him antsy. As a much younger dwarf, he'd imagined it breaking off the ceiling and shattering the throne beneath it. He looked at the empty mold where the arkenstone once resided. When it was in place, it glowed around Thror like a star. 

Without its brilliant light, the hall was dark and menacing. The only light came in from skylights hundreds of feet above. It must've been cloudy that day, for the light was weak and grey.

The grand hall was frigid. He was too far from the forges to enjoy their warmth. It'd been a while since he'd isolated himself. He'd slept against the base of the throne. He refused any drink or food. The only thing he'd accept from Balin was a thick fur cloak. "I need to think." Thorin had answered when Balin had tried to coax him to eat again. But in truth, he didn't want to see the company. In particular, he didn't want to run into Bilbo.

I did something… something… already his mind had blurred the memory. He wished he could recall what he’d said. He just remembered their eyes; how scared they looked.

He plopped down on the stairs leading up to his grandfather's seat. The stone. He clenched and unclenched his hands. It has to be in the hoard. He needed to search.

No. No, you can’t leave.

He started to stand.

No.

He gasped as his legs buckled under him. He knelt, pressing the heels of his palms to his forehead. Mahal… the dizziness. Exhaustion and a feverish panic battled each other inside him. His skin itched under his clothes. “Up…” He ordered himself, as if he could command his body to listen to him. “Come on. Stand, you fool.”

Stand.

Thorin froze. It's just the echo, he thought. He eased himself upright. As he got to his feet, he heard the reverberations of footsteps on stone and looked up. 

Dwalin was briskly walking towards him down the main path. Thorin's heart skipped a beat. "What's wrong?" He called, immediately assuming the worst.

But Dwalin shook his head. To Thorin's surprise, the burly dwarf smiled. "It's Fili. He's back!"

Dwalin and Thorin hurried into the neighboring chamber. About half of the company waited for him a few yards down the hall. Thorin's excitement faltered slightly when he saw two dwarves who certainly not his nephew. Still, he was glad they were safe. "Oin, Bofur." Their names felt foreign on his tongue, though he couldn't tell why. 

Bofur grinned back. "Thorin! Look who we brought ya." And then a familiar head of blonde hair stepped forward.

Thorin lit up. The gloom around him burned away in an instant. "Fili!" He barreled towards him, arms outstretched. Fili stiffened as his uncle embraced him. “You’ve returned to me! Thank Mahal you're safe.” His brow furrowed. "Where's your brother?"

"He's in Dale, Uncle. He made it."

Thorin beamed. He closed his eyes and tapped his head against Fili's. “Welcome home, Azaghîth.”

Fili inhaled sharply. He hasn't called me that in years. As Thorin released him, Fili took a moment to take him in. This Thorin seems alright. Happy, even. Had they been wrong?

"What blessed timing." Thorin's grin widened, but Fili notice a slight glaze in his eyes. "I need you, Fili. The arkenstone... it is lost."

Fili tried to keep a straight face. "Lost?" He asked.

Thorin gestured with his fingers. His nephew leaned in closer, away from seeking ears. "I fear there is a usurper in our company."

Fili swallowed dryly. "What do you mean?"

Thorin glanced past him; the other dwarves waited pensively. "We'll speak of it later." He whispered. He leaned back and spoke loud enough for the others to hear. "Did the men give you any trouble?"

"Trouble?" Fili asked. "No, what trouble?"

"They're already looking to the mountain." Thorin's eyes shifted warily. "I can sense it." He shook Fili a little too hard by the shoulder. "We need to get you fitted for battle. Something for Kili as well once we get him home. We must be prepared for anything." He spun on his heels. "Come. To the armory."

Fili stood still, stunned by his uncle's odd enthusiasm. "Uncle?"

Thorin slowed. "Hm?"

"About the menfolk... we have a problem."

Thorin’s mood swung as quickly as he turned. "Is it Kili? Have they imprisoned him?"

"What? No." Fili straightened himself. Stand with pride; don't milly-mouth. You're a son of Durin, for pity's sake. "I've learned that a host of orcs is en route to Erebor. If the men are left to their own devices, they will never survive."

Thorin frowned. Fili could almost hear the walls coming up around him. "What are you saying?" Oakensheild asked.

"We should give the men shelter. There's more than enough room for all of them." Fili glanced around the room. "And to be honest, uncle, I don't think you have the provisions to last longer than a week. They'll share their reserves. And think of the peace we can broker."

"Peace?" Thorin scoffed. "We already have them in our pockets."

Fili raised his eyebrows. "We are technically the reason they're homeless in the first place.”

"They can thank Smaug for that."

Unease rose in Fili's gut. "Are we not the one's who woke the dragon?"

"We did what we promised.” Thorin's fingers curled into fists under his cape. "Dale is theirs. They can fend for themselves. I will not let another outsider into these halls."

Fili sighed, his temper bubbling. "They are exhausted. They don't have the defenses we have."

"I know the ways of men... They’ll leach off of our gold, just like their ancestors did."

"They’ve no use for our gold if they’re dead. Use your head. If you bring them in, you’ll be hailed as a hero."

"NO." Thorin snapped, suddenly closing the space between them. He got up in Fili's face."I will not welcome a fox into a hen house. I know their nature. I know their greed."

Fili's tucked his tongue between his teeth. "You’re in no position to speak." He grumbled.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Watch your words." He warned.

Fili had to turn away before he did something rash. He won't do it. He felt a sharp pain in left side of his chest. How he wished it hadn't come to this... "I know where to the stone is."

Silence hit him like a strike across the face. Thorin's eyes grew red at the corners but he didn't speak. 

Fili continued; "It's in Dale. I've seen it with my own eyes." He decided on the spot not to mention Bofur's presence at the meeting. Better to keep him out of it. 

Rage contorted Thorin's features. "I was right." His voice dropped into a low rumble. "She stole from me."

Before Fili could correct him, he felt a new presence at his side. 

“No, she didn’t.”

Fili looked down and saw Bilbo beside him. Fili hadn't even heard him come in. Silent hobbit-feet; Their small magic. 

Thorin almost jumped. He took a step back. His mouth tugged like his jaw was unlocking. "You?"

"Thorin, let me explain.”

Thorin's struggled to maintain his anger as a new emotion rose behind his eyes. He looked heartbroken. "Why?"

Bilbo cleared his throat. Fili wished he had something to protect to hobbit with. All he had were his hands.

"I'm trying to help you, Thorin." Bilbo's voice cracked. "I was going to give it to you, but... it's for your own well being."

Thorin pulled back farther from the two of them. "It is my birthright." He said quietly.

"Thorin, are you listening to me?"

Several dwarves audibly gasped as Thorin suddenly reached for his waistband. Instinctively, Fili dove forward and grabbed Thorin's arm. He was horrified to see Thorin's fingers had already taken the hilt of his short sword. He wouldn't actually... 

Before he could finish the thought, Thorin head-butted him. Fili cried out in pain.

Thorin swung his arm back; but his grip was loose and the sword went clattering out of his hand. He roared in frustration. "Traitors, all of you! Have I no allies left?" Thorin felt so heavy he could barely stand. This coat... the weight. His eyes landed on Bilbo. "How could you?" He gasped. He floundered before finding his feet. Loose hair fell over his eyes.

Guilt lay bare on Bilbo's face. Fili set his jaw and pushed himself between the hobbit and his uncle. “Thorin, don’t.”

Bilbo slipped back into the shadows, his eyes as wide as saucers. Dwalin stepped forward in his place, his brass knuckles glinting in the faint light. 

Thorin shook his head in disgust. "Smaug is not my fault. You knew what you signed up for when you joined this company."

Dwalin harrumphed. "Aye, I did— everyone in the company did. But those poor souls outside sure didn’t." He raised his fists. "Don't make me do this."

But Fili threw his arm out and Dwalin stopped. 

Fili straightened his spine. An ugly bruise was already blossoming on his forehead. He sniffed back the moisture dripping from his nose. "I cannot live with myself if we don’t make up for what happened. They won’t harm us, I promise." He quickly wiped under his nose and composed himself. "I know you're still in there, Thorin. Greet them as a king. Show them who you really are."

Thorin starred daggers through his nephew. "I know who I am. It’s you who’s forgotten yourself." He snarled. "Your mother would be ashamed."

Fili's heart beat gonged in his ears. He doesn't mean it. He thought, squeezing his eyes shut briefly to keep down the rising tears. He's sick. He didn't mean it. 

Thorin leaned forward, looking at the floor. He muttered something under his breath, his words slurring. Then, with shocking force, his fist went rocketing towards Fili.

Fili was fast. He bent back, missing Thorin's knuckles by a millimeter. As Thorin followed through with the momentum, Fili snapped his elbow forward. Elbow hit cheekbone, and Thorin hit the floor.

“So help me, I will save you!” Fili snapped. He pressed his knee into Thorin's spine, pinning him down. “Whether you want me to or not!” 

Thorin's eyes jumped around the hall. "Help me!" He cried.

But no one moved.

Khuzdul expletives hurled from Thorin's mouth. He writhed and lashed. Fili could feel himself losing his hold. The others reached for their weapons, but they were too afraid of hurting either party to move into the fray.

Suddenly, Fili felt a shadowy presence return to his side. As he looked up, the hard surface of a welding helmet went flying past his nose, almost smashing it. Fili felt an ear-ringing CLANG shiver up his arms as the metal collided with the back of Thorin's skull. Thorin went limp on the floor.

Fili stared in shock as Bilbo threw the helmet off to the side. He was breathing heavily, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry." He whispered, as if he wanted his words to only reach Thorin's ears. 

Thorin's eyes fluttered open. He squinted in the soft light. Cloth? He was surrounded by cream-colored drape and lying on something soft; a mattress. Where am I? He winced. Augh, my head.

The cloth, or whatever material it was, looked soft to the touch. But as he tried to reach up to feel it, he found he couldn't move his arms or legs. His spirit nearly left his body. He looked down at his hands. They were attached to the bed frame by buckled bindings. His ankles were also bound. "Fuck," he hissed in Westron, trying to bend his fingers to get at the buckle.

"Good morning, Oakeshield."

Thorin stopped fiddling with the binding and turned his head to the left. To his surprise, there was another person in the small room. He groaned internally as he caught sight of pointed ears. What is this? He wondered, but instead he asked, "Where is my Company?"

The elf eyed him for a moment. "Away." He answered flatly.

Thorin scowled at the stranger. The elf cocked an eyebrow. "They are in Erebor." He elaborated. 

Lightning danced up Thorin's spine. "Where have you taken me?"

"I'll keep that information disclosed for the time being."

Thorin's nose wrinkled in disdain. "You're with Thranduil, aren't you?" When the elf didn't reply, Thorin snorted. "I knew that bastard would catch up to me. So what is this? A more decadent cell than his dungeons?"

The stranger was quiet for longer than his liking. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. "I'm not here on your behalf. And no, you are not imprisoned."

Thorin flexed his fingers. "Explain this, then."

"Precautions."

"Hmph. So what does your king want? It's those white jewels, right" 

To Thorin's displeasure, the elf cracked a wry smile. "I can see why King Thranduil holds such a high opinion of you. But no." He stepped closer to the cot. "To be brief; It's been nearly a week since you lost consciousness. Your Company, as you call them, has entrusted me to keep an eye on you as you heal. Thranduil has brought provisions of the refugees of Laketown on his own accord. And from what I last heard, the mountain has been opened to the people of Dale." A sneer threatened to twist his neutral expression. "A decision I understand you strongly opposed."

Thorin's eyes widened. He remembered... Fili. He said something that hurt him. Mahal, what did I do? He glared at the elf. "Do you think I'm simple? You lie. Your people don't give freely."

The elf shrugged. "Then call it a change of heart. Regardless, at the behest of your nephew you're to stay here until you recover."

The walls moved slightly. Thorin heard wind. Is this a tent? We're outside?  He swallowed hard. "Recover from what?"

"Elves have different names for it; they don't translate well to Westron. But you are ill, Master Dwarf. And unfortunately it take more than a concussion to heal was ails you.”

Thorin’s neck prickled. "I am not sick."

“I beg to differ.”

Thorin strained carefully against the cuffs. "You can't keep me from my company."

"I will until I am assured you will not harm them."

Thorin stopped. "I-I wouldn't..."

"I've heard differently."

"...Fili. We... it was a family spat."

"He said you drew a blade on him." The elf tapped his own forehead. "And he was struck by a blunt force on the head."

Thorin shook his head, but he could feel his throat closing up. "I don't remember."

"Exactly." The elf zeroed in on the bruise on Thorin's forehead. It matched Fili's mark. "Tell me, do you feel any more clarity now?

But Thorin refused to answer. He stared at the tent wall, his breath blasting out of his nose is short bursts.

"All I will say is that we've moved you outside of Erebor. Fresh air is beneficial for the body and mind."

Alarm blared in his head. He suddenly thrashed upwards, the cuffs straining but holding strong. "You moved me WHERE?"

"Erebor is sordid. There is too much decay—" But he was cut off as Thorin roared at the top of his lungs. There was a flash of bright light; three more elves entered the tent. The dark-haired elf held his hand out and his attendant silently passed him a vial filled with moss green liquid. Hold him, The healer ordered the guards. The two guards braced their weight on Thorin's shoulders. The attendant pushed on Thorin's legs. The dwarf was practically foaming at the mouth. "No! I didn't come this far-- Augh!!" His frantic shouts diminished into enraged screams. 

In a flurry of movement, the healer had him by the jaw. Surprising strong fingers forced his mouth open. The elf poured the contents of the vial inand covered Thorin's mouth and nose with his hand. He was unfazed by the fighting, the screaming, the panic. This was not the first hysterical patient he'd dealt with. 

Fought as he did, the liquid eventually went down. Numbness flushed through Thorin's system; hot and cold at the same time. "Not this far for... for..."

The healer waved his hand and the guards left. The attendant stayed in the tent. The healer stood and straightened his crisp apron.

“Can’t be... for nothing.” Thorin mumbled.

”It won’t be, if you cooperate. The only thing that will heal you is time.” 

Tears welled behind Thorin's eyes. "I am not my grandfather." He muttered, and he slipped into sleep.

Tulusdir met him with a cold stare. "Rest, Oakensheild. You will need your strength." 

Chapter Text

Fili's leg bounced nervously. "Any word?"

Tulusdir took a sip from his wooden tea cup. "He's about the same." He glanced down at the fidgeting dwarf. "You did the right thing."

Fili put his hand on his knee, forcing it still. It doesn't feel like the right thing. 

The elf and dwarf sat on a low stone wall within earshot of the healer’s tent. About a stone’s throw away was the entryway into Erebor; the one from which the girl had escaped. With the help of the skin-changer and some of the elves’ horses, stones had been cleared to allow easier access into the mountain. Without proper machinery or firepower to blast away the rest of the rubble, the elves and men made do by positioning runners to move goods between the elevated mouth of the cave and the ground outside. The only ones who stayed within the walls at all times were the young, the infirm, and their caretakers. Others were content to camp on the slope of the mountain. But at night, Erebor offered shelter against the cold for all.

Even now, near midday, the daylight offered little warmth. Fili looked over at the tent. "What did you say to him?" Fili asked.

"I said that you and your company are safe. I also told him Thranduil sent aid." 

Fili exhaled. "Was that when the screaming started?"

"No, that was when I told him he was no longer in Erebor."

Fili rubbed his hands down his face. "Mahal's Balls." As Fili touched his face, he felt the ache of the bruise on his forehead. It had almost healed, but it was still plenty sore. His stomach churned. "So is it working?"

"Time will tell." 

"Hmph." The dwarf huffed, disappointed. Although he had more questions, he didn’t have the energy to ask. Mostly he wanted to find a quiet room to lie down in. But no such luck; there's still work to do. Fili stood to leave. “I appreciate your help. I’ll return this evening, if it’s alright.” 

"Master Fili."

Fili turned to see the elf eyeing him. Tulusdir lowered his cup to his lap. "You're compassion for your uncle is admirable."

Fili's jaw reflexively tightened as he waited for the elf to spit out a back-handed comment. 

"It is my personal opinion that you would make a fine ruler." Tulsudir finished. 

Oh. Blood rushed into Fili's ears. For a moment, he was dumb-stuck into silence. The elf waited patiently for his response.

"I..." Fili cleared his throat. He could feel his face getting redder. "Erebor belongs to Thorin."

Tulusdir nodded. "Of course." He said, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. 

Fili studied at the elf but couldn't get a read on him. "Ihavetogo." He fumbled, hurrying away before the healer could say anything else.

"Hugo? Your grandfather was Hugo?"

The shaggy-headed man grinned. "Aye. You knew him?" 

"I'm a custodian of the shoreline; of course I knew him."

The refugees had been thrilled to receive gifts from the woodland realm, but most weren't quite sure what to make of the elves. Mostly the two groups kept to themselves, save for those who distributed Thranduil's gifts.

By the third day, a proper camp had been established on the hillside beneath the mouth of the cave. Bonfires were carefully maintained by tireless elves, much to the appreciation of the exhausted Lakemen. They mingled amongst their own; there was enough preparation needed to occupy everyone’s time. 

But as days passed and the long hours ticked by, a few humans driven by curiosity decided to join the flame-keepers.

The scruffy man who'd confidently sat himself next to the elf nodded, chuckling. "He told me of you. Said you were always up in his business."

The elf couldn't quite believe what he'd stumbled upon. A grandson? I could’ve sworn Hugo was only a young man. When did I last see him? He felt ashamed that he couldn’t recall. He smiled. "When I find his barrels littering Thranduil's beaches, isn't it my duty to be 'up in his business', as you say?"

The human prodded the smoldering logs with a long branch. "Oh, he couldn't stand you."

The elf's ears flicked down. The man noticed and quickly waved his hands. "I'm just joking, mate." He worried for a moment if he'd actually insulted the elf. Didn't think they were so thin-skinned, he thought. To break the awkwardness, he clapped the elf on the back, but to his dismay the elf looked even more frazzled. The man quickly tried to brush it off. "Just a joke. Grandpa Hugo like ya. He talked about you lot all the time." He snorted. "He had some stories, let me tell you. "

The elf rolled his shoulder. He was still a little stunned that a stranger had struck him. Is that a human custom? "Liked me?"

The man's smile broadened. "Said you were a good friend, even as he was passing on."

The elf's heart dropped. "He's... I suppose it's been many years."

The man shrugged. He set the branch down and rubbed his hands in front of the fire. "Must be nice not having to worry 'bout dying."

"That's not necessarily true."

"Aye, but it's not a given, is it? Not like it is for the rest of us." 

The elf stared at him, startled by the human's casualness about his own mortality. Said human tucked his cold hands into his armpits. "Do you really give a shite about what a barrel-driver thought of you, or you just being nice?" 

The elf paused. "I do care."

The man's eyes softened as he watched the flames. "Do you think... am I like him?" He met the elf's gaze and ran his hand across his beard. "Do I look like him?"

The elf contemplated the man's face. The human's smile had faded. His eyebrows crooked over wide, hopeful eyes. It took a moment for the elf to realize that he hadn't answered the question. "Yes. You're the spitting image."

The man's reaction made a strange warmth flush through the elf. The human sat up, hand still cupping his jaw. He continued to watch the fire, but he couldn’t hide his excitement. The crow's feet around his eyes crinkled. "I knew it." The man opened him mouth to ask another question but stopped himself.

His new companion sat up rigidly like a dog who'd caught a scent. His eyes flicked around with intense focus.

"Y'alright?" The man asked.

“You don't feel that?"

The man looked around, befuddled. "... No?" He jumped a little as a charred log cracked and tumbled in on itself. As it spewed white ash, the man saw the elf's gaze train on someone passing by. It was the little outsider girl; the one always accompanied by dwarves. She was walking with her guardian through camp. The man side-eyed the elf. "You're jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

The idiom momentarily broke the elf from his stupor. "Pardon me?"

"Why're you so nervous?"

The elf's traced his nails over the pad of his thumb. "Something’s amiss."

"Oh, I see. You’re just on edge cause of the orcs.”

"No… it’s something else.” He met the man’s eyes. “Something dark…” 

The man leaned away, a sudden chill rushing up his spine. He didn't like when the elves got quiet like this. Scanning the nearby bonfires, he saw that his companion wasn't the only the put off by girl's presence. Whenever she went, the Silvan people raised their hackles. He looked at his companion and forced a smile. “It’s fine, mate. It’s just a bad feeling. It’ll pass.”

Kamal pretended not to notice, but she was well aware of how uncomfortable the elves were around her. She didn't understand why. They'd been awfully nice to her in the woodland kingdom, but now most avoided her like the plague. Even Tauriel and Legolas got antsy in her presence. What's wrong with them? She wondered, the thought immediately followed by. What's wrong with me?

She realized that was a stupid question. Because although he'd "disappeared" for a few days, she knew Ghost was still following her. She could feel him nearby even now. Can the elves sense him too? None of them had said anything. On occasion, Kamal had tried talking to Ghost to beckon him out of hiding, only to get caught by passerby's and play it off as if she wasn't chatting to empty air. No wonder they think I’m a freak.

Kamal reached reflexively to feel her coat pocket, only to be met with disappointment when she remembered it was empty.

The Arkenstone had been confiscated right after the meeting in the sanctuary. Of course they weren't going to let a nine year old keep the Heart of the Mountain in a hand-me-down jacket. She wasn't sure where it was now, but apparently Clasa had her guards keeping an eye on it. In addition, she’d heard that Thorin's company was watching it too, and Thranduil's people, AND a few guards from Laketown. How are they all watching it at once? She wondered. Are they all just staring at it? Do they take turns? It seemed like with that many people guarding the same thing, they were really just watching each other, waiting for someone to try to snatch it. It sounded exhausting. 

“Kamal.”

Kamal realized that she'd fallen behind. Clasa had stopped up ahead to wait for her to catch up. The girl picked up the pace.

As they passed through the main clump of tents, the pair was met by a blast of frigid air. Clasa held down a shiver. Should've stayed in the Hills... at least it's temperate there. She wrinkled her nose at the cold earth. Bullshit snow. She looked up to check the sun, still walking briskly. We're going to be late. She reached back and felt for Kamal's sleeve. Once she found it, she pinched the coarse fabric between her fingers and pulled her ahead. "Walk ahead of me, please." It didn't matter where they were; she wasn't about to let her child out of her sight again.

The sky was a crisp, clear blue. There wasn't a bird in sight; not even a sparrow. Kamal frowned. She'd hoped she might see the ravens again after they came back to the mountain, but there was no sign of them. She wondered if the dragon had scared them off. What does Corac do if something bad happens? She thought worriedly. He can’t even glide.  

"Is Beorn going to be there?" Kamal asked hopefully as they trudged through the heather to the secondary camp further downhill.

"He's busy preparing fortifications." Clasa explained, huffing and puffing.

"But what if he misses important stuff?"

"We can fill him in. He's more useful now throwing his weight around than sitting in on another stupid delegation."

Kamal pouted. He'd been so busy for the past few days she'd hardly had any time to see him. In all honesty, she missed him. A lot. 

Two elven guards pulled away the curtains as Clasa and Kamal entered the luxurious tent. It seemed like they were the last two to arrive.

Kamal took a quick scan in the room; Clockwise from her was Darestrum, Hasdran in his chair, Thorin's nephews and Bilbo, and finally Thranduil and Bard. It felt like forever since she'd last seen the elven king. He stood off to the side speaking quietly with Tilda's dad. As she and Clasa took their place next to Darestrum, the elf kings's eyes wandered over to her, seizing her under their pale gaze. Kamal quickly looked away.

Thranduil nodded affirmatively to Bard and took a seat in a beautiful wooden chair. It was ornately carved just like his throne in Mirkwood. Bard chose to remain standing at his side. He looked as jumpy as Kamal felt. 

"Are we all here then?" Fili asked, arms crossed. Although he didn't look much like Thorin, Kamal noticed his grumpy mannerisms matched his uncle's.

Thranduil dipped his head, then looked at Bard expectantly. Bard jumped to attention. He took a small step into the center of the tent. "It would take a fortnight to list all the concerns at hand." He said. "But for now our priority is fortifying the mountain. The orcs are arriving soon." He swallowed dryly. "Actually, much sooner than we anticipated." He nodded to Thranduil. "Lord Thranduil's scouts spotted them gathering as close as the upper Celduin just last night."

"Did you engage?" Fili asked.

Thranduil shook his head slowly, not looking at the dwarf.

Bard continued, “Then there's the Arkenstone. If we are to vote, I say we're wasting man-power keeping guards on rotation. We need all able-bodies preparing for battle, not wasting their time overseeing a relic." 

Fili rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. Something Bard had said clearly ticked him off, but he didn't speak up. 

"I vote we return the Arkenstone to the dwarves." Bard said. Fili's sour demeanor quickly changed. Bard turned his attention to Bilbo. "You were right to remove it from Thorin's possession. But I think it's high time we move forward. What's done is done. It is their heirloom, their right. With Thorin indisposed, there's no purpose in us keeping it from them." 

Bilbo nodded. Kamal cocked her head slightly as she observed the hobbit. His eyes had bags under them. He looked like he'd been crying. 

Thranduil tapped his middle finger rhythmically on the arm of his chair. He stared down Fili and Kili. "I have no desire for the stone. But I'd be a fool not to see its value. You believe the Arkenstone is a divine token; whoever possesses it also possesses the seven dwarven kingdoms. That is your law, if I'm to understand." He stopped drumming his finger. His eyes flicked back to Bard. "I wonder if we should so willingly relinquish it into the hands of those who allowed a dragon to desolate your village."

Kili and Fili looked offended. Bilbo squirmed uneasily next to them. Kili spoke first: "We didn't know what would happen." He protested.

He was starting to say something else when Thranduil raised his hand, cutting him off. "This 'Dragon-sickness', you call it... it is hereditary?" The elf's eyes narrowed slightly. "Even if your intentions are pure, is it really in the best interest of your people that their lineage of high kings be prone to madness?" 

"What do you care about the well-being of our lineage?" Fili grumbled. He could feel himself frothing at the mouth. He quickly clamped his tongue between his molars to keep himself from saying something he might regret.

"I care deeply about the power of the seven dwarf realms' military force." Thranduil said. "I also care quite a lot about who is leading said force. If the kingdoms of men and elves found themselves questioning the stability of the dwarven kingdoms... I cannot see it ending well."

Kili was almost shaking. "You're saying we should just forfeit our birthright?"

Fili dug his nails into his palm. "We were promised the stone." He jutted his chin at Clasa. "You gave me your word."

They all looked at Clasa. Clasa gave Kamal's hand a squeeze before stepping forward to face them. "If I had it my way, you would have your Arkenstone by now." She said. "I keep to my word." She shot Bard and Thranduil a deadly look. "But then it all got tangled up, didn't it?"

Fili watched Clasa with a twisting stomach. He knew she didn't care for him; she'd made that quite clear the night they'd decided to extract Thorin from Erebor. A kernel of distrust had already settled in his heart; but another part of him wondered if she was telling the truth. Did she want the stone for herself, or did she truly intend to return it? Come to think of it, he'd never heard her express any interest in the Arkentstone beyond using it to pull his strings. What's she playing at?

No— he couldn't let his stubbornness best him. He needed the Arkenstone; but more importantly he needed to keep his brother and the Company alive. He gathered his resolve to address the group. "Arkenstone or no, we're part of this fight." Fili pointed up towards the mountain. "Our boys are working their arses off keeping the forges alight. They're with you, every last one of them; Kili and myself included. And Bilbo, of course." He quickly added. "And when Thorin recovers-" He stumbled over his words. "When he recovers, he will stand with you, too."

Thranduil looked down at the blonde dwarf. "When? Or if?"

Fili set his jaw. "When." He turned back to Clasa. "But I stand firm on the matter; I will see the Arkenstone returned to Durin's Line."

Clasa nodded, her lips sealed. 

Bard folded his arms closer to his body. "What do you say?" He asked the elf king, his voice soft and prying. 

Thranduil mulled it over. As he went quiet, Kamal's attention drifted. The adults had been in meetings and talks and gatherings all week. She hadn't been invited to any of them, not since the meeting in the sanctuary. And although Clasa did fill her in when she asked, she could sense the dwarf was heavily edited all that she'd heard.

How much do they know? Do any of them know about Ghost?  She'd tried to bring it up, but there never seemed to be a good time. And it wasn't exactly a topic for casual discussion. 

Kamal sensed something watching her. She looked up and went rigid when she realized the elf king had zeroed in on her.

"There is another matter troubling me..." Thranduil said. He slowly rose from his seat, folding his hands into his sleeves. "None of you may have noticed, but my people certainly have... that there is an unwelcome presence amongst us."

"P-presence?" Bilbo stammered. It was the first time he'd spoken up.

"I cannot explain it..." Thranduil said in a low voice. Kamal felt itchy in her own skin. Does this guy even blink? 

"It's as if something has awoken. Not the firedrake... something far older."

Fili snorted. "So now you're saying you won't give us the stone because of a 'bad feeling'. For the love of—"

"Master Fili." Bard warned. "Hold your tongue, please. There's been enough bickering."

Thranduil looked somewhat pleased at Bard's retort towards the dwarf. "I have a theory, but it must be tested." He called for his guards in Sindarin. Once they had their orders, one went off while the other stayed stationed by the entrance. Ignoring Fili, Thranduil fixed Kamal under a cold look again. Bard eyed Kamal worriedly, looking like he wanted to step between them but couldn't. Thranduil tilted his head ever so slightly. "You have changed since we last met. My people sense it. I sense it. Ever since you left the mountain... You took the stone from Erebor. Am I correct?"

Kamal had trouble finding her voice. "Mr. Bilbo gave it to me." She said, feeling a little bad for dragging the hobbit into the mix.

"But then you carried it?"

"Yessir." 

Thranduil paused. He looked to Bard. "I heard tell of a 'flash of light' following the evacuation of your village."

Bard nodded. "We all saw it. It's how we found her on the mountainside."

"What color?"

"My lord?"

"What color was the light?"

"It... it was white. Like no fire I'd ever seen."

Thranduil turned to better face the man. His expression hardened. "White?"  

"Pure white. Just a flash, then it went out."

After a moment that dragged on for eternity, the elf king turned back to Kamal. "How did you produce such a 'fire-less' light?"

Kamal tried to put on a brave face. She was extremely grateful to have Clasa wedged between her and the very tall, very scary-looking elf. "The rock..." She glanced back at Darestrum and Hasdran. They didn't give her any indication to stop, but they looked tense. Kamal flexed her hands nervously. Her heart-rate skyrocketed. "When I hold it, it shines. And it... shows me stuff."

It was the first time since meeting him Kamal had ever seen the elf king look alarmed. Thorin's nephews looked equally flabbergasted. " 'Stuff'?" Kili asked, the word foreign on his tongue. Thranduil had grown very quiet. His stillness was unnerving. 

Then there was a voice outside the tent curtain asking permission to enter. After a pause, Thranduil granted it. The guard entered with a small chest in his arms. He set the chest carefully atop a small wooden table near the pole supporting the structure of the tent. He turned and swiftly exited the room. The hair on Kamal's arms stood up when she realized what was inside. 

The elf king's disposition had changed. His spine straightened. His eyes were wide and seeking. "There." Thranduil whispered, as if any loud noise would scare off what he was searching for. Then, to Kamal's surprise, Thranduil nodded to her. "Open it."

All of a sudden Kamal felt a weird, fizzy sensation race up her spine again. Ghost. She could sense him like a long shadow at her back, shivering like a mirage. She hesitated to move.

"It will not harm you. Open it."

Kamal walked slowly past Clasa up to the table. She could feel the dwarf watching her. The chest was elven-made; she could tell by the way it was carved. The box had no lock or clasp. She took hold of the lid with both of her hands and lifted it open. 

The Arkenstone lay within, cushioned in velvet. Kamal drew her hands back and looked up at the elf king. He pondered her before speaking again. "I have heard accounts of what happened." In the corner of her eye, Kamal saw Bilbo shuffle on his heels. Thranduil continued, "If there is an evil around the Stone, you seem to have the ability to summon it. Accounts are one thing... I wish to witness it myself." He dipped his head. "When you are ready."

Kamal looked back at Clasa for assurance. The dwarf woman nodded. “I’m here.” She mouthed.

Kamal raised her right hand over the stone. The tingling in her bones grew to an itch. As her fingers hovered millimeters over the gem, the stone’s glow slowly grew brighter. 

Take it.

Kamal jolted. That was English! She thought with alarm. He does know English! 

You must run, Ghost repeated. Take it.

The white glow crept across the tent. Kamal’s heart raced. She felt the form of the Ghost move to her side. If it returns to them, it is lost forever.

Kamal’s raised arm began to shake. Thranduil moved a little closer. He bristled as he saw her tense. “Is it here?”

Kamal nodded. “Yes.”

An uneasy shudder passed through the party. Thranduil’s gaze lowered to the stone. The Arkenstone was radiant; like sunlight shining through a diamond, but concentrated into a singular vessel. It glowed out of countless crystalline fragments. But the outer crust of the gem only seemed to be that; a crust. The light itself shone from somewhere deep within the polished stone. Like captured starlight. Thranduil inhaled sharply. He felt a strange pull in his heart. That was not the glimmer of a stone hewn from the earth. This is something more.

Kamal squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself. Here goes nothing.

Suddenly the tent entrance flung open. Kamal opened her eyes. A grey blur barreled right past Thranduil’s guards towards her. “Don’t lay a finger on that stone!” A stern male voice ordered.

As Kamal tried to pull her hand away, she felt a rush of electricity prickle in her veins. Her fingers flexed. Although her brain told them to bend, they wouldn't curl. It was strange sensation; like a glove she couldn’t see had fit itself on her right hand. Without moving a muscle on her own, her hand reached out and snatched up the Arkenstone. It's light pulsed.

The grey figure froze. Momentarily distracted by the intruder, the others followed his gaze, and a new sense of dread filled the room. A tall, spectral figure leaned towards the child's ear, whispering to her. They were not of flesh and blood; that much was obvious. Their form was partially transparent; Thranduil and Bard could see the dwarves straight straight through the spirit. Frozen in shock, Clasa could only watch helplessly as the hatted stranger drew closer to her heart-daughter.

Kamal didn’t see him approaching. In fact, she couldn’t see anything. The only sense remaining was her hearing. She listened to Ghost’s words. The way the light of the Arkenstone reflected palely in her eyes made her looked like a specter herself.

The grey stranger flung his arms out, and to Clasa's horror, drew from the folds of his robes a long sword. In his other hand, the end of his gnarled walking stick took on a strange glow. He spoke. Clasa stared at him as his booming voice echoed through the small space. The light in his staff swelled.

Kamal winced in pain as a sharp wail pierced her ears. The Ghost withdrew from her side, his words floating around her like trailing smoke. Rather than using his sword, the stranger reached out with the glowing staff. Ghost howled, his voice reaching a pitch like metal screeching across metal. Kamal cried out. 

"You're hurting her!" Clasa shrieked, her temple throbbing as she covered her own ears.

The scream pitched up, up and up. Kamal ducked onto one knee, the Arkenstone finally slipping out of her grasp and onto the carpet below. As soon as she let go, Ghost was gone. 

The white light faded. Kamal felt like she was going to throw up. Her skin was clammy with cold sweat. Her head pounded furiously. White dots danced in her periphery. 

The others in the room stared at her, unsure of what to do next. Bilbo, Fili and Kili gawked at the newcomer. 

The grey stranger sheathed his sword. He removed his hat to wipe his brow, revealing keen blue eyes burning under bushy white eyebrows. He dug the end of his staff into the ground. His chest rose and fell as he found his breath. "Miss Rajora... what did you carry out of that mountain?"

Chapter Text

"Gandalf?" Bilbo gasped. "Is that really you?"

The old man plopped his hat back on his head and grinned. "Mr. Baggins! And Fili, Kili! Forgive me, I didn't even see you. Terribly rude of me. But give me a moment..." He took Bilbo's handkerchief from the elven box and draped it carefully over the fallen Arkenstone, dimming its light. As he crouched low, he offered Kamal a weathered hand. "Are you alright?"

Kamal was still struggling to see. At the moment, the stranger looked like nothing more than a blurry silhouette. She glanced to the left at the shadow-shape of the table. She knew if she wanted to get up she'd need to grab it for support, but to do so she'd have to reach. And if she did that, she was positive she'd empty the contents of her stomach all over the nice tent. She realized that she hadn't answered the stranger's question, but her tongue had tied up into a knot. "Uh..."

The stranger's eyes softened. "I mean you no harm. Now on your feet." His tone was direct but gentle.

Kamal reached forward blindly and accepted his hand, trying very hard not to vomit as she got up. Gandalf. Why does that sound familiar? "You're the wizard." She blurted out as it came to her.

Gandalf's smile broadened. "You've heard of me?"

Kamal let go of his hand. She jutted her chin towards Bilbo. "He told me about you."

"Well," Gandalf said, winking cheekily at Bilbo, "I'm flattered my fame proceeds me."

"How do you know my name?" She asked. 

Gandalf tapped the side of his nose. "Now that would be telling."

Clasa stepped up to Kamal the minute the old man moved away from her. "Are you ok?" She asked quietly. Kamal nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." As she tried to gather her bearings, she sensed around for Ghost, but his presence was gone. Did the light scare him off? 

"What was that thing?" Clasa asked. Gandalf exhaled heavily, leaning on his staff. "I pray I'm wrong..." He said, looking at Kamal with a more solemn expression. "But if I am not mistaken, I believe a wraith has tethered itself to you."

Kamal felt the room go cold. She looked at the others. Their abject horror did nothing to settle the gnawing worry in her stomach. "What's a wraith?" She asked.

The wizard's smile disappeared completely. "It is a spirit tied to Arda, locked out of the Halls of Mandos."

The halls of what?  "So a wraith is like a ghost?" Kamal guessed.

Gandalf hummed thoughtfully. "Precisely."

Clasa squirmed beside Kamal. "Can we un-tether it?" She asked worriedly.

Gandalf shook his head. "I cannot say I know how, my lady. At the moment I suspect it's only stunned."

Kamal clenched her hands nervously. Gandalf's firm tone lightened. "Do not fret. I've made sure it'll keep it's distance."

"You didn't... you didn't hurt him, did you?" The girl asked.

Nine heads snapped to attention. Clasa's eyes widened. "You knew?"

Kamal clammed up.

The dwarf stared at her in disbelief. "You didn't that might've important to mention?"

"You were busy." The girl muttered.

"NOT TOO BUSY TO HEAR YOU'RE BEING FOLLOWED AROUND BY BLOODY SPIRIT OF THE DAMNED, KAMAL." Clasa snapped.

Kamal's brow furrowed. "He wasn't doing anything wrong."

"It is a wraith, dear girl." Said Gandalf. "It's very existence is wrong."

"But he showed me the way out of the mountain."

A vein bulged out of Clasa's forehead. "You've known since then?" She hissed.

"Madam, please." Gandalf implored.

"She's had a dark spirit tied to her for a WEEK. Pardon me if I have a couple of questions." Clasa huffed, crossing her arms and glaring at the girl. Kamal shrunk away from her, feeling ashamed. 

"Regardless..." Gandalf continued. "Miss Rajora, under what circumstance did you meet this spirit? When did you first encounter it, I mean."

"I saw him when..." The pit. The bodies. She looked at the covered Arkenstone. Gandalf looked too. "Was it when you first held this?" He asked, gesturing to the floor.

Kamal nodded.

"And when you escaped Erebor, did you know it followed you still?"

Kamal gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She still felt a little woozy. "Yes."

Clasa exhaled shakily. She lowered her head. Kamal wished she could disappear. Why didn't I tell her? 

"But why did it follow her?" Bard asked from across the room. His face was drained of color.

Gandalf lifted the end of his staff to the covered Arkenstone, poking at it, "Wraiths have no will of their own. They are nothing but hollow forms, puppets. They cannot exist without a master."

"A master?" Bard asked. A stack of worry-wrinkles creased his forehead.

"Mm." Gandalf went quiet, thinking. The gathered council waited patiently. "... Perhaps I was mistaken. It may not be attached to her." The wizard nodded towards the stone. "But to the Arkenstone. And it is she who just so happened to be unfortunate enough to carry it." 

Clasa deflated with relief. "Oh, thank Mahal." She breathed. She put her hand protectively on Kamal's shoulder. Kamal's breath hitched. She'd been convinced Clasa was furious, but now she was holding her. Maybe not she's not angry... maybe she's just scared. Sometimes she couldn't tell the two apart. 

Gandalf looked to the sad remainder of Thorin's Company. "When I left you at the edge of Mirkwood..."

At the mention of Mirkwood, Kamal noticed Thranduil's eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and anger, but he remained silent.

Gandalf continued. "... I set forth to Dol Guldur. It seems Radagast's suspicions were correct. It was inhabited by orcs.

"The orcs coming this way?" Kili asked. "We know, Gandalf. We've known since the dragon fell. We have eyes on them."

"I'm afraid your preparations are not enough. These are not your run-of-the-mill orc packs, Master Kili. This is an army, with a commander."

The momentary excitement of the wizard's arrival vanished entirely. Fili cursed under his breath. "Azog." 

Gandalf nodded. "I had the displeasure of running into him and his master."

Fili shook his head. "Azog has no master."

"Untrue... all orcs fall under the same allegiance." Gandalf dug his staff back into the ground. "This is bigger than a feud between dwarves and orcs; Or your family and Azog. The incarnation of darkness itself is behind this force." He glanced over to Thranduil, who was as tense as a drawn bowstring. A silent message passed between the elf and the wizard. 

Bilbo's eyes darted about like a skittish rabbit as he wrung his hands. "A-and you like the wraith is related?" His heart was sinking. He was the one who had given the girl the stone. And now, he feared he may have cursed her.

Gandalf's brow lowered. "I fear it might very well be, Master Baggins. For it is not the first I have seen. I faced others of it's kind in Dol Goldur. Nine servants in all." He looked back to Kamal. She didn't like what she saw behind his eyes. "Now, I fear now there is a tenth."

Kamal flushed cold. Ghost? She asked her head. Still no answer. She studied the room. Fili had a million different emotions playing on his face. Kili and Bilbo looked terrified. Bard looked at his wits end. Hasdran and Darestrum kept glancing over at her and Clasa, as if they expected the ghost to pop up behind them at any moment.

Only Thranduil remained straight-faced. Standing the closest to Gandalf, he moved even closer to whisper into the shadow of his hat. "You know what this is." He whispered in Sindarin as he looked back at the covered stone.

Gandalf glanced at the elf, who was very much pushing into his personal space. "Whatever could you mean?" He replied in the same tongue. 

"Enough, Mithrandir. Playing the fool does not suit you."

"You're speculating."

"You two." Fili interrupted. "No whispering. Speak your mind in common, or do not speak at all."

Thranduil shot the dwarf a look before whispering once more to the wizard. "Do not forget who your allies are."

"I assure you, I will not." Gandalf harrumphed. "Now, now, no need to worry, Master Fili. We're all friends here."

Thranduil stepped back, circling the stone on the floor. He stared hungrily at the covered treasure. "Whether it be a curse or something entirely different, I do not know. However, the light... it is not natural to the earth. I've only seen such from starlight."

"Very poetic." Fili snarked. "So?"

"What would a dark lord want with a dwarven relic?" Thranduil wondered allowed. "What value does it hold?" He paused, thinking. "Why would he send a servant..." 

"He must want it to claim the mountain." Kili suggested, interrupting the elf king. Thranduil tried not to roll his eyes. "He has no use for an heirloom. If he wants the mountain, he will claim it with force."

Gandalf cleared his throat pointedly. "We can theorize and postulate all we want when the storm has passed. For now, it is imperative we keep the Arkenstone safe."

Bard ran his hand through his black hair. "That's the problem..." He sighed. "We still haven't decided who will guard it."

"You should have it." Kamal piped up, looking up at Gandalf. Nine pairs of eyes turned on her. Even the wizard looked surprised. "Me?"

Kamal swallowed nervously under the attention. "You can keep it until the bad guys are gone. And you have magic to protect it."

There was a pause. Thranduil side-eyed the wizard but said nothing. 

"That's... actually a decent idea." Kili mumbled. "You're our great wizard. If anyone's up to task, it's you."

"And you are a neutral party." Fili agreed. 

Bard's brows lifted. He nodded to the Iron-Hills Dwarves. "And you?"

Clasa took her hand off Kamal's shoulder. After a brief glance at her brother and Darestrum, she nodded. "Fine."

Taking his time, Thranduil contemplated the stone at his feet. He eyed Gandalf, then at last nodded. "Better you, Mithrandir, than the dwarves."

Kamal felt the fist clenched around her heart loosening. They're listening to me. She couldn't help but smile. I'm helping! Now they can finally stop arguing and we can—

Suddenly the hair on Kamal's arms stood on end. The adults kept talking, but their voices grew softer as a low hum filled her ears. Kamal's smile dropped. Ghost? She thought. She tried to stay very still, scared that any movement would spook him. She felt his shadow move behind her.

Thranduil stopped talking. His pupils dilated. He inhaled sharply and turned on her. "It's returned." The others, save for Gandalf and Clasa, backed away from Kamal.

Kamal froze. She tried to control her breathing. It's not safe. Go away.

"I don't see it." Bilbo whimpered, confused.

Kamal's vision pulsed with black dots. Suddenly, not of her own volition, she jumped forward and snatched the Arkenstone off the ground. Her spine popped as she snapped up sharply, cradling the stone wrapped in cloth to her chest.

"Kamal?" Clasa gasped.

Kamal couldn't respond. She was too busy trying to fight the petrification of her muscles. She shook with effort against whatever was controlling her. What are you doing?

Gandalf lifted his hand placatingly. "Remain calm." Then he turned his palm upward. "I will take it."

Kamal's grip tightened incrementally around the stone. Let go!

No.

"Kamal, give him the stone." Clasa said, her voice straining. Kamal unintentionally looked towards the entrance of the tent. Thranduil saw. He spoke in Sindarin, and immediately his two guards pushed through the curtains. Kamal's muscles jolted. It hurt not to run. 

They will take it. Ghost said.

I know! Let them! They're helping.

They are liars.

"Shh." Kamal hushed through her teeth. Gandalf retracted his open hand. The end of his staff began to glow. The guards lowered the swords but held their arms out, preparing to circle and ensnare her if necessary. "Kamal." Clasa begged. 

Kamal tried to unclench her fingers but couldn't. She felt a pull towards the entrance, like there was a cord around her waist and someone had just yanked it. "I-I didn't mean to." She stammered, still trying in vain to drop the stone. Another yank. Seriously, stop it! She shifted her foot to stop herself from moving, but the magnetic pull of the invisible force was growing stronger. 

One of the guards reached for her. Kamal drew the stone closer to her chest and shut her eyes. Be cool, they won't hurt you. Put the stone back and maybe...

But she didn't have time to finish her thought. She yelped as her body moved without her brain sending the signal. The guard's hand missed as she went sliding to the right. She didn't even step— she went gliding like a curling stone. Before she could fully realize what'd just happened, she went flying backwards through the curtains and into the crisp, outdoor air.

As the curtains flapped in her wake, she caught Clasa's alarmed expression one last time. "Sorry!" She squeaked, and with that she was dragged out of eyesight. 

She dug her heels into the ground as she was forcefully pulled along the outskirts of camp. "STOP IT!" She shouted.

A few times she shook herself free; she'd trip over herself and try to scramble backwards, only to find herself being pulled away again.

The elves' primary camp where Thranduil's tent had been built was farther from the mountain; farther from safety. Not many elves occupied the outskirts. But when she passed a handful returning for foraging, they were unable to react fast enough. They could only stare in bewilderment as the screaming child went careening past them.

The invincible force carried her far outside of the perimeter of camp out into the heather fields. Soon, the cluster of tents was only a pinprick on the hill side.

The force released her at the top of a drop-off. As she suddenly regained control, Kamal nearly fell forward onto her face. She caught herself and spun around the moment she found her footing. "WHAT is your problem!?" She barked in English. 

Ghost blinked into existence. His form wasn't as solid as before. He shivered like a mirage. His color was drained; his hair didn't even look red anymore. 

Kamal stomped her her foot on the stone. "Do you know how bad this is?" Holding the Arkenstone against her hip, with her other hand she gesticulated wildly. "Clasa's never going to trust me again! That wasn't even my fault! That was you!" She threw her hand up in disgust. "You're the worst!"  

Ghost watched her drill into him with a flat expression. 

Kamal huffed in disgust, trying to catch her breath. Then her face turned green. She turned away from Ghost and barfed onto the stone at her feet. 

"Ugh..." She grabbed a chunk of clean-looking moss and wiped her mouth. She threw it to the side, swallowing down the acidic sting in her throat. Ghost didn't say a word.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." Kamal grumbled. She walked a few paces from the mess towards the camp. But Ghost appeared in front of her, blocking her path. Kamal glared at him. "We have to go back." She commanded.

Ghost didn't move.

"We have to go!" 

Still no response. Kamal heard distant voices and leaned around ghost to listen. People were calling for her. "You know what? Fine. She said. "They're going to come after me anyway." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "Clasa will come after me, or Darestrum, or Tauriel, or that blonde-guy she hangs out with. Or Beorn will find you... and he's really good at finding stuff. And he can bring the wizard, and he'll blast you with magic again." She swung around him, stomping a few feet away before stopping in the heather. "You lose." She said, planting her feet, prepared to wait until one of the calling voices came and found her.

An agonizing minute passed in silence. The stone felt heavy in her hand. Kamal shook her head. "Why did you make me do that? You could've just taken it yourself."

"I cannot." Ghost muttered, finally speaking.

Kamal looked back at him. "What do you mean you can't?"

Ghost flickered. "I cannot hold it."

Kamal's brow furrowed. Ghost could touch things. He'd tapped her shoulder before. And he could definitely drag her around like a rag doll. But not the stone?

"No one tells me why..." She trailed off. "Like you. Why do you want this." She held the stone out at him, but he shied away. "Why are you scared of it?"

Ghost's eyes took on a cold glow. "I cannot hold it." He repeated flatly.

Kamal groaned. "You said that already. I don't get it. Everyone's arguing over it, but it's a stupid rock." She gestured with it to prove her point. "We're getting attacked, and this is all anyone cares about. So can you please, PLEASE, just tell me what's going on?"

Ghost went quiet. Kamal looked through his chest and saw two birds in flight along the crest of the hill. Ghost was fading more and more with each passing moment. "I cannot tell you. But I need your help."

Help? Kamal's anger dissipated. "What do you mean?" She looked at the stone. "Do... oh." She looked up at Ghost's near-translucent eyes. "You need someone alive to hold it."

Ghost stared back at her. "In a way." He replied. 

Kamal thought about standing at the edge of the pit in Erebor; looking down and seeing his shadowy figure for a brief moment. "Why did you choose me?"

Ghost shook his head. "I did not. Choice had nothing to do with it. It was dark; limitlessly dark. One moment I slept; the next I was awake. That is all." 

"So you're just stuck with me?"

"..."

I guess that's a yes, Kamal thought dejectedly. She set her jaw. "Well you can't just drag me places, ok?"

"Understood." Ghost hovered closer, his tresses casting his face in shadow. Kamal had to crane her neck to keep eye contact. She opted to take a step backwards. "Why did you bring me here?" She asked as she looked around. The bank of heather stretched all the way down to the thin strip of woods surrounding the Long Lake; a ways off, but within walking distance.

Ghost nodded out towards the lake. "There are many paths you can take; any but south."

Kamal's chest tightened. "You want me to leave?"

"You may not survive if you stay."

Kamal felt like the ground had dropped out from underneath her. "Y-you don't know that." Ghost's silence was worse than any answer she could anticipate. Her voice wobbled when she spoke again. "I-it's safe in the mountain."

"No one is safe in battle. And you are neither strong nor swift."

That stung a little bit. "I am fast." Kamal protested. 

"Not faster than orcs."

Kamal moved her hand so she hid the stone behind her back. "Are you helping the bad guys?" She asked coldly.

Ghost paused. "No."

Kamal narrowed her eyes. "Ok." She said quietly, but she remained a few paces away from his translucent form. The wind blew around them; or rather through Ghost. Kamal cocked her head. "If you could move me around, why didn't you do it before?" She asked bitterly. 

"It would not be fair."

"And what you just did was fair?" 

If she didn't know any better, she'd say Ghost looked a little ashamed. "I did not have a choice." He spoke.

Kamal moved another step back. "So what was the plan? Where am I supposed to go?"

Ghost didn't speak. With the wind whipping across the heather, it was if he'd paused in real time; not a single hair moved on his head, while Kamal's was blown back by the force.

"... Do you even know?" Kamal asked, her voice quieter.

Silence. 

Kamal pulled the stone out from behind her back. She studied it for a moment, then watched Ghost's face. His gaze was on the distant horizon. His mind seemed to have wandered.

Kamal took a step back towards him. "Hey. Ghost?" 

Ghost looked down at her, unblinking. 

"If you needed help, you could've just asked." 

A crease formed between his brows. 

"Did something bad happen?"

As Ghost opened his mouth to respond, they heard the call of a bellowing horn. The sound rang across the valley. Kamal spun and look towards Erebor. "Is that..."

"An elven horn."

She relaxed a little. "That's good, right?"

"No." Ghost's form brightened for a half second. "It is a warning." His eyes took on a stronger glow as he scanned the lower slopes of the mountain. Kamal's stomach flip-flopped. Ghost turned to look at her. "There is still daylight. You can head north. I will not force you. I was wrong to do so before." But then he realized the girl was gazing longing at the hillside camp. "You want to stay?" 

 "I can't just leave everyone."

"If you remain, I cannot guarantee your safety."

A chill rushed through her. "I know."

"This choice may not present itself again."

"... I know."

The voices calling for her were lost under a gust of wind. Kamal took a deep breath. "If it makes you feel better, what if we made a deal?"

Ghost's form crackled. "An oath?"

"No, it's a pinky promise. Let me stay and help, and afterwards I'll take the Stone to wherever you want me to go." She held up her pinky. "Promise?" 

Ghost seemed oddly tentative. But eventually he lifted his ungloved hand to hers. He struggled for a moment to copy the the motion of lifting only his pinky finger. Kamal linked her pinky around his. Static electricity raced up her arm. Ghost's face became even more stern. "If you keep the Stone hidden, I will help you to the best of my ability."

"And I won't snitch, I promise. Plus I'll stay away from the wizard."

Ghost nodded. "My eyes are yours. My speed is yours. My strength is yours. I swear it."

"Promise?" Kamal asked.

"Promise." Ghost agreed. 

Kamal gnawed on her tongue as she thought. "And don't just drag me around places. I hated that."

"Very well."

Kamal withdrew her hand. "Could you always speak English?"

"No."

"Then how..."

"I listened."

"Can you tell me your real name, or do I keep having to call you 'Ghost'?"

Ghost pondered her question for a moment. "Russandol." He finally said.

Kamal smiled. "Hi, Russandol." She looked towards the mountain camps. "I'm ready if you are. But let me walk myself this time."

Russandol eyed the mountain wearily. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Kamal tucked the Arkenstone between her shirt and her thick jacket. "I don't break promises."

Russandol's eyes sharpened, flashing with a light like white fire. "Neither do I."

Chapter Text

Russandol floated alongside Kamal as she staggered through the high heather. She grunted as her foot caught on a tangle of roots. Her shoes were soaked through to the socks. She'd been walking for nearly half an hour and the camp was still out of reach.

“I can help.” The spirit offered.

“I’ve got it.” The girl replied stubbornly. Right as she said it, her leg dropped into a pocket hidden under the blanket of green. Her foot went straight into a freezing puddle, and her tongue curled in her mouth as she bit down a shriek. Russandol paused as she struggled to yank herself free. She could feel his eyes on her, judging her. With a huff of effort, she finally pulled herself out of the hole. Icy water sloshed around in her shoe. 

"It will be dark at this rate." Russandol muttered.

Kamal shot him a look. "I'm not the one who dragged us out here, remember?" 

"I can return you to camp. It is the quickest way." 

"I'm good." She retorted. No more getting flung around like a rag doll, thank you very much. She didn't care how long it took to slog her way back— she was doing it on her own, end of story. 

Just then, a harsh note cut through the sky. For a second, Kamal thought it was the horn. But when the note sang again, she looked up and saw a black shape zipping across the clouds.

Corac? She abandoned the hope as quickly as it had risen. He can’t fly. He must still be at the ruins. What she wouldn’t give to see him again.

The raven dipped and twisted on invisible currents. It’s raspy caw echoed across the eerily quiet plain. Kamal slowed to a stop, craning her neck to watch it dash overhead. The stone in her pocket suddenly felt heavy again her leg.

Russandol’s pale form shivered. He watched the lone raven, following it with his eyes as it whipped down the hillside towards the woods bordering the Long Lake about a kilometer away. Russadol's frown deepened as he zeroed in on the tree-line. “Something is coming.” He said in a low voice. 

Kamal followed his gaze downhill. The wind howled around them. Cold unease laced through her bones. “I don’t see anything.” She glanced wearily towards the camp. It was close, but so were the woods. If something came out of those trees… How fast could she get to safety? 

Russandol still hadn’t moved. Kamal’s legs itched to run. 

SNAP. A big snap, like a whole branch had been broken, cracked across the still air. Bile flooded Kamal’s throat. Her eyes widened as she watched the boughs of the trees begin to shift and sway. Her legs locked. If they catch you they will kill you. If they catch you they will kill you.

She didn’t even notice Russandol was speaking to her until his voice rose. “Child, you need to move.”

She heard voices. They were distant, but many. The cacophony sounded like a churning engine. Dozens, if not hundreds, of feet stomped through the undergrowth. The trees groaned in agony.

“Do you hear me?” 

Kamal still couldn’t move. What was it Russ had said? ‘You’re not faster than orcs’.

The air around Russandol shifted. “Apologies…” She heard him say before something seized her. She was unceremoniously flung forward onto the heather, landing face-down into a patch of cold flora.

“Dig.” Russandol ordered.

“Wh–”

“DIG.”

Kamal grabbed the mossy earth and found that it came away quite easily. She began to claw her way down. Her heartbeat ticked faster and faster. Soon she’d created a small gap just wide enough for her to fit into.

“Stay low.”

Kamal nestled her body into the shallow hole and pulled the loose clumps of dirt and flowers over her like a blanket. The thick smell of soil filled her nostrils. The chanting was getting louder, but there was no way to tell how close they were. "Russ." She whispered. "Where are they?"

"Wait."

Kamal pressed her forehead to the cool ground. She lay blind as a mole in the mud. Over the approaching clamor, she heard more caws. More ravens. They sounded like they were calling to each other. 

Her focus shifted to the oncoming strangers. They chanted an ugly song in low, guttural barks occasionally peppered with squeals. She could sense Russandol near her but could only see darkness. She laced her fingers and covered the back of her head. She stayed very, very quiet. 

The rhythm of the march shifted. Something was moving amongst the crowd; something big. Their pace was slower than the rest. Vegetation crunched under each step. 

Kamal’s breath snagged in her throat. She lifted her head. Dappled light trickled through the branches of heather. She could see movement through the wall of plants shielding her. Heart pounding in her ears, she leaned forward as slowly as she could to peek through a gap the flowers. 

About a stone’s throw away, a gang of armored soldiers plodded through the fields. Metal scratched and chaffed. Hot breath plumed from rancid, toothy mouths. It looked like a river of tar was flowing up the mountain side.

Kamal squinted against the light and looked closer. At the rear of the parade was a towering figure decked in thick leather armor plated with steel. The steel was rough and craggy, giving the behemoth the appearance of a snapping turtle. And its beard… It wasn't a beard. It was a blanket of quills.

Kamal jolted backwards. All the air compressed out of her lungs as they shriveled in her chest. It’s him. She pressed herself deeper into the dirt. She wished she could dig to the bottom of the world. He’s here. When her lungs finally begged for air, she inhaled, but it felt like nothing was being drawn in. 

A chill settled on her skin as Russandol moved closer. "We must find cover.” His deep voice penetrated through the haze. She screwed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. Black and red spots danced in her darkened vision.

“They are moving on. Prepare yourself.”

“Wait.” Kamal choked.

“There is no time.”

“I said WAIT.” Kamal whispered sharply. She shook her head, a lump bobbing in her throat. “You don’t understand.” She dragged her hands up her face and wiped at her eyes. Her injured shoulder began to ache. “I didn’t know he’d be here.”

Russandol’s voice pooled in her brain. “Focus yourself. I will help you, as promised.” As Russandol spoke, his tone softened. “But you must also help yourself. If this is what you want, you must fight for it.” 

Kamal exhaled shakily. Please let me wake up. Please. “I can’t.” She whispered. As hard as she pressed her palms to her eyelids, all she saw was hungry, gray eyes. Let me go home. I know I said I was ok with staying here… I take it back. Please. I can’t do this again.

She thought of Hasdran. Of the boy pierced with an arrow. Of herself, and that horrible night. 

And then a new thought struck her like a knife in the back… 

What if he finds Tilda?

Her fingers curled into claws as her whole body started to shake. Her jaw strained as she ground her teeth. White hot fire burned under her skin. 

She felt the ghostly touch of Tilda's fingers in her hair, plaiting a long braid. Her laugh. Her smile.

Kamal felt a heavy lead ball in her chest where her heart should be. She could feel the bite on her shoulder like a branding iron. She pulled her hands away from her face, mud plastered to her wet cheeks. The air felt cold on her bared teeth. She drew her knees to her chest and rose into a crouch to look over the heather.

The hoard had made a good distance; they were already breaking into the lower bank of the camp. Her eyes stung as she watched the black river snake between the tents. She heard distant screams.

Kamal suddenly became aware of something flat and cold against her calf. She reached down into her boot and felt the hilt of Beorn’s paring knife.

Her grandfather had a blade; a small one he kept strapped to his side. She'd asked her mother why he carried it.

"It's part of our faith. He only uses it for protection."

"From what?" Kamal asked, curled against her mother’s chest on their threadbare couch.

Her mother brushed Kamal's hair from her forehead. "People who want to hurt other people." She remembered her mother drawing her closer. "Don't worry, he's never had to use it... Not in all his years being a Khalsa." She patted Kamal's boney hip in the same place her grandfather's Kirpan would be. "It's more of a reminder. That you must be honest, moral, kind, brave, and loving." Her mother kissed the top of her head. "Will you remember all of that?" She asked. When Kamal hesitated, her mother blew a raspberry on the crown of her head.

Kamal fell into a fit of giggles. "Yes!" She squealed as her mother planted more raspberries all over her hair. "Yes, yes, I'll remember!"

Kamal stood and wiped at her nose. She unclenched her jaw, shifting it as she pulled back the tears fighting to escape behind her eyes.

Russandol appeared at her side. “You will not outpace them."

Her eyes flicked towards the ghost. When Russandol didn't react, her pulse spiked. "Are you backing out?" The girl challenged.

Russandol's nostril flared, though no air escaped. “No.”

Kamal's hands closed into fists. “Then get me uphill."

Chapter Text

The shrill caw of a raven woke Thorin with a start.

His eyes cracked open. The soft cotton sheets itched his paper-thin skin. The dim light showing through the stitching of the tent walls was no help in indicating the time of day. At least it’s not nightfall, Thorin thought groggily. He pressed the back of his head to his pillow and tried to shift, but he could barely lift his shoulders from the cot. His body flopped back down, defeated. “Boy?” He called.

The curtain parted, flushing the room with sunlight. A dark-haired elf stepped into the tent. “I told you to stop calling me that.” He replied flatly. 

Tulusdir had already made it perfectly clear that he was Thorin’s senior by at least 300 years, but the dwarf had pointedly ignored him. The healer had a beardless jaw and unmarred skin; an infant by dwarven standards. The only feature that made him look any older than 30 was his eyes, which seemed to carry a heavy weight behind them. 

“I need water.” The dwarf demanded. When Tulusdir frowned, Thorin sighed and restated, “May I have water?”

That seemed to satisfy the elf enough to oblige. He emptied a pitcher into a wooden cup and handed it to the dwarf. Thorin took it and drank.

He's come a long way, the healer observed. Only a few days ago, he couldn’t hold an open cup without shaking the contents to the floor. The shivering made eating and drinking nearly impossible. With time and care, the withdrawal symptoms were slowly residing. Thorin was becoming more coherent. The elf also observed that as the dwarf rose out of his daze, he'd somehow became somehow even more irritable than he was when he was first brought to the medical tent. What a sad state he was then.

Thorin finished off the water with a grunt. “What’s on the agenda today?” He muttered half-heartedly, setting the cup down on the bedside table. “D’ya wanna let me out of this bloody cot before my sores eat me through?”

Tulusdir’s nose wrinkled. “You do not have bedsores— I’ve made sure of it.”

“What time is it?”

“It is near evening.”

“Have my sister’s-sons visited?”

“No.”

Thorin deflated. The week was coming to a close, and still neither Kili or Fili had come to see him. Though he supposed he couldn’t really blame them. Not after all I did. He cursed himself for what felt like the millionth time. At the very least, he wished he could apologize. Guilt sat like a weight on his chest. 

Tulusdir eyed him quietly for a moment. “Do you think you have the strength to stand?”

Thorin frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one. And I expect an honest answer in turn.”

The question was not as ridiculous as Thorin thought; for when he tried to pulse his back muscles and rise, he found it was still exhausting to lift himself. But he wasn’t about to show weakness in front of an elf.

“I will give you a moment.” Tulusdir said, voice void of emotion as he watched his patient struggle to sit up. 

Thorin rolled his wide shoulders. Elbows. Support yourself. Mahal, he was as weak as a new lamb. He glared at the healer. “Lot of help you are.”

“If you don’t have the strength to sit up alone, then standing is out of the question.” The elf replied. 

The deep, ancestral desire to prove an elf wrong was enough to drive him to lift his head from his pillow. With some struggling, he curled up his abdomen until he was sitting up. Sweat dewing on his brow, he made a show of pulling the blanket away from his legs. As he swung his feet out of the cot, he suddenly lost his balance and began keeling forward. 

SHIT. He grabbed the edge of the cot just in time, but his head swirled with nausea. After taking a second to gather himself, he shimmied to the floor, toes gripping the wooden mat through his thick wool socks. He hoped the elf wouldn’t notice he was supporting himself against the bed frame with his back. “There.” He grumbled, trying to compose himself.

Tulusdir made no indication of approval. “Can you stretch without falling over?”

Rather than answering, Thorin began begrudgingly performing his exercises. “What’s happening in the outside world?” He asked, pulling his arm across his chest.

“Preparations are underway. We anticipate the first wave to arrive overmorrow.”

“Have there been more sightings?”

“A few scouts by the lake. They gave us a general estimate of the horde’s whereabouts.”

Gave, Thorin thought, snorting a short laugh. Unwillingly, of course. “You think they were telling the truth?”

“Their lives were the bartering tool. I believe they held their wellbeing over a small bit of information. Not that it mattered in the end.” Tulusdir gestured for Thorin to walk forward. 

Thorin shakily shuffled towards the center of the tent. “I need my crutches.”

“It’s a level surface. Pick up your feet.”

It felt like his soles were encased in bricks. Thorin's muscles quaked with effort. “Mahal, it hasn’t even been that long.” Being bedridden, he meant.

Tulusdir stepped out of his way as Thorin trudged to the other wall of the tent and back. “The body is as remarkably resilient as it is fragile.” Then he smirked. “I’m sure you’d be pleased to know the little human brought to us was up and running within a few hours.”

Thorin paused. “Human?”

“Kamal, I believe is her name.” He held two pinched fingers together to indicate something small. “Just a sparrow of a girl. I believe you two had an… altercation.”

The memories flooded back in a rush. The guilt on his chest doubled in weight. Thorin stared at the floor. “Do you think I'm a monster?”

“I think you were sick. And I heal the sick. That is why Eru brought me into this world.”

“I threatened a child. My sister’s-sons.”

"I did not say you were innocent. I said you were unwell.” Tulusdir’s expression hardened slightly. “I cannot mend your past." His lips were drawn tight across his teeth, like he was restraining himself from saying something else. 

Thorin wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to ask for sunlight. Look at me, begging an elf for freedom. This tent’s no better than a dungeon. Stewing in frustration, Thorin returned to where he started and sat heavily back on the cot. He was done walking. And secretly, he knew his legs needed a break. He opened and closed one hand, examining the grooves on his palm. He suddenly felt as old as his true age. “When I recover, what happens then?”

“The politics of dwarves does not concern me.”

"Your King has no punishment in mind?"

"I would be more concerned about your own kind's reaction than Thranduil's."

Thorin stared at the elf, his dark brow furrowed. “You asked me for honesty. Now I’m asking you the same.” He gestured around the tent with a look, as if to say No one is listening. “No judgment. Tell me your opinion. What do you think will happen?”

Tulusdir desperately wanted to tease the dwarf for asking his mortal enemy how he felt about his family drama, but the look on Thorin’s face dissuaded him. Any puckish glee he may have felt from poking the dragon fell longways. “You threatening your own kin has not placed you in the most positive light.” 

“Aye. I figured as much. What else?”

Tulusdir fiddled with some wraps he'd pulled from his medical cart; unfurling and rewrapping them. “It doesn’t serve one well to take rumors as truth.”

“Boy, tell me.”

Tulusdir sneered at the nickname but didn’t protest. “You fell to the plague of your forefathers. The people know Durin’s line is weak to gold-sickness.” He stopped wrapping the gauze, pulling it between his fingers. “Their faith is shaken.”

Thorin closed his eyes in shame. All this time, I thought my grandfather was weak. But I’m no better than him. “Does my company still hold Erebor?”

Tulusdir sighed. “Yes, yes. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. Although you’re very lucky your nephews don’t share your same stubbornness. If they didn’t cooperate, there may not be a Company left.”

A cold pit opened up in Thorin’s stomach. 

Tulusdir tucked the re-rolled gauze back into their little compartment. “... He did it for you, you know.”

Thorin opened his eyes. “Who?”

“Your eldest nephew. I’ve spoken with him many times. Despite everything, he still cares for you. Apparently there was talk of a coup while you were still in the mountain.” He looked over at Thorin. “Fili did not want to usurp you, Oakensheild. He wanted to save your life.” 

Although the bruise had faded, Thorin felt the trace pulsing of the mark on his forehead where he’d butted Fili. He touched the spot gently. Fili.

Both the elf and the dwarf experienced the same skin-crawling sensation as a war horn blared outside the tent. Thorin straightened up, a lump rising in his throat. Tulusdir’s ears flattened. “It’s Lord Thranduil’s signal.” He hurried over and opened the tent flap. 

Thorin listened to the elf speak urgently to one of the guards stationed outside. Thorin blanched. He shimmied back out of the cot and onto his feet, although he wobbled slightly. That was a war call. He remembered the same song from so many years ago; on the day the Mirkwood elves abandoned his people to fend against a firedrake alone. 

When Tulusdir turned back into the tent, his face was noticeably grim. “They’re early.” He said, his voice hollow. 

“What?!” Thorin exclaimed. 

"You heard me." The elf spoke under his breath, crouching to rummage through the lower shelves of his medical cart. He began stuffing medical supplies into a pocketed belt he kept in the lower drawer. As he stood, he slipped on a bandolier, the pockets weighed down with bandaging, salves, surgical knives, and sewing tools. "They're taking advantage of the dark. We need to prepare for more casualties."

Thorin realized that the elf was about to leave; and here he was defenseless, dressed only in sleeping clothes and barely able to walk. “And me?”

Tulusdir hesitated. “You are to stay where you are. I have my orders, as do the guards outside.”

Thorin launched forward, stumbling and reaching back to steady himself on the cot. “No! You’re sentencing me to death!” 

“You are under the protection of the King of Mirkwood.”

“You have me in a cage!”

Tulusdir’s eyes narrowed. "Death is coming. I cannot waste my efforts here any longer." 

That hurt Thorin more than he expected. "Tulusdir."

The elf's stern expression wavered slightly. He nodded behind Thorin's cot. "Your crutches." He paused. "And there are sharp objects in the cart."

Sharp objects?! Thorin thought, his heart hammering. I need a bloody sword, dammit!

As if he'd read his mind, Tulusdir waved him away. “I release you from my care. Good luck, Oakensheild.”

Chapter Text

They’re early. 

The realization struck Bard like a hammer. From the edge of a rocky outcrop, he could see movement near the edge of the Long Lake. Panicked voices called out, but at this distance they were faint. How didn’t we see them? Bard thought. If they’re coming from the south, there’s no way we would’ve missed a large force. The forest is too sparse. 

Around him was chaos. Food and drink were discarded on the ground as resting soldiers launched from their seats and ran for their weapons. Elves shouted to each other in their language, quickly filing in line and moving out to their deemed positions. The men, on the other hand, were scattered. They called out over each other, scrambling in different directions. All the voices at once sounded like incoherent jabber. 

Bard grabbed the hilt of his sword and fell pale. It still didn’t feel real. The dragonslaying was a stroke of luck. How do I lead these people?

The human cacophony was punctured by a sharp caw. Bard looked up. A raven zipped over his head. Then another. And another. He turned uphill and saw a flock of ravens on the wing. They all seemed to be flying in the same direction; straight for the lake.

Bard heard more voices, but they weren’t coming from up ahead. They were coming from above.

“West! West!” The ravens croaked. They rushed towards the Long Lake; down towards where the girl had disappeared, and where the orcs were moving in.

Unease dripped down Bard’s veins. The ravens had disappeared for days, and now their numbers nearly blotted out the sky. “West!”

The orcs are south, why… His eyes traveled to his right; up towards the incline to Raven-Hill. He desperately scanned the crest of the slope. West.

He ran back towards Thranduil’s tent as fast as his feet could carry him. 

The last buckle of Thranduil's armor was locked into place just as Bard arrived. Thranduil looked over his shoulder as the man burst into the tent.

The human looked paler than usual. "My Lord, I have news!" 

Thranduil rolled his shoulders as he turned, getting a proper feel of how the armor fit to him. It was perfect. “Have you found her?” He asked coolly. 

"No. No we haven't. It's something else."

Thranduil hid his disappointment behind a neutral expression. He waited.

"The Ravenhill Ravens have returned. They warn of something west of us."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "West?"

Bard gestured toward's Ravenhill. "The ravens have the highlands, sire. If something is coming..."

"Then they would know first." Thranduil finished. As he moved, Bard was taken aback by the mercurial nature of his armor. In shadow, the metal appeared as dark as midnight, but in light it took on a silver sheen. He strode up to Bard in two long steps. The elf king didn't seem aware that he was pushing into the man's personal bubble, even when Bard nervously cleared his throat. Thranduil's eyes burned cold-blue as they zeroed in on the man. “Are your soldiers prepared?

Soldiers? Hilarious. Bard thought dryly. "I-I haven't... Gandalf should be to the southern camps by now. Mariam is at the upper camp; she knows her role."

"And you?"

Bard swallowed. "Pardon?"

"Do you know your role?"

Bard's tongue twisted into a knot. "I-I..."

"It is a simple question."

Bard shook himself. "I'm to create a barrier here, should they orcs break through the frontlines. But my lord, if we were to be flanked—"

"We prepared for the possibility." Thranduil said calmly. "My soldiers will cover the front and west flank; yours will serve best catching any orc who may slip through."

That's right, secondary plan. Bard thought. His nerves fogged over his mind. And at the worst of times. "Of course. So we fight together then?" It would be of some considerable comfort to have an experienced warrior at his side.

But Thranduil stepped away. "You will have my commanders."

"What? You're not—"

"The child still has the stone. It cannot fall into the enemy's hands.” With that, the elf king pushed past him and out of the tent.

Bard stood dumbfounded for a moment before finding his words. “The… t-the Arkenstone?” Bard fumbled. Has he lost his mind? He spun on his heels and darted out of the tent.

Thranduil was only a few paces away. He appeared to be waiting.

“My Lord, you cannot abandon us."

The sharpness of Thranduil's glare forced Bard's jaw to clench like a steel trap. The elf's voice was calm, but menace lurked just beneath the surface. "Do not think to know my mind, Lake-man. I have put my own kin between you and certain death." He turned away once more. "Do not ask more of me."

It took everything in Bard to unlock his jaw. “I understand the stone is of great importance, but there are lives at risk. Your assistance is invaluable."

The elf king didn't stir, not even as the wind whipped up powder and ice into the air around him. Bard winced against the cold. “We will find the stone, I promise you." He said. But his plead fell on deaf ears, for the king was listening to something that interested him far more than the man's word; hoofbeats. 

The herd rounded the cluster of tents downhill; a group of four mounted horses in total. They were born and bred in Mirkwood, and far heartier than any beast of burden Lake-town had to offer. And amongst the group was a fifth; Thranduil's elk, standing at least four hands higher than the horses. No one rode it, but it was saddled for war.

The herd slowed to a stop before the king. Thranduil smiled as he approached his mount. The elk leaned towards his outstretched hand, recognizing the smell.

Bard looked on in disbelief. He cannot be serious. Gathering himself, he walked purposely towards the horses as Thranduil climbed into the saddle. The elk snorted harshly as the human approached, forced Bard to shy away. He looked up at the elf king. "We cannot spare a single fighter. You are needed here."

Thranduil’s steed shifted its weight. The king was silent. For a moment, Bard feared he’d spoken out of turn, but he kept on; "My men are not soldiers. I am not a soldier!" He gestured about wildly. "Be it here, or at Erebor, or downhill; we need you with us, not running after some—"  The king's expression shifted, and Bard swallowed his tongue. 

Thranduil's soldiers watched their king anxiously. Their horses pawed at the ground.

"I should be flattered, Lake-man, that you think so highly of me." There was no humor in the elf king's voice. "But this is beyond you.”

Bard's heart sank down into his toes. 

Then in a flurry of shifting metal, Thranduil raised his hand. His command was like a whip crack. One of his guards dismounted, passing his horse’s reins into Bard’s hand. At the end of the reins was a noble looking mare with a chestnut hide

Bard stuttered at the suddenness of the gift. “Oh… thank you?” He wasn't sure what was happening. 

The elf who's dismounted laced his fingers and knelt beside the horse. It took Bard a moment to realized he was offering a boost. Bard accept the help, settling onto the saddle. 

Thranduil watched him adjust to the horse. “Go to your people. Hold the last line; if the orcs are flanking the west, we cannot rule out them attacking from any angle.”

Bard’s horse plodded backwards, huffing anxiously. The man wrapped his hands around the reins twice and hushed it. "What of the men here?"

"I will remain."

Bard leaned forward in the saddle. "You— Thank you. Thank you!"

Thranduil lifted his hand again, cutting off the man's stammering. "Ride, Champion of Esgaroth." Thranduil nodded to him in parting. "Go to your people." 

As Bard reined the horse and took off at a brisk trot, the elf king turned to the guard on his left. Find Legolas and Tauriel. He spoke in Sindarin. I have a task of the utmost urgency. 

Bard had never ridden an animal that ran so smoothly. The horse seemed to only skim the ground as it galloped full-speed uphill. 

When he finally reached the Upper Camp, the horse was barely winded, but he was struggling to get a breath in. The campground teemed with people; men and elves alike. The horse slowed to a walk as Bard steered it carefully through the fretful crowd.

“Bard!” 

Bard twisted in the saddle as Mariam came bounding after him. The woman clung to her skirts as she ran through muddy puddles. Her face was red from exertion. “Where were you?”

Bard quickly dismounted. An explanation was too long to get into at the moment. “Never mind that. Are we ready?”

“We still need to get any who can't fight to the back of the cave. I don’t want them getting caught in the cross-fire.”

Bard looked towards to the dark maw of Erebor. “Is there another exit?”

Mariam paused. “None that I know of.” 

Bard shot her a look. “So if the orcs breach the wall…”

“They won’t.” Mariam said, although her eyes hinted at her uncertainty. 

Bard's heart hammered in his chest. "Do we bring them back to Dale?”

“The civilians? No, they’ll be sitting ducks.”

Bard scoffed. “Is that any better than fish in a barrel?”

“It’s our only choice.”

Bard shook his head. “Not really a choice then…” 

“No.” 

Fear fizzled in Bard’s stomach. He looked at his hands. The leather reins strapped between his fingers were embroidered with beautiful curling vines spiked with thorns. In a moment of distraction, he was mesmerized by the elven handiwork.

“Bard.” Mariam interrupted. 

Bard blinked. “What if I…”

“We don’t know if there are packs are encircling the mountain. We missed this group; there are bound to be more. It’s not safe to send them out there.”

“But if there’s a chance.”

“Bard.” Mariam grabbed his shoulder. “It’s too risky. You cannot send them off.” She released his shoulder. “And in all honesty, I think they’d fight you on it.”

Bard couldn’t help but laugh. They probably would. But he couldn’t bear the thought of his children trapped in the mountain; nor anyone else resigned to that fate. 

Mariam straightened her skirts. “There's a whole infantry between us and them. We prepared for this. And those elves have been battle-hardened since our great-great grandparent’s time.” She mirrored Bard's anxious smile. “Have a little faith, alright?”

Bard drew his hand holding the reins to his chest. He wished he could press his racing heart into submission. “Where are the children?”

“They're safe. They're in the Hall."

Bard looked up again to watch the circling ravens. They were on the mountain like flies on a carcass. He gnawed on his upper lip nervously. “How much time do we have?”

Mariam followed his gaze. As they watched the sky, they both noticed snow flurries beginning to drift from the clouds. Mariam exhaled. “Just enough. Come. I’ll show you to them.”

Chapter Text

Clasa studied the helmet in her hands in the dim light of the old armory. The metal was emblazoned on each temple with the motif of a raven.

After the elven horns blew, the armory was stripped of most of the dust-coated weapons and armor. Only a few items remained. If she had a choice, she would’ve picked any other helmet. The raven was Durin’s symbol. It was the creature that took Kamal away to the mountain with the would-be king. 

Clasa drew her cheek between her teeth. She’d never seen gold-sickness in person, but if recovery was anything like drinking withdrawal, she hoped it would be a painful process for Oakensheild. 

“Clasa?” 

The dwarrowdam turned to the door as Hasdran wheeled himself in, his chair bucking over the uneven stone. Clasa reached out to steady him but he waved her off. Clasa stepped back to let him pass. “Any news?”

Hasdran shook his head. Clasa set the helmet on a bench and started fiddling nervously with the straps of her breastplate. 

Hasdran tried to smile. “You look like Mother.”

Clasa gave him a look. “You don’t remember her.” She said, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt for saying it out loud. 

Hasdran just shrugged. “I’ve seen the portraits.” He watched her tie the lacing of her gauntlet until the glove was snug on her arm. His whole upper body was wound as tight as a spring. His hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair. “I wish I could do something.” He muttered. 

Clasa paused. “You did everything you could.”

Hasdran’s eyes had wandered away from her. He stared angrily into the middle distance. 

Clasa squatted beside him and put her hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t be looking for Kamal now if it weren’t for you. I would’ve lost her.” 

Hasdran still wouldn’t look at her. “Did you see what he did?” He asked quietly.

Clasa’s tongue balled up behind her teeth as she clenched her jaw. She swallowed thickly as she nodded.

“You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to frighten her." Said Clasa. "I didn’t want her to think about it.”

“Wound’s still pretty fresh, Clas. I’m sure it wasn’t far from her mind.”

The tendons in Clasa’s jaw flexed. Bile stung her throat.

“Clasa.” Hasdran focused on the helmet on the bench, pretending to study the motif of the raven in flight. “Please be careful.”

Clasa eyed her brother's face. He looked as tired as she felt. Beaten. Bruised. Clasa’s hand lifted to her belt. Behind the wide band, she felt the small leather pouch pressing into her belly. She tucked her fingers between the belt and her leather gherkin and pulled out the pouch. It fit right in her palm. She opened it and distributed the object inside in her other hand. 

Now Hasdran was watching. His throat bobbed. 

Clasa cupped an iron sculpture of a ram. The little toy was crudely made; its body lean, the legs simple columns ending in a single split for cloven hooves. It was coppery in color, and clearly well-loved. Clasa held the toy out to Hasdran. “If I can’t get back…” She fell quiet. Clasa sunk into the back of her mind; into the quiet place where she stepped outside herself. She saw her hand offering the ram to her brother, and felt that it was a stranger holding the toy.

A hand, a much younger hand, accepted the sculpture from a stranger. The dwarf was veiled; as was custom for pallbearers. “This was your father’s gift to your mother.” A gentle male voice said. “It’s only right for you to have it.” 

Clasa felt someone squeeze her shoulder. “Thank you, Lord Dain.” It was Darestrum’s voice; a fresher, less worn-down voice than she knew now. 

Clasa felt another hand on the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry, lass.” Then the warm pressure lifted away, and Dain was gone. 

She heard a whimper. Hasdran, barely out of his toddling years, was bundled up in Darestrum’s other arm. His head lay on the older dwarf’s shoulder. He doesn’t know, Clasa thought, he’s just tired. She was almost envious of him. 

She looked down at the trinket. Clasa remembered it sitting on her mother’s vanity. She’d never thought anything of it. It was a crude little thing. But as she folded her fingers around it and drew it to her chest, it became as precious as any jewel.

Hasdran still hadn’t moved. Clasa took his hand from its death-grip on the chair and gave him the ram. Hasdran’s chest swelled. “Clas—”

“If I can’t get back, I need you to hold onto it for me.” 

Hasdran’s brow bunched together. He closed his hand around the statue and lifted it to his brow. His arm was shaking. 

His older sister got down on one knee, waiting for him to meet her gaze. His eyes were dark, glittering shards; too tearful to fully open. She gently took his wrist and pulled down his clenched fist. She reached forward and drew him into a deep hug. Hasdran sunk into her embrace, and for a moment, the whole world was just the two of them.

The chill in Kamal’s fingers and toes no longer bothered her. She was vaguely aware of the soft give of the earth transitioning to hard-packed soil as she ascended the hillside. 

Once the pack had snaked its way uphill and out of sight, Kamal was able to trail behind them. She’d reached the camp without much fuss. Surrounded by tents, she couldn't see what was happening or where the orcs were, but she could hear the fighting well enough to know how far to keep her distance.

A tangy, metallic perfume floated through the air, coating her tongue and making her stomach twist. She stuck close to the sides of tents, running half-bent to keep her head low. The dew-slicked canvases slapped against her skin as she slipped between two lean-tos. 

In front of her was a small clearing. At its center, an overturned brazier spilled hot coals into the dirt. The coals hissed as Kamal stepped around them and into the safety of the next lean-to. She ducked under the canvas and listened. The shouting was growing fainter. They must be moving fast.

Her heart nearly rocketed out of her ribs when all of a sudden a terrified shout split through the air. Unlike the fray in the distance, the scream sounded awfully close.

"Hold." Russandol warned, a little too late. Kamal had already frozen in a crouch beneath the shelter. Cold sweat dewed on her brow. With bated breath, she waited for Russandol's next command. 

"Left."

Kamal moved left. But just as she was about to step away from cover, a nearby tent opened and something fell out of it. Kamal ducked back behind the canvas. The canvas was sheer enough that she could see multiple shadows moving about, but she couldn’t make out what was happening. Carefully, she peered around the side of the lean-to.

Five monsters, the same kind as those that had chased her into the river, hovered around a fallen man. The man was lying very still on the ground. He almost looked like he was sleeping. The monsters spoke to each other with harsh, chuffing sounds. They had all drawn weapons. Some of the swords were glazed in red. 

Kamal slooked at the man in the dirt. From her angle, she couldn’t see anything wrong with him. His face was turned away from her. 

One of the monsters lifted their head. It began sniffing the air with a blunt, piggish nose. All of the hair on Kamal's arms stood on end. Russandol’s voice appeared in her head. Don’t move. Kamal pulled herself back behind the canvas. She could hear air passing through the monster’s smushed nose. It sounded like a pug struggling to breathe. 

It took a step closer. Then another. She listened to every little sound; its bare feet crunching against the frosted earth, its scaled armor sliding and shifting, the tink, tink, tink of an extra sword on its hip that bounced against the armor as it moved.

The light filtering through the canvas grew dimmer as it moved closer. Kamal clamped her tongue between her teeth. 

All of a sudden, the cold air that announced Russandol’s presence dissipated. Then she heard a clatter coming from a few tents over. The monster halted. The sound of crashing metal came from elsewhere once more. With a bark, the monster moved away from the lean-to, followed closely by its comrades.

Kamal exhaled as the chill returned to her side. “Move on.” Russ ordered. 

Kamal peeled away from the tent, but before she took off she paused and looked back over at the man. He was still lying completely still. “Does he need help?”

“Keep moving.” Russandol replied tersely.  

Kamal hesitated for a moment, then took off in a sprint.

It was loud. SO loud. Horns of men, elves, dwarves and orcs rang down the mountainside. Russandol never pulled her, but he gave her directions as she moved. “East.”

“I don’t know which way that is!” Kamal panted. Her throat was raw, her lungs burned. 

Russandol appeared a few feet off to the right, hovering an inch or two above the earth. Kamal followed after him. 

There were little fires burning everywhere; if it weren’t for the wind, her lungs would’ve been clogged with smoke. She scrambled over toppled carts and ducked under fallen tents. She sensed movement out of her periphery and dodged something sharp swinging at her head. She tried to look back to see what had swung at her, but before she could, Russandol shouted “Stop! Stop!” 

Kamal skidded to a halt just as a blur of bodies rolled in front of her. They were two soldiers locked in combat. The bigger one, an elf, was pulling and hitting at the smaller goblin-looking creature that had locked onto their neck.  

Kamal doubled back and went wide, but wherever she ran, she seemed to be right in the thick of it. The sound of swords striking armor rattled through her skull. 

Something heavy collided into the tent ahead of her, sending her scrambling backwards up in a blind panic. Then something dark and swift darted at her head. Certain it was the same attacker as before, she yelped, ducking low. But nothing hit her. She took a peek, and to her relief saw it was only a raven. There were three of them circling overhead, one of whom had just swooped her. "Up!" Came the rattling squawk.

Russandol reappeared at Kamal's side. He was also watching the birds. The ravens dove towards Kamal, their wingbeats ruffling her hair. “Up! Up!” 

Kamal's eyes darted up to the crest of the valley. At her height, it was still difficult to see over the tents. She did another spin, and then finally caught sight of what looked like mud pouring over edge of the valley where the main flock of ravens congregated like a black cloud. She looked closer, and to her dawning horror, she realized that it wasn’t mud. The horde. “Oh no.”

Russandol looked down at her quizzically. She pointed. When he turned to look, his form fizzled in shock

Suddenly, Russandol’s eyes flicked away from the crest. “Kamal!”

Before she even had a chance to react, out of the corner of her eye Kamal caught sight of an orc lunging towards her. She threw her hands up instinctively.

Russandol lit up like a wick, his form suddenly engulfed in a burning blue light. Kamal squinted as he blazed even brighter. It was just as painful to look at. He darted in front of her and, out of nowhere, drew a sword longer than she was tall. Russandol raised his sword, blocking the down-swing of the orc’s chipped cutlass. Sword struck sword with an ear-splitting CLANG. With one arm, he held the orc at bay. The tendons in his spectral hand twitched, but he didn’t have to fight for long. 

With a heave, he threw the orc back. The orc fell, shrieking in primal fear as Russandol drew back and pounced. The sword slid through the orc's armor like a hot knife through butter. The orc gargled, its eyes bulging as it grappled Russ’ blade. But as it tried to push the sword out, its fingers began to smoke upon making contact with the blade of light. It wailed, finally slumping over. Black blood trickled out of its open mouth. 

Russandol pulled away, and the orc slid off his sword into a pile on the ground. 

Kamal stared at the body, her heart in her throat. Her blood flushed with pins and needles. He... he just...

Then Russandol made a noise he'd never made before; he hissed in pain. The blue light faded as his form sparked and cracked like a sparkler fizzling out. He knelt, the sword disappearing from his hand as quickly as it had appeared. Kamal watched him grow more and more see-through as he struggled to compose himself. The three ravens squawked over them. She knelt beside the spirit. "Are you ok?"

Russandol flexed his good hand, eyeing his near-translucent fingers unhappily. “I do not know what the Maia has done", he scoffed, "but it has weakened me." He looked at her through a curtain of hair. "I am not certain how long I can hold this form.” 

Kamal blanched, never losing sight of the horde pouring down into the valley. “What happens if you lose it?” She asked shakily. 

Russandol's gaze turned cold. “Then you are on your own.”

Chapter Text

Tilda clenched her fingers. Trying to will the blood back into them had proven useless. Once the braziers were doused to muffle the light, it had only taken a few moments for the winter chill to creep back into the cave. The bodies around her were hunched and shivering. She pressed herself closer to Sigrid. She couldn’t feel her sister’s warmth through all the layers of clothing. Cheek to Sigrid’s stomach, Tilda looked up at the high ceiling. Stalactites dangled unnervingly close overhead. 

Tilda flinched as several armored elves went running past, their steps evenly matched. Their cowled faces were unreadable. Once they'd passed, Tilda peeked over Sigrid’s shoulder to watch her Da and brother talking quietly to each other. “Mariam’s in charge." She heard her father say. "No matter what happens, you need to stick together. Do you understand?”

Bain nodded solemnly. Bard glanced down at his eldest. “Sigrid, did you hear?”

“Yeah, Da.” Sigrid said half heartedly.

Amongst the cluster of ragged villagers, a handful of humans rose to their feet. Some stooped down to kiss their loved ones before following the elves to the front of the hall. Anyone with a sword goes to the front. Tilda's eyes traveled to the sheathed blade on her father's hip. Da has a sword. The selfish part of her wanted to beg him not to go. But she knew he had no choice. 

Bard drew Bain into a tight embrace, shutting his eyes briefly before releasing him. A knot formed between the boy's eyebrows but he said nothing. “Girls.” Bard asked for them, his arms outstretched. Tilda came over and nuzzled into his jacket. Sigrid hesitated. She stood slowly, her face grim. 

Bard reached for his eldest. “Sigrid.” He pleaded gently. 

Sigrid moved like she was walking to her own grave. She sandwiched Tilda between her and her da. The little one watched as her big sister leaned her forehead to her father’s shoulder. Bard hugged her, squishing Tilda between them.

Bard’s calloused hand grazed the back of Sigrid’s head. “You take care of them. I love you.” As he spoke, he felt something soaking into the fabric on his shoulder. Sigrid lifted her head, wiping at her eyes. She took Tilda by the shoulders as Bard leaned down and gave his youngest a kiss on the head. Then he turned, unable to look at his children a minute longer without being swallowed by despair, and marched away.

Tilda dipped her hands into Sigrid's pockets to warm them. “Sigrid… What if the orcs get in the cave?”

Sigrid and Bain exchanged a glance before Sigrid answered. “They won’t.”

Deep within the forge, Bombur worriedly inspected one of the massive hearths. “There’s something wrong with the chimney.” He muttered, peering through his welding mask. “S’ like something’s jamming it.”

Bofur leaned over stiffly in his armor. He’d decked himself in Erebor’s finest, but found himself as rigid as an automaton. “Jammed?” He hobbled closer, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Where?”

Bombur gestured up into the dark void of the smokestack. “Look at all that smog trapped in there." He craned his neck to see the top of the column. “It’s just petering out. It’s clogged."

Bofur rubbed the sting out of his eyes, his armor squeaking. “Snuff the flames. We gotta put it all out anyways.”

Bombur jammed his tongue in his cheek. “I dunno…”

“We have a few other pressing matters, case you haven’t noticed. Little smoke isn’t gonna hurt no one. Power it down.” 

Bombur grumbled as he set to breaking the fire with a long metal shovel. But as he stirred the coals, the hearth suddenly belched a puff of ash and embers. Bombur flinched away from the heat. "Augh." He sputtered. "See? Told you." He wiped the debris from his eyes. The cloud rolled over the edge of the platform, and the two dwarves watched the burning ash as it floated down; past the walkways, past the coolers, down, down…

Down into the lower levels of Erebor; past even where Smaug had resided; so far below that the lights of torches rarely touched it. The black walls, banded with glass-like lines, shimmered as the spark gently floated further into the depths. 

Blackstone, used in the old days for Erebor’s forges, was a common sight. But this blackstone cave had never seen the touch of the dwarves. It had lain dormant for millennia; until the fire-drake came unto the mountain, and his great movements had shifted the very stone; and a crack had formed in the ceiling of the blackstone cave.

The people of Erebor knew the air below their kingdom was too dangerous to breathe. They never cracked into sealed chambers. 

In the deep shadow, as the fading embers drifted towards the bottom of the cave, they met a thick haze of gas, and sparked.

High above, the dwarves watched in horror as the distant flicker fizzled like a fuse. They knew what was coming. “Get down!” Bofur grabbed Bombur, and the pair went careening behind the work table as a blast of flame erupted out of the ravine. 

Bard’s children huddled close to each other. Bain refused to release the hilt of his small sword. Tilda scanned her surroundings. She saw Susie, her classmate, nearby with her mum. The air was thick with tense silence. A baby mewled nearby and the mother hushed it.

Slowly, a strange scent drifted into Tilda’s nose. She grimaced. “What’s that smell?” Sigrid and Bain sniffed. Their noses crinkled in disgust. “Ugh.” Bain complained, his voice muffled in his sleeve. “It’s like hairs got caught in a fireplace.”

“Like wh—" BOOM

The earth bucked as hot light seared the air. Sigrid threw her body over her sister. Bain covered his head with his arms and pushed up against them, cowering from the source of the blast. Screams of panic were lost under the deafening sound. 

Tilda’s teeth clacked together as the blast echoed in her skull. After what felt like eternity, she lifted her head. It took her eyes a second to adjust. Some people were flattened to the ground, others were on their feet. For a moment, there was a collective fear the dragon had somehow returned from the Long Lake. But the blast had come from the back of the cave.

“What happened?”

“It came from inside!”

“How? There’s no other way in!” 

"The orcs must've snuck past!"

A man started running for the front of the cave. Then another. And suddenly, they were all running.

Still smoking, Bofur and Bombur hurried to the corridor overlooking the grand hall. They watched the crowd of humans scrambling away from the fire and towards the mouth of the cave. “It’s not an attack!” Bofur shouted, but his voice was too far to reach them. “Shite! They’re panicking— Not that way!” 

“They can’t run back either!” Bombur exclaimed. “Those sparks must've hit a gas pocket.” He ripped his mask off his head and threw it to the side. His face was as red a cherry. “Mahal… Erebor’s a powder keg.”

Bard flinched as a blast rattled the cave. The men and women surrounding him clutched their weapons as orange light swelled. Bard spun on his heels, eyes wide as smoke plumed in the back of the Grand Hall. It’s behind the crowd. He assessed, hoping beyond all hope that no one had been burned.

But there was a new problem. Villagers launched to their feet and were now sprinting towards him. As the crowd pressed forward, he realized that they were coming dangerously close to the front lines. Elven soldiers lifted their shields to block the first runners. The villagers collided against the shields, jumping and clawing to get to safety. Elven voices shouted commands, but the humans weren’t listening. Some managed to push past the elves and make a run for it, but they only got as far as the wall.

Bard watched the jostling crowd in horror. They’ll trample each other. He looked for his children, but there was too much movement to catch individual faces. 

The archers standing on the parapet, elven and human alike, turned to watch the chaos unfolding. “Back away!” An elf snapped. “Clear the area!” The fire at the back of the cave swelled for a moment. Wails of terror echoed through the massive hall.

And then came the first arrow. Bard heard it whistled through the air. It missed its target, one of the archers, by a hair, flying swiftly until it met a stone column. The brittle arrow head exploded on impact with the rock. The shaft was still intact as it clatter to the floor a few feet from Bard. It was orc-made. 

Someone shouted a Sindarin command from the wall. Bard took one step up the ladder. “What do you see?” “Troll!” The same voice called out in Westron.

Bard dropped down from the step. He turned to see the elves pushing back a fretful crowd. Heads bobbed like buoys on turbulent waters as people pushed to get up front. Bard drew his sword. Anger and fear spilled over, and he shouted as loudly as he could. “Get away from the wall!” He charged towards the crowd, trying not to swing his sword too much as he gestured. “Get back! If you cannot fight, find cover!" He wasn't even sure anyone could hear him, but he didn’t stop. "If you can, find a weapon! If not, GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

To his surprise, the crowd quieted. The elven soldiers shifted back a step, shields still locked in formation. Bard's eyes flicked over to some villagers slinking towards the outskirts of the crowd. Some elves met them there, corralling groups together. Bard wondered if his children were among them as the elves led the frail and young to safety.

Bard met the eyes of those who stayed behind. His heart beat so fast he felt like it would pop. He wet his parched throat. “Draw your weapons!” He lifted his sword over his head, hoping no one would notice his trembling grip. “You are the lineage of Dale! You have conquered Smaug, the unconquerable!” His voice bubbled up in his throat, and as he opened his mouth his shout flew from him like a punch. “Fight, Esgaroth! Fight!

The brave voices of his people; his neighbors, his friends; rose over the roar of the flames. 

But they were echoed by another ferocious roar; guttural and hungry. The crowd jumped as something slammed against the wall from the outside. “Troll!” The archers warned again. The stones shifted, raining dust on those below. The archers wobbled as their balance shifted.

Bard held his ground. “Pikemen!”

The Laketown guards filed in front of him, aiming the tips of their pikes towards the mouth of the cave. The elves holding back the crowd turned their shields to the oncoming threat. The creature on the far side of the wall roared again, this time followed by chanting war song.

Despite the noise, Bard felt like all he could hear was his own stuttering breath. His mind wandered to the dragon; it felt like Smaug’s death was a century past. So much had happened since he shot the beast down with the black arrow. He let his eyes close. The fire at his back transported him to that night. He saw Bain’s face; terrified but trusting. His eyes fluttered open. He took a long breath in, and a long breath out. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword.

Another slam. The rocks visibly moved this time. The archers fled from the top of the wall, scurrying down to the main floor as they repositioned themselves and drew their arrows.

Bard rolled his shoulders and held his sword in front of his body. He’d worn the mask of bravery for Bain, for all of his children. He could don it once more. 

Before she knew what was happening, Sigrid found herself and her siblings pulled along the current of the crowd. Where are we going? She wondered as she gripped Tilda's small hand. The elves were herding them like cattle; splitting the group down the middle and moving the halves to either side of the Grand Hall, away from the flames and the entrance. Bain held onto Tilda’s shoulder. Their chain of three kept together through the pushing and pulling of the crowd. 

The blaze on their right was hard to ignore. Despite asking, they'd gotten no answers as to the origin of the blast. Sigrid wished she could see the elves faces to at least get a read on them. Not that they're that expressive.

“ No dirweg!”

Sigrid looked just in time to see the defensive wall fall and a huge, lumbering creature barrel through. A villager shrieked. The crowd began to stir. Her hand cupped around Tilda's head, redirecting her attention. The elf that had called out waved their hand to the other Silvan. Some split away, drawing their weapons and running to the back of the group.

Suddenly, someone bumped into Sigrid. Another jostled her so fiercely she almost fell.

”Hey, careful!” She protested. But as she looked over her shoulder again, she saw a band of orcs tearing across the hall towards them.

The crowd shoved itself against the closest wall, unsure of where to move. The elves fired a volley of arrows, taking out a line of orcs. But there were too many. The orcs crashed into the elves; hacking at them with brutal cutlasses and maces. 

Sigrid scooped Tilda up in her arms as she slammed against the stone. The people packed tighter and tighter. Sigrid winced. They’re crushing us. Sigrid looked for a gap, but there were too many bodies. She elbowed and kicked as hard as she could. Bain cried out in pain as someone accidentally stomped on his foot. 

Sigrid glanced up. A story above them was one of the protruding walkways that lined the Hall. It’s too high up. The shrieks of the villagers blended with the oncoming snarls of the orcs as the enemy drew closer. Sigrid tried to lift Tilda up on her shoulders as her little sister cried. Bain shoved people away but kept getting caught between bodies. Sigrid’s arms strained as she was jabbed by elbows and knees. 

“Sigrid!” 

Sigrid looked up. Leaning over the walkway was a familiar, mousy face. “Tom?!” 

Tom leaned out of a stone window above the crowd. He reached for her. When he realized it was too far, he disappeared for a moment and returned with the leather sheath for his sword. The strap hung just low enough to be within reach.

Sigrid grabbed Tilda under the arms and hoisted her up again. “Stand on my shoulders!” Tilda found her footing, wobbling slightly as Sigrid tried to keep her balance. Tom leaned as far as he could. Bain hugged Sigrid to keep her stable as the crowd jostled them. “Reach!” Tom shouted. 

Sigrid stood on her toes as Tilda lifted her arms. Her fingers grazed the strap. She almost tumbled forward, grabbing Sigrid’s hair and painfully pulling as she tried to right herself. “C’mon Tilda, reach!” Tilda tried again; and this time her fingers clenched around the strap. She grabbed it with both hands. Tom pulled, but at the awkward angle he struggled with her weight. Sigrid held Tilda’s calves and pushed her up off her shoulders. The little girl swung dangerously she held on. Sigrid got her hands under Tilda’s feet and pushed as Tom simultaneously pulled as hard as he could.

Tilda found her footing on the stone side of the walkway and started walking up the wall. Tom got a hold of her wrist, then her jacket, and the young guard pulled her through the window to safety. 

Next was Bain. Sigrid gave him a leg up, and the boy was able to grapple the edge of the windowsill before Tom and Tilda helped him in.

Sigrid realized then that she didn’t have anyone left to boost her. 

“Sig, look!” Came Tilda’s voice.Tom had linked his arms around Bain’s legs, and Sigrid watched in shock as her little brother dangled over the edge of the windowsill. Sigrid squirmed against the crowd. She could see metal flashing, and heard it cut through flesh as villagers screamed. She reached and found her brothers hands. With that, Tom, Tilda, and Bain all pulled Sigrid up just as the orcs descended on the crowd.

Rolling painfully over the stone, Sigrid crashed onto the walkway, bruised and sore. Bain and Tom panted from exertion. Tom gestured for her to stand. “Hurry— We need to keep climbing.”

The children rushed up several flights of stairs. They could hear the fighting below, but the echo made it difficult to judge the difference. They ran blindly until the stairs stopped. This level of the mountain extended away from the Hallway into multiple channels of dark passageways. The four of them wormed through the labyrinth, Tom at the lead with his sword at the ready. They ran and ran until they saw light through a distant doorway. But as they ran through onto the open air balcony, all of their hopes crashed. 

“No! We’re right where we started.” Bain exclaimed in disbelief. Somehow they had looped around the halls, only to end up even closer to the mouth of the cave. An ankle-breaking drop was all that separated them from a sea of armored monsters. Sigrid couldn’t see the humans in the massive brawl. Only the glittering armor of the elves stood out. 

Tilda screamed, startling her. The others looked to see a clawed hand grappling onto the edge of the low balcony wall. Tom threw his arms protectively. “Go!” They all turned tail and sprinted back through the same hall. Fear lanced through Sigrid as she heard the orc shriek. It wasn’t a sound of anger or fear, but of delight.

They retraced their steps in the dark until Tom saw another pinprick of light. “Go left! Hurry!”

The turned left, only to find a few yards down the hall that the ceiling had fallen in. The children skidded to a stop at the base of the rubble. Pale light poured in from the opening. Tom reached for Sigrid. She took his sweaty hand and climbed. Poking her head out, she saw that above was a larger room lit by a rectangular skylight. Where the light source came from, she hadn’t the slightest idea. The furniture within the room was coated in an 100-year old blanket of dust. It looked like some sort of large study. The door was made of petrified wood. She ran to it and tried to pull on the handle, but it was sealed shut.

Tilda came through next, then Bain. Sigrid’s heart raced. “Tom, it’s locked!”

Tom poked his head out of the opening, his face pale. “What?”

”It’s locked!”

Tom struggled to move smoothly with sword in hand as he climbed the debris. Sigrid was about to try the handle again when she heard a horrible, wet sound.

Tilda gasped. Bain put himself in front of her, but it was too late.

Sigrid looked back, just in time to catch a glimpse of a thin sword run through Tom’s stomach. The boy didn’t even have time to react when the sword was pulled back, yanking him along with it down into the shadows.

Just like that, he was gone.

Sigrid felt her breath leave her body. Her lips formed around the boy’s name.

A new face appeared from the pit; It had a wide, ugly mouth. It’s skin had a grey hue. It’s armor was black and patchy. But of all it’s ugliness, Sigrid only saw the sword dripping with blood.

Bain held his sword in front of him and screamed, his voice cracking, before he rushed the monster.

”Bain, no!”

The orc took a step to the right, and as he did he swung his weapon back down. Bain managed to twist his blade just in time to block, but as the force of the blow struck his sword, it’s flat side cracked against his skull. Bain collapsed to the ground, his sword flying out of his hands. Blood seeped from his forehead. “Bain!" Tilda was beside herself, grabbing at Sigrid's skirts. Sigrid assessed the wound in a glance; Bad location. Needs pressure. Needs stitches. 

The orc pulled back his sword to swing again. Sigrid looked for a weapon, only finding what looked like an ancient ink box on the grey desk. She launched for it and chucked the vessel at the orc as hard as she could. The vial met the orc’s helmet with a metallic CLANG. No liquid poured out; it had long since dried. But the orc flinched, and as the vessel shattered on the ground, he turned his attention to her.

Sigrid dragged Tilda behind her. Tilda sobbed into her skirts. There was nothing else to throw. 

The orcs smiled, lifting its sword. Sigrid let out a blood curdling scream. 

As she did, a great weight slammed against the old door and it budged. It bent near to breaking, great cracks forming in the stone around it’s hinges. Dust floated down on Sigrid, Tilda, and the orc like flour through a sifter. 

The orc hesitated. Sigrid stared at the door, her throat still raw.

Suddenly, the petrified wood burst apart, tearing away chunks of stone with it. The girls shrieked and covered their heads as an enormous set of jaws entered the room, clamping shut around the orc’s neck and head. The orcs surprised yelp was cut short as the jaws yanked it off its feet and out of the room. Even over the clamor, Sigrid could hear a sickening crunch.

She hurried with Tilda to Bain’s side. Their skin had turned ashen by the dust that settled on their bare faces and clothes. They waited with bated breath for the monster to return and turn its fangs on them. Sigrid dropped to Bain’s side. “Bain? Bain!” He didn’t respond.

They had to move. That beast was coming back for them, she knew it. Sigrid softly slapped Bain’s face, but her brother made no sign of alertness. She opened up her coat and tore a strip of linen from her shirt, using to the cloth to apply pressure to the cut.

A shadow passed by the dark door. They heard sniffing.

Sigrid hushed Tilda, trying to be soothing while tending Bain’s wound. She sensed more movement out of her periphery. “It’s ok.” She whispered to her siblings. Her voice caught in her throat. She pulled Tilda closer to Bain’s body, trying to take up as little space as possible. Through the large gap in the wall where the door had once been, Sigrid saw a pair of large eyes glimmer in the dark. There was a sound like thunder rumbling through low clouds. Tilda sobbed. 

Sigrid stared at the silver coin eyes watching her from the darkness. Nobody’s coming. This was it. I’m sorry. She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She waited for teeth like butcher knives to fall upon her and her siblings. And waited. 

Nothing happened. 

She peeled her eyes open. Tilda’s soft cries made her heart twist. She hugged her sister closer. Through tears, she looked at the beast. The sheer mass of its body nearly blocked the entire hole it had knocked out of the wall. It was a bear; bigger than any bear she’d ever seen. Its coat was as black as a shadow. The face was long and toothy. Its breath trailed from its black lips like smoke from a chimney. She kept her eyes on its face. She knew some animals could be swayed from attacking if you faced them. That probably doesn’t apply to monsters, She thought. But as she met its gaze, a strange feeling passed through her. It looked familiar.

The bear’s sides swelled like bellows. It watched her right back, and the young woman swore she saw a gleam of recognition pass across its broad face.

The skin changer. “Tilda.” She whispered. Tilda didn’t respond. Sigrid swallowed. “Tilda. I think it’s Mr. Beorn.”

Tilda unstuck her cheek from Sigrid’s shoulder. She turned to look. Her sobs dimmed to soft whimpers as her wide eyes took in the creature’s face.

The bear huffed and took a lumbering step towards them, but it could only get it’s shoulders through the gap. The girls jolted. The bear hesitated, retracting a paw as the children shrank back in his presence. He made a curious noise, his long lip hanging low, painted in dark orc-blood. 

Sigrid bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering. She shakily straightened up, pulling Tilda behind her. “Hello, Ser.” She whispered, her voice nearly gone. 

Beorn shifted his weight, his thick coat of fur and fat rippling with the movement. 

Sigrid tried to breathe evenly. “Do you understand me?” 

Beorn huffed. Not a yes… but not a no. 

“M-my brother’s hurt.” Her brow furrowed. “I— they breached the wall. They killed—“ She wavered. “Please help us.”

Beorn watched her silently for a moment. Then he leaned into the room, his shoulders scraping the top of where the door’s lintel used to sit. Sigrid stiffened as he sniffed at Bain’s head. When he opened his mouth, her heart nearly flew out of her chest. But he didn’t snap up the boy’s skull. As gently as a mother-cat, he took the scruff of Bain’s jacket between his teeth and pulled him slowly towards the opening. As he shimmied out of the tight space, Beorn rose, lifting Bain from the floor. The girls watched in shock as their brother hung limply from the bear’s hold. Beorn shuffled back a few more steps. He made another sound in the back of his throat. Sigrid realized he was waiting for them.

“Luck, protect me.” She pulled Tilda to her side, cupping her head against her hip, and they hesitantly followed the beast out of the room. 

Chapter Text

Beorn back-stepped between the columns, shimmying out into the spacious arcade. With Tilda clinging to her side, Sigrid followed the bear into the light. She noticed a trail of black blood splattered across the gray tiles. Her eyes traveled to the opposite wall, where a crumpled form bled in the shadows of the covered aisle. Sigrid wedged herself between Beorn and her sister. Her eyes trained nervously on Bain as he dangled by the collar. “I-I can carry him.” She offered. Beorn’s eyes flicked over to her, then looked away. I suppose that’s a no, Sigrid thought.

Beorn’s plodding footsteps filled the following silence. His claws scraped the stone floor with each pass. Sigrid could feel Tilda’s nails digging into her hand. She tried to focus on the pinching sensation and not think about Tom. He was right there. He was right behind us. She kept looking over her shoulder, expecting another orc to run after them, but none came. She looked up to see the evening sun seeping through the latticework ceiling high above. The cold air touched her cheeks. We can’t be that close to the surface… 

They walked until they reached the end of the long arcade. Where there should’ve been a staircase was another pile of rubble. The upper level was far too tall for anyone to reach without a ladder. Beorn stood on his hind legs, placing his front paws on a column as he judged the distance to the gallery. He snorted affirmatively and lowered himself back to the ground. Then he knelt down on one foreleg, offering his shoulder.

Oh Gods. Sigrid hesitantly reached up and took a handful of Beorn's thick fur. It was surprisingly dense; she had engulfed her whole hand and had yet to touch skin. Beorn waited patiently as the young woman shimmied up his side. "Tilda, use your hands." Tilda followed suit and grabbed two fistfuls of fur.

Sigrid was still an arm’s reach from Beorn’s back when he suddenly stood. “Wait, wait, we’re not up—“

His first lunge almost sent the girls tumbling. He deftly climbed up to the edge of the gallery, claws scratching deep grooves into the stone columns, as the children clung to his pelt for dear life. Pulling himself up onto the walkway, Beorn gently lowered Bain to the floor. He knelt as he had before, urging the girls to climb down. They did, and once they were off, Beorn gave himself a mighty shake.

Sigrid peeked over the edge— it was at least a 20-foot drop. Unless the orcs had tools for climbing, they wouldn’t be able to reach them. At last, she felt like she could catch her breath.

She sat down cross legged next to Bain’s head. The bleeding had slowed, thank goodness. And she could see his eyes rolling around in their sockets behind closed eyelids. She gently touched the raw flesh around the wound and Bain winced. He hadn’t woken, but he was alive. She pulled at the hem of her dress, ripping off a long strip to apply pressure to Bain’s head. Tilda settled on the other side of her brother, gently rubbing her knuckles along his open palm.

Beorn studied the children for a moment before he lifted his nose to the air. He sniffed, drawing great gusts through his nostrils. His ears flattened against the sides of his head as his hackles bristled. He exhaled sharply as if to force the smell away. Then he began to climb back down over the edge feet first.

Tilda jumped to her feet. “Don’t go!” Before Sigrid could stop her, Tilda reached for the bear. Beorn used his nose to push her back. The girl let herself slide a few inches on her heels before she stumbled into Sigrid’s arms. Beorn huffed, a final warning to stay put, before his large head disappeared beneath the drop-off. He left Bard’s children in the gallery; safe, but trapped.

✶

“Hold!” The remaining elven infantry braced themselves, shields raised, as another volley of arrows rained down on them. Arrowheads ricocheted off the metal shields, shattering on impact. Bard flinched as he felt something sharp graze his bare cheek. “Pikes ready?!” The surviving Laketown guards, as well as a few villagers who’d picked up the weapons of the fallen, fell in line behind him. They pointed their pikes out towards the shields. 

Bard leaned against the back of the elf in front of him with his forearm as he waited for the Sindarin command.

Finally, an elven commander in gold laced armor barked an order in his native tongue.

Bard’s nerves flushed cold with adrenaline. “Now!” He moved out of the way as the shield wall parted, creating openings just large enough for the pikes to pass through. The pikes shot through the gaps, meeting flesh and bone on the other side. The orcs shrieked in pain.

“Pull back!” As they withdrew, a lone arrow slipped through the shield wall. On his left, Bard heard a man cry out in pain before falling to the floor, the arrow shaft protruding from his eye socket. “Close the wall!” The elves reassembled, cloaking those behind them in shadow as another volley of arrows splintered against the shields. Bard repositioned his grip on the sword hilt for what felt like the hundredth time. The muscles in his arms ached. It didn't matter how long they could hold the wall — they were cornered, locked between the orcs and the fires. They were going to die in darkness.

A deep bellowing horn sang out over the thrall. Bard thought nothing of it; what's one more war song?

Over the cacophony, the horn blared again. A baritone voice shouted from the near-distance. Then another voice, one with the breath of a hundred lungs, replied with a guttural shout...

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!"

The pressure from the front lightened. Heads swiveled in confusion towards the mouth of the cave. Even the elves seemed lost.

The earth trembled under hundreds of heavy-booted feet. The horn blew a third time, and Bard heard the outer ranks of the of the orcs collide with what sounded like a wave of metal.

The orcs stuttered, and in their moment of hesitation, the elves advanced. They shoved the enemy back, taking advantage of their confusion to cut and slash at any who stumbled. Bard found himself jostled like a barrel in a choppy lake. As they finally began to push back against the orcs, he tried to think of something brave to say; something to rally his people, but his throat clogged. Instead his fingers clenched around the hilt, the shields in front of him pulled aside, and he swung as hard as he could.

✶

Nearby... 

Fili gutted the orc, trying not to gag as its blackened innards uncoiled from its torso. He threw his head back to loosen the bloody strands of hair from his face. The company hacked and slashed against what felt like an infinite rush of orcs. Even little Bilbo was there with his Sting.

Fili took what brief pause he could before he heard a panicked voice cry out, “Fili, getdown!” He dropped to the floor as something enormous went charging past him. He could feel the energy of the brawl shift as the creature drove its weight straight into a wall of orcs. When he looked up, he could only see a flourish of dark fur storming through the armored orcs. The skinchanger. He hopped up and thrust his sword into the air, hollering victoriously. “Beorn! Be-orn!” But his excitement died as the bear kept barreling forward.

Beorn cut through the orcs like a scythe through wheat. With each swipe of his claws, he sent orc-soldiers flying into the air; many with detached limbs.

The world filtered through his animal senses as ambiguous blocks of color, shape, light and smell. He knew the ones who smelled of the earth were to be left alone, and the ones who smelled of rot and sulfur were to be killed. 

The horrific taste of orc blood still coated his tongue as he ran madly through the soldiers. He could see the scent like a plume of smoke trailing through the air, leading right out of the mountain. He barreled towards the entrance to the dwarven kingdom; plowing through packs of rancid-smelling creatures. Rust. Blood. He inhaled again. Him. It smelled of him.

His greatest shame.

Even with the tangled mess of metal, blood, and sulfur, he could follow it. His nose was his compass; and it pointed directly to Dale.  

Fili realized Beorn was running for the entrance. Running away? He wondered, but he quickly shook the idea from his head. He’s on a trail. Even if the shape shifter could hear him, it was no use calling him back.

Beorn was gone. All that remained with the berserker. The Great Bear.

✶

With a ferocious roar, Clasa swung down her war hammer, splitting through the orc’s crude helmet and straight into its skull with a sickening crunch. She yanked the spike free and pushed the body away with her boot. 

She, Darestrum, and their small posse of Iron Hills soldiers had managed to fight their way towards the thickest part of the battle. They kept their backs to each other, transforming into a whirling circle of iron and steel. Clasa repositioned herself so she could guard the dwarf behind her. She flexed her jaw. The torrent of screams and metal on metal had sparked the telltale throbbing in her skull, but she had no choice but to ignore it. They were losing what little light they had, and fast. The only way she could who in front of her was the orange glow of the distant fires. As she waited for another enemy to run at her, she searched the dark sea of armored bodies. The orcs eyes glowed pale in the darkness.

They had to get back to high ground.

"Push back!" She commanded in Khuzdul. They tried to shuffle out of the fray, but Clasa jumped as she sensed something climbing closer in her periphery. She'd been foolish enough to wedge herself under the shadow of a low staircase. Clasa looked up and saw the point of its arrow before she ever met the creature's eyes. But the solider on her left thrust his sword up and caught the orc in the thigh. The orc lost its balance, grabbing instinctively for its wound, and as it leaned over Clasa snagged it by the jerkin and yanked it to the floor. There was a blade buried in its heart before it even hit the ground. 

Clasa sensed another dark figure moving towards her. She lifted her hammer, muscles tensed, barring her teeth as she prepared to throw.

But it was only a raven. The bird had found its way though the chaos and landed at her feet, hopping from claw to claw. Clasa paused, flinching as the dwarf at her side blocked a scabbard with their blade. Clasa kicked at the bird. "Begone!"

The bird didn't leave. Its feathers were fully fluffed as it anxiously paced, careful to avoid falling under any feet or swords. Frustrated, Clasa took a swing at it. "Go!" But the raven flapped a few feet up, finding a perch on the wall from where she'd just pulled the orc archer. “Dale!” It warbled. Clasa steadied herself on the side of the staircase as the orc hoard surged. She locked arms with her partner and they shoved back. She heard Darestrum behind her, throwing out curses left and right. Her metal gauntlet scraped against the stone has she struggled to keep her footing.

“Dale!”

Clasa's head snapped up again. Strings of ink-black hair clung to her face as sweat dripped from her forehead. Her amber eyes blazed through the smudge of soot and mud painted on her skin. She stared at the raven, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

The raven croaked to clear its throat. "Hunted!"

Clasa flexed her jaw. The bird's nonsense was only making her headache worse. Suddenly there was a thwing, and the raven cried out as an arrow shot through it. Clasa watched it topple over the edge and land right at her feet. Her eyes danced between the dying creature and the mountain of enemies ahead. Hunted? The raven gargled, flapping its wings uselessly. The movement drew Clasa's attention back to it one last time, and their eyes met. "Great. Bear." And the raven fell still. 

"CLASA!"

Clasa ducked as an axe swung for her head. Darestrum pushed himself in front of her, dodging the swing before digging his long knife up under the orc's breastplate. He looked over his shoulder at Clasa, his front completely coated in black and red blood. “What’s with you? Stay sharp!”

Clasa stood shell-shocked, breathing heavily, her tongue leaden in her mouth. 

"Hey!" Darestrum moved to her in one swift stride, shaking her by the shoulder. "Look at me!" 

"We have to reach Dale." She whispered, staring at the corpse of the raven. 

“What?”

That's when Darestrum noticed the skewered bird on the ground. Clasa looked at her mentor, her eyes bloodshot and pleading. He met her gaze, and the same grim rush of dread filled the both of them. Hand still on Clasa's pauldron, he squeezed it and nodded. 

✶

"Dale!"

Kamal looked up, squinting as another snow burst struck her skin with stinging crystals of ice. A swirl of black ravens circled against the dark grey sky. 

One of the ravens dropped low, swooping over her before it took to a high current and rocketed upwards. It croaked to its brothers and they responded in kind. The raven hovered in stasis for a moment, listening, before twirling back down. “Dale! Hunt!”  

“What can you see?" Kamal called, her teeth chattering. "Do you see Tilda?” 

"Dale!"

She looked towards the ruins. The wind rustled around her, blowing the snowfall towards Dale. The world became very quiet. The edges of her vision darkened. She felt an invisible thread tugging her forward; towards the burned city. She took three staggering steps. Kamal swallowed the taste of bile filling her mouth. 

A different raven swooped at her, clawing at her hair. She ducked. "Hey!"

"Hunt!"

Hunt? Hunt what? As she looked up, she saw the bird flying towards the city. The others overhead followed suit. 

She hesitated. They were almost to the edge of the final encampment. They were close enough to see the mouth of the cave. On the other hand, the only thing that lay between her and Dale was about a mile of scrubland. Up ahead was an endless stretch of monsters. Dale was almost temptingly easy to reach. 

Russ reappeared before her, his form barely visible. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear his voice. Kamal wasn't listening anyway. She honed in on the sensation of the cold; the weight of the stone; the resentment she could feel leaching through her bones. 

Hunt. All this time, she was being hunted. She was small. She was weak. She flexed her calf, and felt Beorn's paring knife in its sheath strapped to her leg.

He'll hurt Tilda. He'll hurt anyone he can. 

"You promised me, Russ." She said quietly. She glanced over to him and found he was gone. She did a 180, and when she turned back to Dale she saw the spirit floating a few yards ahead. He was waiting for her. 

The muscles in Kamal's shoulder ached with the memory of teeth. The pain traveled down through her, but rather than shying away, she grit her jaw and felt every white-hot needle. The pain poured down into her belly. As it swirled within her, her blood rushed hot and cold at the same time. 

She knew what lay within the walls of Dale. 

She was ready it hunt it down.

Chapter Text

Clasa knelt behind the overturned cart, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her raven helm was slick with orc blood. She could feel it caking her skin. Darestrum huffed beside her, his lungs slower to fill. Clasa glanced back the way they came. For every orc they cut down, two more stepped into their place. Even if she wanted to return to Erebor, the fighting was too thick to pass through.

Under the meager protection of the cart, Clasa clawed dirt loose from the frozen ground. She dusted her hands and rubbed the dirt against the handle of the hammer. Her grip had slipped one too many times. With luck, the grit would give her a better hold.

Darestrum leaned over her to peek above the cart. His eyesight was sharp, even in the long shadow of dusk. He cursed. “Bridge’s completely infested.”

Clasa wiped the corners of her lips. The braids in her beard weren’t doing much to keep loose strands from going right into her mouth. “There’s got to be another – HMPH!” Her tongue balled up as a bony hand clamped over her mouth. She reached for her hammer, only to have her hand kicked away. Something hit her in the back on the knee and she crumpled. Darestrum was jerked backwards a sinewy arm wrapped around his neck, the other holding his dagger at bay. 

“Where is the child?” A voice whispered tersely into her ear.

Clasa tried to shake them but they were surprisingly strong. When she looked to Darestrum’s attacker, and her eyebrows jumped. “Y-uh.” She gasped, her voice muffled. Her captor pulled their hand away from her mouth, but locked Clasa’s arms behind her. Clasa glared at the male elf holding Darestrum. “King’s kin.”

Legolas didn’t respond.

“For her safety, you will tell us where she is.” The voice at her back said. The grip on her wrists tightened. “We are bound to retrieve her, dwarrowdam. She is safer with us than on the battlefield.”

Clasa paused. Her armor creaked as her lungs swelled. “Retrieve her, or the stone?” She tried to turn her head, but her gorget wouldn’t budge.

“Both, if fate allows it.” Legolas replied.

“We wish her no harm. She is an elf-friend.” Suddenly the hold around Clasa’s arms released, and the weight on her back disappeared. Clasa spun on one knee. The copperhead. Tauriel looked down her nose at the dwarf. “We are not the enemy, Lady of the Iron Hills. But the enemy is upon us.” Clasa thought she saw the elf’s eyes soften. “We can ensure her safety; but you must be truthful.”

Clasa stood. “I don’t know where she is.”

Tauriel studied Clasa carefully. “Do you search for her now?”

Clasa stiffened.They’re going to take her away from you, a panicked voice cried in her head. As her mind raced for an answer, a dark shape darted over their heads. The elves looked up. Ravens flew as fast as swifts away from the mountain. Tauriel’s eyes tracked them, eventually landing on the bridge to Dale. Her jaw tightened. Legolas read her face and immediately stood, pushing Darestrum as he released him.

Tauriel frowned at Clasa. “You don’t trust us?”

“Your king only covets the Arkenstone. He has no love for my girl, nor care for her wellbeing.” Clasa glanced quickly at her fallen war-hammer. “You will not reach her before I do.”

Tauriel’s gaze landed on Darestrum. She stared coldly at him until he turned his face away. “Yet you trust this one to accompany you?” She queried. 

Clasa paused. She looked back at her mentor to see that he was staring at the ground. An uneasy feeling writhed in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

A shadow passed behind Tauriel’s eyes. “You never told her.” Legolas scoffed as he moved to Tauriel’s side.

“What is she talking about?” Clasa asked in a thin voice. Darestrum didn’t respond. “... Dare?” 

“Lady Clasa.” Legolas interrupted. “The ravens have sighted her. If you wish to find the child, that at least allow us to assist.”

Clasa blinked, as if shaken from a stupor. “The bridge is impassable.” She mumbled, unfocused. “There’s no other way into the city.”

Tauriel surveyed the bridge. “Impassible, you say.” She glanced at Legolas, who in turn shrugged. Tauriel gave a wry smile. “It won’t be a problem. Let us clear the ground. Follow when I call for you.”

Clasa and Darestrum were silent.

“Come, dwarves.” Tauriel said curtly. “We are losing the light.”

Clasa nodded. “Fine.”

Before she even finished her answer, the elves had leapt over the cart and out of sight. Clasa knelt to pick up her war-hammer. Her mouth felt dry. You never told her? She looked at Darestrum.

The old dwarf could barely meet her eyes. Tell her. “I…”

Clasa waited.

"I..." His voice faltered. 

“Dwarrowdam!” A voice called on the wind.

The disappointment in Clasa’s face made Darestrum want to sink into the earth. In the depths of her gaze was the same anger he saw on her mother’s burial day. Her mouth sealed into a thin line. Without another word, she rounded the cart and hurried after the elves. Darestrum followed close behind.

✶

Kamal jogged swiftly across the frozen earth. She ignored the sting of the cold and the ache in her bones. Her legs moved as if detached from her body. The rhythm of running had become as natural as breathing. 

From a distance, it would seem that the ravens were circling a carcass. But they followed Kamal as she ran. Some flew ahead, taking to the high winds and surfing the current until they were little more than a dark speck in the purple sky.

The bridge across the chasm was within eyesight, but it was teeming with soldiers. She could hear the fighting across the wide plain. The ravens banked to the right, swooping under the horizon line. Kamal slowed down, her legs like jello. Just over the small hill, the land suddenly fell away. She peeked over the edge of the drop off. The basin lay far below.

The descent became more treacherous as she worked her way over boulders and shale. There was no marked path; she found footholds where she could. The high walls of the city towered over her head as she worked her way down under the shadow of the plateau. 

Finally, her feet hit loose pebbles at the bottom of the ravine. Immediately, she picked up on the sound of moving water. Shallow pockets of ice lay all around her. The ravens were circled something hidden in the veil of mist. She walked towards them, moved noisily over the loose stones. 

Suddenly she stumbled to a halt. Once again, the ground dropped out from underneath her. It wasn't a steep fall, but a stone’s throw below her she saw a wide, angry river. Kamal blanched. The rapids churned and frothed. Mist billowed from the turbulent surface. Kamal watched the direction of the water flow. Towards Laketown. But the direction didn't matter; what mattered was that the plateau lay on the other side, and there was no way she could cross this thing. She guessed that the stretch between her and the opposite bank was about two-school buses wide. "Shit." She muttered. 

The ravens wheeled just over the mist, waiting for her.

Kamal slid down the embankment to the water's edge and trotted towards them. Their calls were lost under the noise of the rapids. As she drew closer, a foreign shape emerged from the fog. 

A wall and a wheel? The arched structure was massive, looming almost four stories above her. On the end of the wall facing her was a large, wooden wheel. There seemed to be troughs attached to the rim. The bottom of the wheel was submerged under water, but despite the flow of the river, it didn’t turn. Kamal realized that the base was encased in ice.

She stepped back, noticing that the wall looked like it stretched all the way across the river. And the wheel was tall enough to reach the top of the wall. But there was a problem: the wall didn’t reach all the way to her side of the bank. Instead, there was short stone pier jutting from the shoreline to the wheel. Ankle-high water flowed over it. It wasn't too deep, but the water was fast and freezing. 

Kamal approached the pier. She stretched her leg out to dip the toe of her boot on the stone and test the force of the current. The pull made her heart spike. Nope. She jumped back. Her hand flew to her mouth. She started gnawing on her knuckles as she weighed her options. I could jump it. Maybe. If she could make it, she could get into the trough dangling over the water. From there, all she had to do was climb.

The circle of ravens widened. They croaked to her. She couldn’t tell if their tone was encouragement, or a warning. 

Kamal shook the nerves out of her arms. She took a few steps back, grounded her feet to the earth, and took off. The Arkenstone bounced in her pocket. She leapt. But the minute she was in the air she knew she'd misjudged it. 

She landed on the pier just a few inches from the trough, and her feet immediately slipped out from under her. She threw her arms out and hooked onto the edge of the trough as her hip slammed against the icy stone. As her lower half dipped into the water, the force of the current picked her up and tried to drag her into the rapids below. Kamal's muscles seized as she scrambled to pull herself up. She thought the wind and snow was cold— This was different. This cold leached into her bones, into her blood, sapping every ounce of warmth out of her. She clung to the trough just by the tips of her fingers. 

As she felt her frozen fingers unbending, an unseen presence wrapped around her arm. She felt the grip of a large hand, and suddenly she was tossed headfirst into the trough. As she crashed to the bottom, the wood creaked. She froze, petrified that the river would wash the whole wheel away. She counted to ten, heart in her throat. When the creaking faded, she released a shaky breath. Her teeth clacked so hard it shook her head. Her coat was completely water-logged. Her arms quaked as she tried to right herself. K-keep g-g-going. She couldn't even think straight.

She planted her boot on the edge below her and reached up. She dared not look down at the drop. She felt queasy at the very thought of falling. She climbed again, and again, and again; each ascent as nerve wracking as the last.

She pulled herself into the second-to-last trough, her arms cramping terribly. The final trough hovered above her. She wobbled to her feet, struggling to keep balance, and reached up with a shaking hand. The final trough was only a few fingers higher than she could reach.

Her heartbeat pounded louder than the rapids. Before she had another chance to doubt herself, Kamal sprung upwards and stretched as far as she could. Her fingers grazed the edge of the wood… and missed. 

Her soul left her body as she felt empty air behind her. Her scream caught in her throat. 

Like a mouse trap, invisible digits dug into her sleeve. A force hoisted her up. Her ribs slammed painfully into the edge of the trough, knocking the wind out of her. Kicking wildly, she shimmied her way to safety, slipping to the bottom. The trough swayed. She screwed her eyes shut, trying not to vomit as she silently begged for it to stop moving. 

Eventually, it fell still. Shaking like a leaf, Kamal slowly lifted her head.

The top of the arched wall had a trench running down it. The far end was obscured by fog. Kamal clamored her way off the wheel. She landed heavily on the wall, her limbs trembling. The wind blew a mighty gust and she ducked just to keep herself from flying away. As fast as she could, she shuffled her way across the bridge. 

The end of the wall met a metal pipe protruding from the stone of the plateau. Kamal practically dove into the pipe, collapsing on the floor as the harsh wind was suddenly cut out. Her ears rang. She lay against the curve of the metal, shaking violently. Her water-logged clothes clung to her. I made it, she thought, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she looked at her hands. Her fingers looked gray. She tried to rub her hands together, but they were so stiff she couldn't even create friction. 

Kamal peered into the depths of the pipe and was met with nothing but darkness. 

“Kamal." She searched for Russ with bleary eyes, but it was only his voice. "Move farther in."

Kamal wobbled as she willed herself to stand. Her feet felt like they were tied to cinder blocks. She glanced over her shoulder towards the light outside the drain. The wind howled. The river roared.

She turned away from the outside world and pressed on.  

She walked until the opening of the drain was nothing more than a pinprick of light. Hard as she tried, Kamal couldn’t get warm. She clutched herself in a tight hug, but nothing could stop the shivering. She advanced slowly through the darkness as the sunlight behind her faded. "Russ, I-I c-can't see."

"You have a light."

Oh, right. With a shivering hand, she pulled the bundle out of her pocket. She tried to move the cloth, but as she pulled the fabric back her vision suddenly swirled. She keeled forward, catching herself on her elbows before her head struck the pipe. The Arkenstone fell by the wayside, unfurling from the bundle. It emitted a faint light from its core, bringing light to the little portion of the drain. Kamal felt a tingling sensation in her fingers. How does cold feel warm? She thought groggily. The dim light around her warped as a solid, semi-transparent being passed through it. “Stand.” Russ said in a flat voice.

Kamal's eyes felt so heavy she could barely look up. Fog plumed from her lips. "I-I... need.. to get..."

She fell quiet as she heard a flurry of feathers and the clack of claws meeting metal. Tak-tak-tak. The sound drew closer. Kamal looked past the end of her feet. A raven; little more than shadow on shadow; looked back at her. They tilted their head and croaked, their eyes glittering with the reflection of the gem. 

Kamal’s jaw locked as she tried to fight the shivering. Tak-tak. The raven hopped closer. They fluffed their feathers and strutted right up to her. It warbled as it pressed its warm body against her neck and settled down. Kamal had forgotten how big the ravens were up close. From beak to tail, this one was almost as long as her torso. She thought of Corac and felt a pang in her heart. 

Her eyelids began to fall. She didn't have the strength to keep them open. She pressed her chin to the raven’s body. It warbled, nuzzling closer.

Kamal barely noticed the chorus of clicking claws or the flapping of wings as the other ravens surrounded her. Soft shapes pressed against her from every side, even perching on top of her. As their warmth slowly thawed her, she submitted to it, taking what little peace she could.

Chapter Text

Clasa couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the ease at which elves took lives. Their kills were too fluid, too quick. There was no sweat, no gristle, no dirty fighting. Then again, she supposed hundreds of years of practice would make one more efficient. 

The wood-dwellers had reached the entrance to Dale within a matter of minutes. They waited by the front gate, wiping black blood from their blades as the dwarves hurried to catch up. 

The wind grew sharp as Clasa and Darestrum walked over the cobblestone bridge. The path was littered with bodies; most of them orcs. She was forced to step over a headless corpse of an orc. Their head was nowhere to be seen; probably tossed over the side of the walkway. Clasa avoided looking into the chasm; or at the other dead orcs littered on the sharp stone below. 

Darestrum walked a few paces behind her, his head low. Discomfort gnawed at the back of Clasa’s skull. His silence worried her, but there was no time to question him. She turned her focus to the four watchtowers along Dale’s outer wall. The top of one was blasted away by dragon fire, but the other three stood like stone sentinels. Every small, dark window of the towers lurked with danger. 

At the same moment the thought crossed her mind, Clasa saw something move behind the window. She ducked just as a corkscrew arrow whistled over her head. By the time the arrow struck the ground, Legolas had drawn his bow. The bowstring snapped like the crack of a whip. The elven arrow was so quick Clasa didn’t even see it hit its mark, but she heard a cry of pain. She slid to Legolas’ side and practically slammed into the stone as she finally reached the wall. Legolas crouched to her right; Tauriel on the other side of the gate. Darestrum collided with the wall next to Tauriel a half-step after Clasa. 

The red-haired elf craned her neck to look up at the closest tower, then leaned around the edge of the wall to scan the entryway’s plaza. Clasa looked too, peeked out of the corner of one eye. The plaza was spacious; large enough to have housed an open market. She could still see the low walls where vendors would have parked their carts. The plaza was square, and surrounded on three sides by apartments nestled close together. 

Clasa met Tauriel’s eyes. Blue, the elf mouthed silently. Clasa looked back at the buildings. One of the tenements was painted a faded powder blue. The color was barely perceivable under the coat of grit and dead ivy, but it was the only one of its kind in the plaza. Its door was tilted off its hinges. 

Clasa nodded to Tauriel, her lungs tight. Without another word, the elf sprang forward, skirting along the edges of the courtyard. Taken off guard, the dwarves ran after her as fast as their legs could carry them, their strides clunky in their heavy armor. Legolas fell in line behind.

Another orcish arrow snapped against the stone beside Clasa. Legolas twisted, barely breaking his stride, and loosened an arrow into a dark window. 

When they reached the far side of the yard, took the charred door by the bottom corner and heaved until there was a small gap. The ancient hinges creaked as they loosened. Clasa ducked low and crawled under the door into the room within. Once Darestrum and Legolas were inside, Tauriel lowered the door just enough to support it with one arm. She ducked underneath and let go, the door settling back into place with a heavy thud. 

The foyer was about fifteen feet across; the main door situated in the middle of the front-facing wall with shattered square windows on either side. The approaching night seeped through the windows on a cold wind. 

Tauriel took a quick assessment. She slipped her blades back into their sheath. “There.” In the adjacent room, just to the left of the staircase, there was a collapsed dining table, its legs completely disintegrated from beneath it. Clasa and Darestrum helped the guard captain pivot the table into the front room and flipped it on its side, fortifying the door and blocking the small gap. The windows were still exposed, but they seemed too tight for any grown orc to fit through. Hopefully they don’t have goblins .

They retreated to the base of the steps. Legolas pulled arrows from the stash strapped to his waist and refilled his quiver. Clasa thought she heard grunting voices outside. As the thought arose, a volley of arrows struck the exterior of the door, causing her to jolt. “There’s a crowd, now.” Darestrum remarked sardonically. 

“They’re wasting bodies guarding an empty city.” Clasa muttered, secretly pleased he was at least talking. 

“It’s a net,” Darestrum huffed, wiping at his nose. “They’ll catch anyone who tries to run; orc or otherwise.” 

Tauriel’s eyes danced up to the ceiling. “I imagine there are many more in hiding.”  The others looked up. Suddenly every creak of the shifting house warned of another presence. 

“Which is why we must move.” Legolas said, taking a step up the staircase.  

Clasa frowned. “Where are you going? Are you looking to get stuck?”

Legolas smiled down at her. “You have not accounted for windows.”

“Window… no, no we are NOT climbing.” The dwarf snapped, keeping her voice low as the commotion grew louder outside.

“The roofline will provide protection and fewer obstacles.”

“We’re not built like you, skinny bones; one wrong step and we’ll fall straight through.”

While Legolas eyed her disdainfully, Tauriel mulled the dwarf’s words over. “You might be right.” She murmured as her mind turned. “Can you navigate the alleys?”

“Better than up there.”

“There will be a back way.” Darestrum cut in. “All of these tenements have exits into an alley; it’s against code to have only one way in and out.” He pointed towards the back of the building. “It’ll run long-ways and let out onto a main road; I can find our way from there.”

“What is our heading?” Tauriel asked. 

“Best we start in the middle and work our way out; cover as much ground as possible.” 

After a pause, Tauriel conceded. “Alright. We will follow from above.” She pinned Darestrum with a look.” Try to shake us, and it will be in vain.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Darestrum said. The tension between him and the she-elf was so thick it could be cut through like a pad of butter.

Suddenly the door and table bucked as something slammed into it. They all heard a loud chorus of jeers. Tauriel swallowed thickly. “Whenever you’re ready, dwarves.”

✶

Clasa followed Darestrum out the back door of the apartment building into the narrow alleyway while the elves made their way upstairs. Darestrum angled his body so his pauldrons didn’t scrape against the walls. He and Clasa inched their way down the alley towards a rectangle of light. They hesitated at the edge of the road. Darestrum checked the openings of the buildings lining the city path. When he was sure they were empty, he waved Clasa forward and they pressed on. 

They kept to the sidewalks, hoping that should they be ambushed they could duck into a doorway or an open vestibule. Clasa was vaguely aware of eyes on her back. Her skin prickled, but when she actually stopped to check she caught a glimpse of silvery-blonde hair ducking below the roofline. 

The road suddenly sloped upwards, and Clasa muscles instinctively ached as a long stretch of stairs opened up before them. She couldn’t even see the end as it banked around a corner a few meters uphill. 

They were halfway up the first ascent when the dwarves heard a scattering of shingles. The terracotta plates rained from the rooftops, exploding into shards on the steps. Clasa heard faint noises of exertion, followed by a guttural bark. Shit .

“Keep going.” Darestrum huffed, and they began a dead sprint up the stairs. They made such a ruckus in their armor that it sounded like a cart of metal had been dumped onto the staircase. For the first time in her life, Clasa envied the maneuverability of elven armor. The muscles in her legs burned. Her feet ached each time she slammed a foot down. 

As they finally rounded the curve, Darestrum grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly into a pocket of space between two shops. They slid back into the shadows, holding their breath as their lungs screamed for air. Just as they disappeared from the path, three orcs ran past, sniffing the air and chuffing angrily. They moved on after a moment.

When they felt it was safe, the dwarves released the breath swelling in their lungs. Darestrum looked over his shoulder. This alley came to a quick end at a wooden fence. He caught his cheek between his cheek and gnawed as he thought. 

“Are the elves still up there?” Clasa whispered.

“I can’t tell.” Darestrum snuck a quick look at the street. He listened, counting the seconds. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Are we even close?” Clasa asked.

Darestrum scoffed. “I wish, lass.” His voice suddenly retreated into itself, like he had swallowed the word. His expression grew heavy again. “We’ve got a while to go.” He gestured with a finger and they continued up the path. 

Clasa didn’t say a word as she followed him around every turn, even when it seemed like they were doubling back. Her mind raced. The raven spoke of a great bear, and a hunt. Her insides squirmed. Don’t let it be my girl. Please, for the love of Mahal, wherever she is, keep her far away.

They slowed to a crawl as the buildings gave way to another courtyard. This one was sunken into the ground and a tad smaller than the entryway, but in its center was a single-storied square building. There were no chimney stacks. There was a double-door made of a rich, red wood, shielded from the elements by a covered walkway. It didn’t look a thing like the homes or apartments they’d passed. 

Clasa stopped at the stairs leading down into the plaza. The incessant wind whipped down the street, sweeping the dusting of snow off the road and into the air. The wind pulled the ice into the forum. It spun in a small cyclone before dissipating. Clasa’s eyes lingered on where the cyclone had formed; she didn’t notice the figure walking towards the square building. It was Darestrum that snapped her to attention. He snagged her arm again, covering her mouth in case she cried out in surprise. They practically fell as Darestrum tipped backwards and dragged her behind cover.

Clasa pulled on her chin-strap to readjust her helmet. She flushed hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m focused, I—“ But Darestrum held a finger to his lips. His face was pale as he withdrew his finger and pointed. 

The bearded behemoth strode towards the gatehouse. He ducked under the covered walkway, twisting his shoulders just like Darestrum in the alley to squeeze through a doorway wide enough to fit three men side-by-side. 

Clasa swallowed her heart back down into her chest. She’d almost walked right into him.

They waited until they couldn’t hear his footsteps. They waited even longer, so long that they could track the sun lowering. But they couldn’t linger in the darkness. Darestrum motioned for Clasa and they crept forward. 

They skittered across the plaza until they reached the protection of the exterior arcade. They hovered for a moment before stepping through the main entrance. Clasa scanned the gloom within the abandoned building. The interior was one long room, lit only by the open door. There were large tables along the wall coated in dead ivy. The chairs were either turned over or completely broken down.On the back wall facing them was black door. The door beckoned her forward. Clasa walked the seven strides between the walls and tested the handle. While it was stiff, it did eventually give. 

The floorboards creaked as the dwarves entered the secondary room. Their eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. The walls were plastered-over stone. There was little furniture, save a cobweb-coated desk tucked into a back corner and an overturned chair.

A strange scent lifted to Clasa’s nose; rain with a touch mildew. Her attention was drawn to the back wall, where one more portal waited for her. It was an archway, and in the darkness beyond she saw that the floor dropped into a descending staircase.  A chill bristled up her spine. Only one way out.

She shifted her weight and the wood panels underfoot groaned. Darestrum was close by, eyeing every dark corner with suspicion. Clasa took a slow step towards the archway. Then she suddenly froze. She could hear Darestrum behind her and her hand shot out. “Shh!” She hissed. Darestrum stopped mid-step, his heel just touching the floor. Neither moved.

Clasa slowly lowered her eyes to the floor. There were large gaps in water-warped boards; wide enough to see what was below. Her nerves seized as a shadow passed beneath her. As her scream rose in her throat, there was an earth-rattling shake, and the floor suddenly buckled beneath them. 

Electricity jumped up Clasa’s spine. Darestrum reached for her, but it was too late. The wooden planks splintered right under their feet. The floor caved in, sending them plunging into the depths below. 

✶

Clasa hit the ground so fast and hard it felt like her soul was knocked out of her body. Her armor dragged her like a stone, and as she hit the hard surface below the floorboards her brain rattled in her skull. 

She didn’t recall how long she fell; maybe a second. All she could do now was gasp for air like a fish out of water. The lull of unconsciousness crossed her mind, but she shook it off. Clasa groaned as she pulled herself slowly from the broken boards. She winced, touching her chin. When she drew back her fingers, she found blood on her fingertips. She coughed heavily, her throat coated in dust. “Dare?” She croaked. The only response was her echoing voice. She rustled around the planks, hoping to find Darestrum buried beneath it, but there was no sign of him. She did find her hammer, and gripped onto the handle for dear life as she wobbled to her feet. 

Suddenly the sole of her boot met something fleshy. She whipped her head down. “Dare!”

The old dwarf’s hand was stretching out of the rubble. She could see hints of him, but he was almost entirely covered. She fell to her knees and dug around him, flinging splinters of wood to the side. “Darestrum, can you hear me?”

His eyes darted behind closed lids, but he didn’t wake. She cradled his head, searching for any sign of an exit. She didn’t know what they’d fallen into; A cave? A well? A root cellar? She could see the support columns of the floor, now hewn in half. Even with eyes attuned to the dark, the space was so lightless she couldn’t see where it ended. But the scent of water was strong. 

“I can smell you, dwarrowdam.”

Her heart leapt into her throat so quickly she almost choked on it. She raised her hammer, eyes wide, pulse pounding in her ears. A low, guttural sound came from lungs as large as a horse’s. The reverb made it so Clasa couldn’t tell if the sound was coming from a hundred yards away, or just beyond the edges of her vision. Bile burned in the base of her throat as she squared her jaw. “Show yourself.” There was no response from the featureless dark. No movement. No breath. Clasa’s stomach flipped. She took a step off the boards and was startled when her foot fell into freezing water. She stumbled back, the floorboards shifting under her boots. 

A gravelly laugh danced through the stale air. “Care-ful.”

“Step forward.” Clasa ordered, her lips pulled tight across her teeth as she fought the urge to shiver. She retraced her steps, sparing a glance up to the gap in the ceiling. It was far too high to reach, and she hadn’t the slightest idea of where the stairs were in relation to her. She heard a small splash and whipped around, but it was nothing but a stray droplet. 

The rumbling laugh shook up through her bones. “I don’t think I will.”

“Step forward and face me.”

She heard a slow sigh, like a pressed bellow. “I have something to show you first.”

Clasa bristled, preparing to strike. 

“Come, dwarf. Don’t you want to see your little daughter?”

For a moment, it felt like the ground had fallen out from underneath her for a second time. Fear charged through her. The air drew out of her lungs. 

Heavy footsteps plodded through the water as the voice receded. “Follow me…”

Shaking, Clasa looked back to Darestrum. His face crested through the debris, covered in nicks and scratches. Double checking to make sure no one was waiting for her to turn her back to them, Clasa looped her arms under Darestrum’s and pulled. She heaved him on top of the pile, relieved to see his chest rising. While his eyes didn’t open, he grunted, answering an unsaid question. Clasa’s baleful glare turned sorrowful for a heartbeat. “I’ll come back for you.”

Climbing from the pile, she inched her way through the ankle-high water until the toe of her boot struck a metal edge. As she looked up, she saw that the whole tunnel was curved. It’s a drain. She couldn’t see Sverne; she only heard him moving deep within the shadows. Clasa’s fingers flexed around the leather handle and she waded into the pitch-black

Chapter Text

Clasa had never been claustrophobic, but as she walked through the subterranean maze, she felt as though the walls were constricting around her.

Sverne’s distant footsteps were omnipresent. She knew when he turned and which way by the echo alone. How far he intended he intended her to follow, she had no idea. Why he didn’t kill her when he had the chance was even more of a mystery.

She knew she was walking into a trap, but she didn’t care. Her mind was as soft as tallow. Does he even have … she couldn’t finish the thought. Whether or not he was lying didn’t matter. Where he went, she would follow. She would finish this.

All of a sudden the footsteps were gone. Clasa braced herself on the wall with one hand and waited. The biting chill of the water soaked through her boots. When she was sure it was quiet, she continued along the drain, eventually banking left.

At long last, there was light. The day was retreating, making way for the in between hours of twilight when the last rays of the sun met the glow of the rising moon.

As Clasa stepped up to the lip of the drain’s opening, she felt the gentle touch of clean mountain air. The scent of smoke still lingered at its edges, but anything was better than the damp smell of the tunnels.

Her path had led her into a small but steep valley. Below her, the run-off from the pipe dripped sluggishly into a shallow pool just a few feet below. The land dipped into a crater before it rose into a steep, rocky incline. Horizontal color bands on the upward slope marked a history of high water. 

The rock walls surrounding the cupped-palm formation rose high into the air, bending slightly inward. When she looked up, she could see the sky through the ring of stone. She made out only the faintest pinpricks of stars as the red sun dropped behind the horizon. She lowered her gaze to the top of the hill, and to her surprise saw a smooth structure above her. It was hard to make it out from her angle. After scanning every shadow for Sverne, she began to climb. 

As she hooked her hand over the crest of the hill, she felt polished stone. She pulled herself onto the level surface. The land in front of her was terraced. There were sixteen levels at least. The different levels curved around the platform on which she stood, segmented by two vertical staircases. Clasa looked at the floor. She finally noticed the shallow reliefs carved into the stone; it was checkered like a Striking Guard board. It’s a stage. The small valley housed an outdoor amphitheater, protected on all sides by the tall walls of the basin. 

Night was falling swiftly. The amphitheater cast a long shadow. Even though she’d climbed closer to the sky, she felt that the stars were cold and distant. Their glow did little to light her way.

“She’s not here, dwarrowdam.”

Clasa’s heart jackhammered as Sverne peeled his massive form from the shadows. He stood like an iron golem, clad in crude, sharp armor. He lifted a hand almost as wide as her torso. She tensed, but rather than grabbing the axe at his hip, he reached up and removed his helmet. 

Her courage faltered. Suddenly she was much younger, much less worldwise, riding into the wilds on a tawny billy-goat. She couldn’t stay in the Hills a moment longer. She felt the chambers of the castle were suffocating her. Every room and corridor was thick with the memory of her mother; a sickening miasma that sent her into dark places not even Darestrum could pull her from. 

She rode blindly westward until night fell. She was lured to the light of a fire. And she saw him, standing next to a pink body, cutting.

Although the memory softened with time, she swore she’d seen him look over his shoulder. She swore on her mother’s life that he saw her cowering in the thicket. 

Now, she had his full attention

“There’s nothing left but a carcass.” He said, setting his helmet on the bench. “She belongs to the lake.”

“Liar.” Clasa’s voice dripped with venom. “Where is she?”

“I’m many things. A liar is not one of them. Trust me when I say that she did not survive that night.”

That night? Clasa thought. Sverne moved closer. “Don’t worry, her passing was quick. Your brother on the other hand…”

Despite everything, Clasa felt a small spark of hope flutter in her chest. The night Hasdran was paralyzed. He thinks he already killed her. He doesn’t have her. She screwed her mouth into a grimace to hide her relief. Whatever happens, he won’t get to her. I won’t let him get to her. “H-how do you know of me?” She hoped he didn’t hear the crack in her voice. 

“Who hasn’t heard of the dwarrowdam with the human heir? The birds and the beasts gossip. There are whispers of it as far as Rohan. That’s why you’re here, no? Seeking vengeance.”

Clasa slowly sidestepped, her eyes trained on the goliath. “I’m here to put down a dog.” 

“You’ve come quite a long way.”

Clasa didn’t reply.

Sverne smiled. “Well… I’m happy for the distraction. Picking up deserters was growing tiresome.” He took another step. Clasa shuffled her feet until she felt her heel dangling over the edge of the stage.

Sverne exhaled heavily, fog streaming from his nostrils. “The outlander. That is all I asked for. I had a chance, but I was good. I honored the agreement; safe passage for the dwarves and their companions. And once she was released from your care…” He threw his hand up. “She was free-game.” His expression suddenly darkened. “But dwarves lie. She wasn’t in Laketown. You kept her.”

“I kept her safe.” Clasa said in a tight voice. 

“Safe? Is a pit of vipers any better than the jaws of a bear? I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. Though I heard you kept a close eye.”

”I suppose your birds told you that.” Clasa said bitterly.

“I had more direct sources.” Sverne picked up the shiver that ran up her body and his lips curled until she could see his fangs glinting. “You have more enemies than allies in the Iron Hills, Lady Clasa.”

Clasa nearly retched at the sound of her name on his tongue. Sverne stopped pacing. He removed his axe from his belt, only to kneel and lay it on the stone. He kicked his leg out, pushing the axe with his toe. Clasa watched with bewilderment as it went sliding across the stage and over the ledge. She heard it roll downhill. “You should’ve handed her over. I would’ve made it fast.” 

Clasa sidestepped, her eyes never leaving his face. Sverne calmly removed his gloves, revealing black claws sharpened on a wet stone. “But after what she did to my eye, I was going to eat her limb by limb. Leave the head last so she was awake for it. But I lost that chance, so…” Clasa’s stomach dropped as something shifted behind his eyes. “I suppose you’ll do.”

Before she could blink, he lunged. He snagged her by the collar of her breast plate, spinning her away from the edge towards the stadium. He raised an arm. He had a clear shot; one sweep her head would be severed from her body. But at the last second, he folded his hand into a fist.

With a flash of blinding white pain, the world pivoted. Her hammer flew out of her grip. She crashed on the stone, tumbling over herself until she struck the base of the stone steps. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in her side. She grimaced, her teeth painted red.  

She lifted her shaking hands to her head as the aftershocks of the punch ricocheted through her body. She could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears. 

She tried once more to get to her knees, but he was on her in two strides. This time Clasa sensed him approaching and tucked her head under her arms. A tremendous force slammed against her back. She struck the floor hard. Her skull banged against her helmet and the pain in her brain swelled. She gawked in pain. 

Sverne paced in a wide arc around her, patiently allowing her to try to stand. Clasa managed to wobble for a moment before the pulsing swell in her head forced her to her knees. Clasa spit out the bloody saliva pooling under her tongue. 

Sverne then reached down and hoisted her by the straps of her breastplate into the air. “You really thought you could play ‘mother’?” Clasa felt his hot, fetid breath on her skin. She gagged, kicking at the air and clawing at his hands. “S-she’s only a c-child.”

Sverne continued to hold her close to his face, lifting her as if she weighed next to nothing. “Not just a child. Not even just an outlander. No, she was something more. She did not carry the scent of Arda. She’s unlike anything I’ve ever hunted. You must not know how rare that is.” Clasa thrashed, trying to land a kick to his chest, but Sverne just held her further out. “I have myself to blame; I built up my expectations. In the end she was nothing but a pathetic, mewling rabbit.”

“You’re a disease .” Clasa hissed, spittle flying off her lip. “You’ve brought nothing to our lands but grief and terror. The Iron Hills have tolerated you for too long.”

Suddenly, Sverne let go. Gravity pulled at her legs, and before Clasa knew it she had collapsed on the ground. The back of her helmet cracked painfully on the stone. Sverne knelt and placed his free hand on her sternum, pushing down on her. Clasa wheezed under the immense weight as her armor began to bend. Her head spun; Whether it was her terror or the lack of air in her lungs, she couldn’t tell, but her vision was starting to blur. 

“Tolerated?” Sverne laughed, his smile was a cruel white slash across his bearded face. “Tolerated? They welcomed me with open arms. The orcs kept at bay because I told them to. You stubborn mites think of me as nothing more than a hound, when I am the only thing between you and death. You see why Leadroch keeps me around… I have my uses.”

Clasa’s bloodshot eyes snapped wide. Leadroch? 

The minor lord. He was ready to throw Kamal into the wilds without a second thought. ‘Do you really think it’s wise, Lady Clasa, to come between the beast-man and his prize?’ 

“I have no love of dwarves.” Sverne continued. “But you do have your uses.” He reached for her head. Clasa flinched as he slipped his claws under her helmet and yanked it off with one swipe. Her dark hair draped across her damp forehead. 

Sverne lifted the helmet closer to his eye to study it. “Incredible craftsmanship.” He muttered. “But the bickering; the politics. I don’t know how you stand it. You people are so inward-looking you never saw the opportunity right at your doorstep. At least some of you have a sturdy head on your shoulders. Some are aware they are surrounded by wolves. They look to the East and see all it has to offer.” He looked back down at her, his eye taking on a dangerous sheen. “Don’t be upset. Leadroch only wants what’s best for your kingdom. He can see the big picture.”

The tendons in Sverne’s arms bulged as he pushed harder. Clasa felt her ribs squeeze under the weight. She strained to keep her eyes open as her vision pulsed. “And on the fateful day your little outlander ran off, guess who was the first to know?” 

Clasa cranked open her jaw, releasing a panicked sound.  

“I knew when you left the Hills. I knew when Dain and his Calvary left.” Sverne pushed even more and Clasa gawked in pain. “I know that as we speak, Leadroch and his loyalists are taking the Iron Hills.”

The Council…  I told them. I TOLD THEM. How many are with him? Half? All but me? Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. Sverne watched her emotions play out on her face with amusement. “No longer will your people stand in fear of the Eastern Shadow. They will join them and survive.” His claws drew in around Clasa’s armor, scraping the metal. “I may have lost my prize, but won’t Leadroch be pleased when his most out-spoken dissenter disappears.”

Clasa screwed her eyes shut. What was I thinking? I never had a chance. She tried to keep a brave face as his teeth drew closer to her throat, but her body shook violently. Everything was gone. Her home. Her future. It had slipped through her fingers like sand.

A glimpse of an image flashed through the haze of her head-splitting migraine: A round face with large, dark eyes. A high forehead crowned with beautiful black hair. And a smile filled with crooked baby teeth; a smile that she treasured more than anything. If that little face was the last thing she saw… that would be just fine. Kamal’s safe. If nothing else, she’s safe.

CRAWK!

Sverne stopped. Clasa’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to focus. Her head swiveled toward the source of the sound. 

A lone raven that had landed on the stage a stone’s throw away from them. It cocked its head inquisitively, croaking. Then another raven landed at its side, and another. 

Clasa leaned her head back to the sky and saw through blurred vision a black, undulating mass over the top of the crater. She sensed more movement in her periphery and she rolled her head.

The twenty or so ravens who had made perch moved aside as a slender figure climbed over the edge of the stage. Their long, dark tresses draped in a tangled mess over their back. Their shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths. She had on nothing but slacks, shoes and a shirt; not even a jacket to protect her from the winter night. The girl came to a dead stop. She fixed Sverne and Clasa under an arresting stare as her hands trembled at her sides.

Clasa’s heart nearly stopped. Her nightmare had come to life. “K-ah-l.” She gagged, her voice catching in her throat. She could barely breathe.

As Sverne loosened his grip around Clasa and stood, Kamal shuddered. But she didn’t retreat. Sverne’s face went slack with shock. “Impossible.” Kamal closed her hands into fists to stop them from shivering. Sverne was nothing but shadow in the dim light of the canyon. A nocturnal glint flashed across his eye. “What witchcraft is this?”

Kamal squared her shoulders. “Sv—“ But as he took a step closer, her voice died in her throat. Her pulse rose to a pounding crescendo in her head. 

Sverne’s face twitched between shock and anger. “I bled you.” To Kamal’s surprise, he looked back at Clasa. “What did you do?”

Clasa wheezed in response, trying and failing to roll onto her side. Sverne’s attention returned to Kamal. He shook his head. “You people cite the darkness of Mordor, yet you use death magic.”

The thrum in Kamal’s ears simmered to a standstill. As she studied his face in the low light, she noticed he seemed pale. Sweat beaded in tiny pearls on his wide forehead. 

He didn’t know what had kept her alive any more than she did, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. He’s scared of magic . She realized with a start. He’s scared of me.

“You’re going to die down here.” Kamal said with a tone of finality. The words bubbled up out of her before she had a chance to second guess. She expected Sverne to laugh, or cut her down without another thought. But something kept him from rushing her. 

“What did you say?” He rumbled. 

“I said, you’re going to die.” She repeated.

Sverne’s claws glinted as he flexed his fingers. He didn’t respond.

“You can’t kill me.” Kamal suddenly blurted out, knowing damn well it was a lie. 

Sverne’s expression darkened. “Everything can be killed.” 

“You tried before and it didn’t work.” 

Sverne looked taken aback. Kamal swallowed the lump in her throat. “I won’t die. I won’t, not until you hurt like I have.” She met him with a baleful glare. “You’re going to die down here, and you aren’t going to hurt anyone else ever again.”

Sverne stared at the girl. Then his mouth twisted at the corners. The lines in his forehead softened. His sudden bark of laughter shook up her feet and rattled through her bones. “Alright, Rabbit. Maybe it is witchcraft. Maybe you really can’t die.” His mouth set in an enigmatic half-smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t harm you.” He glanced back once more at Clasa. “You did this to her, dwarf. It could’ve been done within an instant. Don’t ever forget it.”

Clasa gargled as Sverne began to walk towards the child. Ten strides, and he would be on her. 

Kamal felt the stage tremble under his footsteps. Beorn’s knife was tucked into her waterlogged boot. The Arkenstone sat heavily in her pant’s pocket.

Five strides away. Clasa cried out in agonized delirium. 

The knife’s too small. It won’t make a dent in that armor.

Two strides. Sverne unhurriedly reached for her.

Kamal’s hand was in and out of her pocket in an instant. She held the Arkenstone in front of her and shut her eyes. The flash was so brilliant she thought the light was burning straight through her hand.

Sverne screamed.

The white beam of the Arkenstone left dots in her eyes as she lowered it. Sverne’s eye was screwed shut, his arms up over his face in defense. 

Kamal took off, running right past him as she launched herself onto the stairs and hauled it for the top of the amphitheater. 

Sverne let out a full-throated roar, spinning towards the seats, his eye watering. Kamal stopped and lifted the stone again, shoving it in his face. Sverne cried out as the second flash hit him before he had time to look away. 

In the moment he was blinded, Kamal sprinted up three more levels. Terror flushed cold through her nerves. As she moved up and up, it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t know if the top of the theater actually led anywhere.

The ravens on stage launched into the air. They flew high, rotating their bodies in break-neck turns and diving for Sverne’s exposed head. The skin-changer ducked as the ravens swooped at him, their claws reaching for his scalp. The flock rushed him like a wave of shadow. They nipped and scratched any skin they could find, leaving criss-crossed lines of red across his flesh.

Snarling, Sverne threw out an arm, the back of his hand colliding with an unlucky handful of birds. Their bones cracked as they crashed against the stone. 

Sverne clawed blindly, the force of his swings sending gusts of wind in every direction. “Is that all you have?” He snarled, rubbing furiously at his eye with the heel of his palm. “A light?!” As his vision finally cleared, he looked and saw the girl was nearly to the top of the stadium.

It only took his three strides to catch up to her. Kamal shrieked and dove side-ways, rolling hand-over-foot as Sverne pummeled the stone stairs just inches away. She scrambled across the row, cradling the Arkenstone to her chest. 

The ravens continued to batter Sverne relentlessly, delaying him for only a moment. With each swing of his claws he cut down their numbers. When too many had fallen, the flock finally dispersed, screeching hysterically. 

Kamal dashed for what looked like an opening to the back of the stadium. But as she ran for it, she was met with a wall of armor. Sverne had sprung over and around her on his oversized legs, blocking the entire door, prepared to catch her like a steel trap. But she ducked just as both of his gigantic hands swept over her.

She was in the last row. There was nowhere else to run but down. She scrambled backwards towards the edge of the stadium until her back hit a corner.

Sverne moved from the door, holding his arms out like a metal fence, blocking her completely. As he reached for her again, Kamal jabbed the Arkenstone at him and he flinched away. She heard him bellow as the light struck his open eye. Hurt the way I did . She pressed the light closer. Sverne winced like she was sticking a hot poker in his face. She pushed him back a centimeter at a time, unsticking herself from the corner as he stumbled down the seats. She watched him writhe under the light, half-blind and frenzied. 

As he struggled to compose himself, she watched in horror as his jaw suddenly crooked out of place with a crack. The bags under his eyes sagged like they were melting. His shoulders rolled, stretching at the binding of his armor. He ground his teeth, shifting his locked jaw, as his fangs began to grow. “ Enough .”

Suddenly the ravens chorused a warning. Sverne lashed out with a claw, but Kamal was already moving away. 

Kamal prepared to hit him with another blast of light. But as she lifted her arm, the stone suddenly flew from her sweat-slicked fingers. She stared at it as it clattered and bounced all the way down to the stage. Sverne and Kamal made eye contact. He huffed a relieved chuckle, his tongue lolling in his mouth as his jaw stretched.

As a lance of anxiety stabbed her through the gut, Kamal suddenly felt a presence hovering behind her.

“I am with you.”

For how long? She thought.

“For as long as I can.”

Sverne froze, his eye blown open in disbelief as a towering figure rose behind the girl. The specter looked down at him, cloaked in white fire, brandishing a longsword as tall as a human man. Ashen smoke trailed from its clothes. 

Kamal drew the paring knife out of her boot and held it defensively in front of her body. As she did, the wraith raised his, mimicking the motion. The longsword extended far past Kamal’s reach. As she clutched the hilt more tightly, the wraith followed suit.  She turned her wrist; the specter turned his.

Behind her eyes was a black hatred so potent it even struck the skin-changer in the heart. There was no fear, no caution— only anger. Her lips parted, and the words that flowed from her was a song of many voices; young and old, undistinguishable, the tremor of a single chord plucked amongst a symphony. “ You will not find the mercy of death until you suffer.” 

Kamal gripped the knife in both hands, imagining it to be Russ’s sword. She swung back, and as she struck forward Russ’ sword followed. It arced smoothly through the air. Kamal watched it move as an extension of herself. Her arms snapped around her body, and Russ sliced at Sverne’s face. Sverne grunted in alarm as the tip of the sword snipped right past his nose. He doubled-back, stumbling down two more flights. 

Now Kamal stood just level with his head. Before Sverne could regain his senses, she swung at his head again. Darestrum’s words rang through her as clear as a bell; All the way through! Don't stop at the target; strike through. Foam gathered at the corners of her lips. The sword whistled as it flew, just barely missing its target. “I know you killed him!” Her voice, Russ’ voice… she couldn’t tell who was yelling anymore, but her throat burned like liquid fire. The boy with no eyes flashed in her mind. “You killed that kid!” 

Kamal swung back and forth with wild abandon. Sverne tumbled down more rows, unable to gather his bearings as she assaulted him with a barrage of slicing attacks. He shuffled off to the right, putting some distance between the blade and himself.

When Kamal stepped down a row, Russ’s long legs reached stone first. She levitated for a moment before the sole of her shoe met a solid surface. She could see the Arkenstone right at the base where the stage met the stands. The glow was barely there.

The light behind her flickered. Kamal looked, and her hope plummeted when saw that Russandol was starting to fade. “Russ!”

He was almost fully transparent. His sword retracted as he doubled over. There were gaping hole blasted through his form, like he had peppered with cannonballs. Stupidly, Kamal dropped her knife and reached for him, but her hands passed right through his body. 

He reached out his metal hand to her, and suddenly he was gone.

She didn’t have time to grieve. Sverne was already looping back. Kamal panicked and jumped.

She slipped on the smooth stone and fell forward, scuffing her knees through her clothes. She landed painfully on the stage, right on top of the Arkenstone. She curled around the gem, scrambling to her feet and trying to ignore the stinging pain in her shoulder. Her eyes lifted. Sverne loomed over her like a thundercloud, his broad body filling every inch of her vision. He leapt headfirst, claws outstretched, his eye darkened by hunger.

Her body froze, clutched in cold fear. 

Suddenly, she felt a tug on her collar. Her shirt bunched against her trachea, almost choking her, as another hand pressed to her back. She was part-thrown, part-shoved, sliding across the stage like a hockey puck. Before she could register what had happened, the floor disappeared beneath her and she fell.

She landed hard on her back five feet below, curling like a pill bug as her body registered the impact. Stars danced in her eyes.

She heard a strange noise; a thud followed by a sickening crunch. Something heavy landed on the stage. Then it was silent. 

Clasa, hunched over like a beaten animal, stared at the lifeless body slumped near the orchestra pit. His name settled in her tongue like a lead weight. “Dare?” 

Darestrum didn’t move. Roll over , she thought. Roll over, old man . “Darestum,” she croaked, “wake up.” Her bloodshot eyes swiveled towards Sverne. He shook the viscera off his claws with a flick of his wrists. His arms were gloved in blood. 

Kamal squeaked in alarm as a clawed hand shot into the pit. She moved back until she was as far into the shadows as she could go. 

Sverne slammed his shoulder down on the stone stage. “C’mon, little girl! You can’t hide forever!” Sverne shoved his arm deeper into the pit, feeling around for her, his talons scraping the base of the trench. Kamal yelped as the tips of his claws grazed her arm. As far as he stretched, the skin-changer couldn’t quite reach her. “Your mother is waiting for you.” He sang. “Come out, Rabbit!”

Kamal’s nails ran across the Arkenstone as she cowered. The globe of stars in her hands stared back at her.

Stone-breaker. Stone-breaker. Stone-breaker. The chorus of the ravens called for her.

She wound her arm back. With a desperate cry, she slammed the jewel against the rock beneath her. She did it again, and again, and again. As hard as she tried to crack it open, but no force would break its shell. The ceiling rained dust on her as the stage shook.

S t o p.

Kamal froze with her arm raised as the soft voice slipped through her head. It wasn’t Russ. She knew that voice. It was her own, but… outside of her. The sound was familiar and strange all at once. 

“Sent." Corac had said.

"Who sent you?" She asked.

"Can't. Say."

Thorin stared at her, distrust coiled behind his words. “Someone sent the ravens to you. What do they want?”

Who sent for you?

Look for the light.

Kamal’s heart skipped a beat. She looked through the layers of crystal, down into the well of starlight, and within its core she saw a pulse. A heartbeat. It’s alive. Trapped; like a firefly suffocating in a sealed jar. 

She cupped the stone with both hands and drew it close. As Sverne raged on, Kamal focused on the cool sensation of polished stone against her skin. “Hello.” She whispered.

The light blinked a little brighter. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She brushed the gem’s smooth surface with her thumbs. “It’s ok. I don’t want to hurt you, I—“ She winced as a bone-rattling roar shook the earth. It took her a moment to find her breath again. “Are you scared?” She said in a voice so small she could barely hear herself.

The crystal shimmered as something moved inside of it. 

“Someone trapped you in there, didn’t they?” She saw the light brighten for a moment. “You want to go home… just like I do.”

She pressed her forehead to the top of the stone. “I’m scared too.” Her eyes grew heavy as tears spiked her eyelashes. “I don’t know if I can get home anymore.” She swallowed thickly. She felt a ticklish feeling where the stone came in contact with her skin. It almost felt warm.

This should never have happened to you. It wasn’t fair. 

She offered a weak smile. “But you can go home. It’s ok. You don’t have to stay here anymore.” 

Foreign words pressed against the back of her teeth. I can help you. 

In perfect Quenya, she said, “I release you.”

She heard a pop; then a crack. She pulled away in time to see a seam cut through the previously unmarred surface of the jewel. Small fractures split from the edges of the seam, dancing across the stone. 

Pins and needles flushed through her arms. Kamal repositioned her fingers. Her thumbs secured the gem in her grasp. She applied a bit of pressure. As she did, filaments of light as thin as spider silk leaked from the stone, weaving like vines around her hands. The tendrils grazed her, the sensation like ants crawling on her skin.

The dark crevice in which she hid began to fill with a soft glow… 

Sverne pulled away from the gap as it began to seep a thick haze of white light. He squinted against it, growling. 

Clasa peeled her tear-stained face from the floor, heavy lidded eyes barely keeping themselves propped open. “Kamal?” Her voice slipped out of her mouth like a final breath as the world was rendered into pure starlight.

Chapter Text

Kamal looked at the brightness in her hands. The core fizzled and popped in her loose grip. A net of stars unfurled around her, cradling her. It was as if there had never been light in the world – that she’d spent the last nine years of her life in shadow, and suddenly everything was visible. Sparks danced up to her ears. The sky. Let me see the sky.

Kamal rose, bending over to shuffle out of the stone shelter. Her spine grazed the low ceiling. The runaway sparks drifted back to the core, spinning around the fiery nucleus like planets around a sun. The toe of her boot hit the first step. Kamal climbed tentatively, feeling her way with touch alone. The light pulsed in time with each footfall. The world rippled as she ascended the stairs.

The moment it met open air, the fire jumped. The living flame collided with the soft light of the rising moon, refracting fragments of color like a prism. It released flares in pale arcs. The arms of light reached their fingertips toward the stars. 

Three figures occupied the stage. Two lay on the floor. The third towering presence stood a few feet away. The starlight seemed to prickle against their silhouette. Kamal fixed the tall figure with gelid eyes. She unfolded her hands; the empty shell of the Arkenstone tumbled from her fingers. Starlight whirled around her, spinning faster and faster around the core. It grew larger, and hotter, growing until —

A shockwave punched through the air with a thunderous eruption. Sverne grunted as the blast threw him to the ground. The tremendous heat seared his skin. He threw up his hands to shield himself, and as he did, his bare palms immediately tanned bruise-purple. He winced as the skin on his hands began to itch. He turned away from the heat, cradling his claws to his chest. He watched, horrified, as skin peeled on the back of his hands like birch bark. The mottled pink and red of tissue and fat began to discolor, and the pain stuck him ten-fold. He screamed in shock as he process the agonizing, mind-numbing sensation of his flesh burning. His iron armor branded his back as it conducted the radiating heat. He attempted to shed his armor, white bone cresting out of his fingers as he bent the joints, but it was too much. His wailing passed between human shouts and animalistic screeching. The light was seemingly inexhaustible. Inescapable. There was no shadow in which he could hide. 

Clasa lifted her head, unsticking her bloody cheek from the cool floor. The light passing through her felt like plunging into ice water. Her skin tickled with pins and needles. She heard screaming but couldn’t see a thing. The unbelievable brightness began to hurt her eyes and she quickly shut them, curling in on herself and bracing for impact.  

The globe swelled up and out of the valley. It rushed through the dark alleyways of Dale. The night was instantaneously ripped away, followed by a crescendo of screams from the orcs as the caustic light burned through their skin like acid. The blast expanded almost faster than the eyes could follow, racing toward Erebor.

Miles away, Bard’s sword hand fell to his side. All armies, even the enemy, turned in disbelief to watch the tidal wave of unearthly light rushing toward them. And as it engulfed the mountain, the dragon-slayer heard screams.

The air crackled violently. The light pulsed once and retreated. Darkness flooded back into the valley. Kamal stood out at the center of the explosion like a lightning bolt against a stormy sky. Light shone from her skin, her hair, and her eyes; as cold as the moon and as hot as the sun. Then Kamal’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. She collapsed, and her glow was snuffed out like a candle.

Sverne watched her fall. As his body charred around his bones, he dragged his mangled form across the stage on his stomach. Bloody saliva poured from his slack jaw. Clasa heard the skin-changer moving. She unfurled, the white glare still pulsing in her eyes. As blind as a newborn kitten, she desperately felt around for her hammer.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Sverne reached a clawed hand towards the child. A massive force suddenly slammed down in front of him. Sverne jolted backward. A wall of dark fur rose over him, caging the girl between its fore and hind legs. A pair of piercing blue eyes bore into the skin-changer. Sverne lost his breath. “No!” He shuffled backward, biting down a scream as his raw skin ripped across the stone.

Beorn huffed, ambling forward until he placed himself directly between Sverne and Kamal. He bore his fangs. Sverne lifted a hand in surrender, strips of flesh hanging from his palm. “Father, no!”

A flash of recognition danced across Beorn’s face. He stopped, fat and muscle rippling under his dense fur. His nostrils flared as he drew in Sverne’s scent. Sverne flexed his jaw, grinding his molars. “Help me.” Sverne gargled, his throat clogged with bile. He drew his flayed hand close to his chest. As Beorn stared at him, hackles raised, Sverne shifted to a kneeling position. Pained tears raced down his cheek. “It hurts.” He moaned. He lifted one leg and found footing. Beorn leaned in, still smelling him, bristling with unease. Sverne met his father’s eyes. “Help me.”

Beorn hesitated. In the moment of indecision, Sverne suddenly launched from the ground. He lunged for Beorn’s neck. Beorn pulled away, head low, taking a claw scrape across the nose rather than across his throat. He shuffled on his back paws, careful not to crush the tiny life behind him. Sverne swung wildly again, and as he did Beorn butted him in the chest. As Sverne tried to recover his balance, Beorn stood and gripped Sverne’s shoulder between powerful jaws. The skin-changers toppled to the ground, rolling over each other, blood and spittle flying in all directions. Sverne boxed at Beorn’s ears until the elder was forced to let go. Sverne stumbled to his feet, breath ragged, eye blown open with fear. His shoulder was torn to shreds; the muscle ripped through to the bone. 

Sverne watched as the Beorn's flinty gaze turned black.

“Father!” Sverne screamed, a desperate crack in his voice. Beorn closed his heart to his son’s cry. He sprung forward, jaws gaping, and locked his teeth around Sverne’s throat. 

Clasa heard a terrible crunch. When she looked up, she saw Sverne caught by the neck between Beorn’s jaw. His arms were slack at his side. Beorn stepped away, unhooking his teeth from Sverne’s trachea. The dead skin-changer fell to the floor. The weight of his body hitting the stone rang through Clasa like a gong. Torn skin hung in thick, glistening flaps from Sverne’s open neck. His grey eye was wide and unseeing. Seconds ticked by in silence. The enormous bear looked down at the body crumpled at his feet. His shiny black nose wagged back and forth. He turned, looking back to the orchestra pit. Clasa followed his gaze. 

Kamal lay on her back, her arms limp, fingers curled and stiff. Her dark tresses pooled around her head. She stared sightlessly up at the heavens.

No. Panic rising, Clasa inhaled sharply, wincing as another stab of pain shot through her chest. She rolled over and dragged herself close to the girl's side. Clasa took the child's head in her hands. “Kamal?” All she’d wanted was to see her girl’s face again, but not like this. Not when her beautiful brown eyes were clouded over. “Wake up.” Clasa pressed her ear to Kamal’s chest. Nothing. Clasa planted her brow on Kamal's cheek. “Wake up,” she croaked into Kamal’s skin, her whole body shaking. “Wake up. Wake up.”

She pulled the chilled, limp body onto her lap, ignoring the sharp pain in her ribcage. She rocked back and forth, cradling Kamal to her chest. The stars watched them indifferently.

Beorn ambled to the edge of the stage and sat down. He didn’t move for a very long time.

✶

Tauriel and Legolas came to an ungraceful halt at the top of the amphitheater. At the base of the steps was carnage. The living skin-changer sat on the precipice of the cliff, turned away from them. The other skin-changer, frozen between man and beast, lay in a bloody pile. The raw wound in his neck opened like a second mouth. And closer to the steps was a dead dwarf. Tauriel instantly recognized him by his armor. Swallowing her unease, she stepped down onto the stage.

Clasa recognized the elves by their light footsteps. Before even acknowledging them, she snatched up half of the broken Arkenstone and threw it as hard as she could at them. The shell bounced at their feet. “It’s gone!” Clasa snapped, breathing in sobbing gasps. Clasa’s hand pressed to the metal over her heart, then placed the same hand on Kamal’s silent chest. “You have nothing for your king!”

Tauriel felt her stomach bottom out. She watched the dwarrowdam fall into pieces at her feet. A strange, stinging feeling stirred inside of her. Without thinking, she pressed her hand to her stomach. Her throat felt tight. The captain touched Legolas’ arm. He knelt down to reach for the girl, but Clasa jolted away, hugging Kamal more fiercely. “ No. ”

“We must bring her to a healer.” Legolas insisted.

“There’s nothing to heal.” Clasa sobbed. “There’s no pulse. There’s–” She buried her face into the crook of the girl’s neck, baring her teeth in a grimace. Clasa dry heaved. Her knuckles were white around the child. If there is any life left in the human, Tauriel thought, the dwarf risks squeezing it out of her. Tauriel crouched beside Legolas. She started to lift her fingers to the dwarrowdam’s shoulders before they retreated back into a fist. “Lady Clasa…” She began.

“Don’t take her.”

Guilt pressed down on the guard captain. “Let me listen for the heart.”

Clasa’s grip tightened. Her face twitched as the movement sent another surge of pain coursing through her. “Her heartbeat is gone,” She groaned.

Tauriel flushed cold. “Then we must act quickly. Lay her down.”

Clasa did so with agonizing slowness. Tauriel listened for the pulse. Then she layered her hands on Kamal’s chest, counted in her head, and began to push. As she administered compressions, she felt Kamal’s thin ribs bend under her palms. The risk of snapping bone lingered at the edge of her mind. A minute passed. Then another. Then another. Clasa held the girl’s hand, frantically rubbing it to keep the child's fingers warm. 

Five minutes went by. Tauriel did not tire easily. But with every push, she knew she could injure the child. She shook herself and focused on keeping time.

… ba-bump

Tauriel and Legolas snapped their heads up simultaneously. “She is alive?” Legolas exclaimed breathily, a mixture of surprise and relief playing on his features.

Clasa released a thick sob. She wept as she processed the elf’s words. 

“It’s barely there. More of an echo than a heartbeat.” Tauriel muttered. “She needs proper medical attention. Legolas will carry her ahead.”

Suddenly, a meaty hand snagged Tauriel by the collar. The elf’s nerves fizzled as Clasa yanked her close, her teeth dyed red with blood. Tauriel was suddenly very aware of just how strong dwarves could be. Terrifying, insane anger flashed in the dwarf’s dark eyes. Clasa opened her mouth to speak, but her rage faltered, and her tongue turned to lead.

Legolas was reaching for his small blade but stopped when Tauriel lifted both hands. The tendons in Clasa’s hand strained. Tauriel slowly lowered her hands until they hovered over the girl’s heart. Her sensitive fingertips could just make out the whisper of a pulse. “I will not do anything without your permission.”

Finally, Clasa let go. She leaned back, her face blank. Legolas bundled the girl up in his arms. The prince hurried off as fast as he could, running effortlessly as if she was no heavier than a feather. 

“Stand.” Tauriel ordered Clasa. Clasa didn't respond. She pressed the heel of her palm to one eye, then the other. Moisture drained from her nose. Tauriel wrapped a lean arm around the dwarf’s back. She took her by the belt and looped Clasa’s arm around her so they held each other by the waist. Tauriel braced Clasa’s hand on her hip. “Stand with me. When your child wakes, she will want to see you.”

Clasa’s head lolled. “W-when she wakes..?” Tauriel tried to bring Clasa to her feet, but the dwarf was a sinking weight. “She will.” But she could not promise it.

Tauriel looked to Beorn for assistance, but when she saw him, she knew he would not move. He was still staring out over the cliff. Either he didn’t hear them, or he chose not to.

Pulling the dwarf’s dead weight through the twisting passages of Dale was proving as difficult as Tauriel had expected. The air was filled with the nauseating smell of burning flesh. Tauriel cautiously edged her way into a wide alley. Eyes tracing the windows, she found no signs of orcs; a surprise, given how many she and Legolas had encountered on the way to the auditorium. Clasa’s heavy boots dragged along the cobblestones. Tauriel grunted, hoisting the dwarf up under she was steady on her feet. At this rate, it’ll be midday before we catch up. “You have to help me. I’d rather not carry you.” She meant for the comment to be lighthearted, but the dwarrowdam seemed to sink even lower. 

Suddenly Tauriel’s ears perked up and she froze. Something’s moving on the wind.

A great shadow passed over the ruins right as the thought crossed her mind, blocking out the moonlight. Tauriel bolted to the closest wall, pressing herself and the dwarf into the darkest shadows.

Even in her stupor, Clasa craned her head to see. She looked up just in time to see a broad expanse of russet feathers rush over her head. The wind drew tight around her, creating a vacuum through the alley as the giant creature passed above. Clasa bent her knees and braced herself against the wall to avoid getting toppled. 

In a wingbeat it was gone — the only sign of its passing was the little dust devils kicked up by the wind.

Clasa felt her heart throbbing in her throat. “What was that?” She uttered, her bloodshot eyes as wide as saucers. Tauriel didn’t take her eyes off the sky. “Our victory.” 

✶

A dark-haired elf stormed through the campground. “Make way!” Tulusdir ordered, shouldering his way through the crowd. The torchlight revealed his white apron was stained with blood, none of it his own. Legolas followed at his heels, holding the girl close to his chest. They snaked their way through rows of the dead and the dying, heading swiftly toward the hastily pitched medical tents. The initial shock of the blast was finally starting to wear off. At first, the white light had rendered everyone blind. But as it faded, the humans, elves, and dwarves realized that it had carried a power, for it burned the orcs terribly. So terribly that even when the blaze withdrew, the enemy was barely able to fight. 

Tulusdir’s original camp was long gone, reduced to shreds by the orcs. He and his team had grabbed whatever they could and made for the cover of the eastern cliffs of the mountain, away from where the fighting was concentrated. They had been extracting arrows and bandaging wounds for hours, now with only the light of torches to rely on. The elven healers were weary of the bloodshed but alert. On the other hand, the human apothecary and surgeon that had offered their help were both teetering on the brink of exhaustion. 

As Tulusdir entered the closest medical tent, he was met with several pairs of sharp, elven eyes. Three healers were tending to one of Mirkwood’s foot soldiers; a young elf whose torso had been gashed just above the navel. It was impossible to move him without causing further injury. Tulusdir cursed under his breath and stepped back outside. Legolas followed him to the next tent, and then the next. All were occupied with patients, with little to no room for one more. 

Finally, they came upon a lean-to set up against the mountain face. Tulusdir brashly whipped back the curtain.

Inside was a small gaggle of humans, most of them children. They stared at him, their pale faces lit by a meager fire. Tulusdir pulled himself into the tent, bending slightly to keep his head from brushing the ceiling. “I need blankets. Anything to lay on.” He said in Westron. The humans floundered for a moment at the elf’s strange request. As the young ones pushed up against the stone, an adult lay out what cloth she could find at the elf’s feet. It wasn’t much – a thread-bare blanket and two furs no longer than a forearm.

The healer moved to the side and Legolas swept in behind him. He lowered Kamal to the soft surface as the healer began to rifle through his bag. The shelter filled with soft gasps as the other humans saw one of their own lain before them, unmoving. The elves ignored their audience. They knelt beside the girl. Tulusdir flicked a via with his finger, stirring the contents. “Lift her head.” Legolas cupped Kamal’s head and lifted it slightly. Tulusdir leaned in and carefully emptied the contents into Kamal’s mouth. The girl didn’t react. Her eyes were not completely shut. Tulusdir could see her dark irises peeking from under long lashes, but there was no sign of awareness. He checked to make sure the elixir went down. 

Tulusdir lifted up one of Kamal’s eyelids. Still no reaction. He checked her neck, and to his relief found there was still a pulse. “It’s as if she is in stasis. Most likely from shock.” He shook his head, slicking back loose strands of hair that fell against his damp forehead. “But she's alive." He sighed. The smallest, weariest smile touched the corner of his lips as he looked at the girl. "You never fail to surprise me,” he said to her under his breath in Sindarin, a hint of pride in his voice. "Now surprise me once more. Wake up."

✶

Kamal felt like someone had opened up her chest and scooped everything out. She remembered the light in her hands, but not much else. She took a step forward. Pale smoke plumed around her feet. She couldn’t see more than a yard ahead in any direction. “Russ? Clasa?"The stage was gone, as was the valley. The farther she strained her eyes, the less she saw. It was as if the world materialized only where she stepped. She inched her way through the white fog, wishing she had a shawl to protect herself from the endless chill.

A strange, wrung-out cry suddenly pierced through the void.

Kamal halted, her heart racing. Her knife was still tucked away. Slowly, she began to reach down for it. But as another cry sounded, she stopped. The sobs sounded hysterical, terrified; like a wailing toddler. Pity pulled at her heartstrings. She waded further into the smoke, trying to use the sound to redirect herself. The deeper she went, the louder it became. “Hello?” Kamal called out, wincing in preparation for whoever would answer. When she wasn’t attacked, she raised her voice again. “Where are you?”

The sobs faltered. “I-I’m here!” A small, wobbly voice whimpered back.

Kamal tried to push the fog aside as if it had a solid form, but it only curled around her arms and settled back into place. “I can’t see you.”

“I’m here!”

“I don’t know where here is,” Kamal replied, growing exasperated. “Walk towards my voice. Keep talking!” She held her hands out in front of her as she moved forward blindly. She heard sniveling. “Talk to me.”

“I-I don’t know where everyone is.” The disembodied voice sounded young. Kamal heard their throat clog with emotion. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know.” Kamal sputtered as some of the fog went into her mouth. It didn’t taste like anything, but she sensed it was better not to eat it.

Finally, she saw a gray shape through the formless white void. “I think I see you!” She exclaimed. “Wave your arm!” The shape lifted an appendage and waved. Kamal hopped with excitement. Another person, thank goodness. “Hold on, I’m coming to you.”

The form became clearer as she drew closer. They were turned away from her. From the back, they looked like a human. Not a little kid, but maybe middle-school age, Kamal guessed. They had short blonde hair and tan work clothes like the kind Darestrum wore to the stables. Their shoulders shook as they tried to suppress more sobs. Kamal approached slowly. “I’m here. Can you see me?”

The child’s head swiveled. “Where?”

“Here.” She said again, more quietly this time. The child turned. Fear jolted through Kamal so fiercely it seized her muscles.

The boy faced her with a pair of eyeless holes. The skin around the empty sockets was drawn tight like a mummy. His mouth was twisted with anguish, but there were no tears. How could there be? Dread swelled in Kamal's gut. This was the face that had watched her at the end of the bed. The one that was always present in her nightmares. The boy who rode Silver. The one with the arrow in his heart.

The boy kept turning his head, searching for her. “Hullo?” 

Kamal’s tongue curled in her mouth, almost choking her. The boy took a tentative step forward. Kamal took a step back.

“Are you still there?” He turned right, unknowingly looking away from her. “I-I can’t… Can you help me?” Kamal watched the boy hobble a few steps into the fog. He stopped, his shortened breaths echoing in the strange void. Kamal’s hands balled into fists at her side. He can only hear me… next time he moves, I move. The boy pawed at the hem of his shirt. His legs trembled. Then he sank down into a squat, burying his head in his hands. He cried even harder, his sobs wracking his body. As he curled in on himself, Kamal could see through his thin shirt the gaping wound where the arrow had entered his torso. “Please.” He whimpered, wiping at his dripping nose. “I can’t find my Da.” 

Although her head begged her to run, Kamal stopped. She looked at the boy, a strange mix of fear and pity roiling in her stomach. 

He's lost, without his family. She did a quick look around. No one else was with them. She took several long breaths until the pounding in her chest lowered to a nervous buzz. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her belly, Kamal knelt next to the boy. She figured he must have noticed her presence, because he flinched as she lowered herself to the ground. His arms were still lifted close to his head like a shield. 

“Hi,” Kamal said softly. “Do you need help?”

The boy gasped, stifling a shiver. “I-I don’t know where my Da is. I don’t… I can’t…” He trailed off, his bottom lip trembling. His hands were still cupped over his empty eyes.

Kamal looked at the dead child's grey hand. She hesitantly lifted her fingertips to the back of his hand and gently touched his skin. The boy winced, but he didn’t cry out. “Can you feel my hand?” Kamal asked. He nodded. Kamal found herself cupping his bony fingers in her own. “I can walk with you.”

His eyebrows jumped up, emphasizing the emptiness of his face. “Can you see?”

“A little bit.”

“How come you can see?" He asked bitterly. "Why is it so dark?”

It wasn’t dark. Nothing about this place was dark. It was like being placed under a spotlight. “I don’t know.” Kamal lied. “But we can find our way out.” She folded her fingers around his. He followed her motion as she stood. “I’m Kamal.” She said as she squeezed his hand. “What’s your name?”

The blind boy pressed closer to her, sniveling softly. “Oswin.” 

Chapter Text

Outside, the long shadows of early morning were already appearing. 

Clasa leaned forward stiffly on the fold-out stool. She winced as her abdominal brace pressed against her sides. There was a bruise as long as her forearm across her ribs and belly. The swelling was painful, but she was grateful that she could finally sit up. 

The left side of her face was purple and green with an ugly bump rising under her eyebrow. One of her eyes was discolored an angry red. 

Clasa propped herself by the elbows on the edge of Kamal’s cot. Sleep came at odd hours, often claiming her without her knowledge. More often than not she’d fall asleep slumped on her seat, her head collapsing into the thin mattress. 

The little girl lay supine under a layer of thread-bare blankets. Her long, tangled hair had been pulled away from her face with twine in a loose bun. She appeared to be sleeping, but she had not moved in days. Her chest only lifted ever so slightly. She had neither eaten nor passed any food. What little water she had came in the form of tinctures hand fed to her.

The tent curtain pulled back with a snap. Cold air rushed into the room.

The medic’s grim mood turned weary upon laying eyes on Clasa. “Lady Clasa, for the hundredth time, it does you no good to wallow at her bedside,” Tulusdir said.

“Doesn’t do much good to rot in bed either,” Clasa grumbled. Her cot was next to Kamal's, but she felt even the few steps between her and the child were too far.

“If your rib punctured an organ...”

“I’ll be careful,” Clasa straightened her spine slowly. “She hasn’t been moved in a while.”

“My assistant will arrive in a moment to turn her.”

“I can help.”

“No, you may not,” Tulusdir replied sternly. “If you want to help, you will let us work uninterrupted.”

Clasa massaged the girl’s hand with the pad of her thumb. The human’s skin was cold to the touch. Tulusdir watched pensively. “The morning is warm. Why not step out? Fresh air is good for your system.”

Clasa absentmindedly felt at her bandaged chest with her free hand. “What if she wakes up and I’m not here?”

“You would not be far.”

“... She’s losing weight,” Clasa said quietly, dismissing the suggestion. 

Tulusidr moved closer. He slumped ungracefully down on Clasa’s unoccupied cot. His normally vibrant eyes were tinged red at the corners. The elves did not fatigue easily, but the days had been long, and the nights only longer. There had been too many deaths in a relatively short time. His heart was tired. “At the very least, the exercises will keep her muscles from atrophying."

Despite having an empty stomach, Clasa felt nauseous. “Could she starve?”

“When elves are in such a state, they can sustain themselves for months.” He said. “But our bodies are not the same as humans. I’m sorry to say I do not have as much experience with humankind. I do not know what to expect. She does not have large reserves as it is.”

Although she had been the one to ask, Clasa's mind could barely hold onto his words. Just the effort of listening left her in a fog. The splitting pain of her concussion had eased to a low throb, but she knew the damage was done. “Darestrum’s body—“

“It’s been retrieved. Your brother’s taken the burial preparations upon himself.” 

Clasa pressed her thumb gently down on Kamal’s palm. The girl’s fingers flexed slightly, her tendons responding to the slight pressure. For a moment, Clasa wondered if the movement was conscious. But as she eased her grip, the fingers curled out again and there was no other movement.

Clasa’s throat was so raw she felt like she had swallowed pine needles. She remembered being small, and Darestrum taking her and Hasdran to the paddocks. He was there when their world bottomed out under them. He was always there. “Call my brother,” Clasa said, fighting through the thick lump in her throat. “I wish to speak to him.”

Tulusdir’s ears pricked up. A retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he let it drop. “Very well.”

✶ 

Tulusdir guided Hasdran to the medical tent. As he pulled the curtain aside again, he noticed Clasa hadn’t moved from where he left her. Hasdran wheeled his chair inside. The elf eyed the dwarves anxiously before stepping back and letting the curtain fall. Hasdran pulled up beside Clasa, grimacing at her appearance. “Are you feeling any better?” 

Clasa snorted. “Feels like I rammed into a boulder.”

Hasdran chuckled dryly. “Looks like that, too.” His eyes landed on Kamal. A doleful look overtook him.  “I can watch her.”

Clasa shook her head. “No.”

“Y’ look pale. Have you been outside at all?”

“I already told the elf no, so don’t try to sway me,” Clasa responded sharply, shooting him a warning glance.” She turned slowly in her seat, inching as stiff as an automaton. “That’s not what I called you for.”

“We got him back,” he said, assuming he knew her meaning. “Dain’s gathering any fallen dwarrow we can find for an earth burial. They’ve wrapped him, but if you want to see him–” Then his throat clogged and he fell mute. Clasa pressed the horrible feeling rising in her gut down to her toes. “Something happened on the way to Dale... it's not sitting right with me.”

Hasdran’s frown deepened. He traced the grooves in the wooden armrest with his thumbnail.

“Dare and the Copperhead seemed like they knew each other,” Clasa continued. “But I don’t understand how. I never saw them together. Did she and the princeling ever come to the fishing village?” Clasa lifted her head to read her brother’s reaction. Upon seeing the discomfort behind his eyes, anger stirred in her stomach. “You know something.” 

Hadran’s jaw automatically clenched.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t think this is the time..." But he took one look at his sister and knew she wouldn’t settle for his answer. “You have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

Clasa’s bloodshot eyes seized him. If looks could kill, Hasdran would've dropped dead right then and there. “I’m not promising you anything,” Clasa said, blood crawling scarlet up her neck. “You tell me now, and I won’t throttle you for not telling me sooner.”

Hasdran stilled his hands. “When Dare and I found Kamal, she was bleeding out fast.” His eyes pointed at the girl. “Dare had to get her to the closest healer as quick as he could. The elves took pity and they got her stitched up.” He nodded back towards the tent curtain. “It was Sour-Face who did it, actually.” 

Clasa nodded. “Aye. I know. You’ve told me.”

“And while they were in Mirkwood… she told Dare why she ran off. She said she was looking for the Witch of the Golden Woods,” Hasdran said. “I don’t know how or where she got the idea, but she was convinced that the elf could send her back to wherever she came from.”

Clasa frantically scanned her memories. Witch? How did she know about the Witch? She had never mentioned elves in front of the girl. Why would she? She never… “I’m sorry for whatever drove you out of the Hills. I am.” 

She froze. I never planned for her to leave the Hills, she realized with a start. 

When Hasdran’s hunting party returned with a lost human, Clasa panicked. She couldn’t let the council throw the child back into the wilds. She told herself Kamal would only stay temporarily, that ‘ward’ was only an honorific to protect her. But then a week turned into a month. A month into several months. A mere blink of an eye for a dwarf— but a significant chunk of time for a nine-year-old. She never agreed to be my ward. Clasa pressed a hand to her belly as the sickening realization dawned on her. "Oh, Mahal." I kept her a prisoner.

“Clasa?” Hasdran leaned towards her, his brow furrowed. “Are you listening?”

She looked up at him, her face stricken with horror. “Did you know she wanted to leave?”

Hasdran’s lips tightened. “Did we ever ask?”

Clasa withered. Surely they had asked? 

There were signs that she only saw now: Kamal’s forlorn glances over the parapets. How she waited impatiently for stable work, out in the open prairie outside of the walls. And all of those books the girl scoured in the library... “The library,” Clasa gasped. “She must’ve learned of the elves in the library.” Hasdran waited to see if Clasa would go on. When she didn’t, he added, “She wouldn’t come back with Darestrum. He tried to convince her, but she wouldn’t budge. He had to get back to find my body. And he… chose to leave.”

Clasa’s head snapped up so fast he thought her neck would break. Her brow lowered into a hard line. A cold sweat breaking along his brow, Hasdran continued, “He knew the elves wouldn’t have harmed her.”

“He left her?” Clasa said in a strangled voice

“I know how it sounds – “

Suddenly, Clasa leapt out of her seat. The vein in her temple pulsed. “I’d have preferred he dragged her all the way home than leave her with strangers!” She bellowed, wincing as her ribs swelled. “What was he thinking?”

“Mahal, believe me, I wanted to kill him when he told me,” Hasdran protested. “He tried to make it right. The moment he knew I was safe, he went back for her but the elves wouldn’t let him into the realm. The last person anyone saw her with was Copperhead.”

Clasa buried her face in her hands, her breath stuttering.

“He was angry, Clas,” Hasdran said, grief filling in his chest like water. “He thought I was gone. I’m not trying to say he didn’t make a fool of himself-- but he tried to go back.”

Clasa muttered something unintelligible, still covering her face. Hasdran felt ice prickle up his spine. “You could’ve come with us,” He mumbled. “If you weren’t so scared of the wilds, maybe we would’ve gotten out in one piece.” 

Clasa’s fingers parted. Her dark eyes seared through the gaps. “What?”

Hasdran blanched and looked at the ground

“Speak up,” Clasa demanded, pulling her hands away. When Hasdran didn’t, she abruptly shoved him by the shoulders. His wheelchair tilted off kilter before he caught his wheels, righting himself. “Hey!” He snapped, his heart flying into his throat.

“I said speak up!” "Fuck you!” Hasdran barked in Khuzdul, gripping the wheels in case she attacked him once more. Clasa stood over him, bristling, hand clutching her bound ribs.

Hasdran’s eyes were glazed by a film of tears. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He angled a watery stare at the ground. “Clasa, I don’t want to fight.”

Anger rushed out of Clasa like water through a drain. She stepped back, her face slack. Her brother kneaded the armrests of the wheelchair anxiously. His voice cracked slightly. “I miss him.” Any fury bolstering the dwarrowdam collapsed. As clear as day, she saw her brother at toddling age, barefaced with only the ghost of hair on his chin. He clung to Darestrum like a drowning sailor to a lifeline. He almost never left the old dwarf’s side. She thought that at the time Hasdran didn’t understand; he didn’t know why their mother was gone, or what it meant for them.

But maybe he knew more than she realized. 

She had no comfort to offer him. While her brother sat in stunned silence, Clasa sat back on the bed. With a shaking hand, she leaned back to brush a loose strand of hair behind Kamal's small ear. You can hate me forever. I don’t care. I deserve it. A heavy tear slipped down her cheek. Come back.

Chapter Text

The fog swirled and eddied around them. Kamal could feel the moisture weighing her hair down and forming pearls on her skin. She wiped the water from her brow with a free hand. It ran over her knuckles and off her fingers. After walking for what felt like hours, nothing had changed. The mist was just as impenetrable as it had been fifty steps back. 

“Do you think we’re almost out?” Oswin asked. His voice was strangely reverberant in the fog. Kamal tightened her grip. “It can’t be that much farther.”

“You said that already.”

Irritation roused within her. “Well if you want to lead, you–” Kamal stopped herself, guilt swinging into her like a hammer. “Do you want a break?”  

“No,” Oswin mumbled. He dragged his feet across the flat earth. “I just wish it wasn’t so dark.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“What’re you sorry for?”

“... I’m sorry you lost your dad.” 

Oswin’s hand twitched in hers. When he spoke, she could hear the emotion pressing against his voice. “I dunno what happened,” he sniffed. “Something hurt Da and I ran. I thought I got away.” Kamal felt something solid and round press against her back as Oswin rested his head briefly on her spine. After a moment he drew himself up. “H-how’d you get here?” 

“I don’t know either,” Kamal answered honestly. She offered a weak smile. “At least we’re not alone.”

Oswin sniveled. “D-do you think we’re dead?”

Kamal almost stumbled. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. “We’re not dead,” she replied curtly, fear constricting her throat. “We wouldn’t be walking and talking.”

“This could be the after-death,” Oswin whispered. A chilling numbness wrapped around Kamal’s heart. "What's after-death?" "It's what it sounds like. All the dead folks gather in a big hall with their families, and once they all find each other, they leave.” Oswin paused. “I suppose it’s a bit like a ferry or somthn’. No one really knows.”

A minute must’ve passed before the boy spoke again. This time, his voice was noticeably trembling. “This isn’t right. Mum said she and Da will come here first. That way when me an’ my little brother come over we can all be together.” His breath hitched. “I- I don’t know where anyone is. How ‘m I supposed to find them?” 

As Oswin fell into another bout of soft crying, Kamal felt the urge to join him. She twisted her body to look back. He was nearly doubled over, rubbing at his eyes frantically as his shoulders shook. Her eyes burned with the tell-tale sign of tears. “You really can’t tell that you’re dreaming?” She said suddenly.

“W- huh?” 

Kamal panicked. She didn’t know why she said that. She was trying to find a way to make him stop crying, and all of a sudden it just blurted out of her. But she couldn’t take it back now. “You’re dreaming.” She said, enunciating the word.

“N-no ‘m not. How do you know?”

She said the first thing that popped into her head; "Because I'm part of your dream." Kamal felt the boy give her hand a delicate squeeze as if to test that she was still there. She resisted the urge to squeeze back. 

“You’re lyin’.”

"Why else…” she fumbled over her words, “why… would I be purple?”

Oswin snorted indignantly. “What? No, you're not.”

“Am too.”

“Nobody’s purple.”

“It’s a dream. I can be whatever I want.”

“Prove it then.” Oswin challenged. 

“Wish I could.” Kamal tossed a glance over her shoulder. Oswin’s brow furrowed in confusion, but the crying had ceased. “If it’s my dream, why can't I make everything light?” He asked.

“Dunno. It’s your head, not mine."

“So you’re imaginary?” He pondered for a moment. “This is all imaginary... AH!” With that, Oswin seized a pinch of skin between his fingers, twisting the flesh on his arm. Kamal swatted at his hand. “Don’t do that!”

“It’ll wake me up,” Oswin argued. “Here, you do it.”

“No.”

“Please?” 

“No way, I’m not pinching you. We just have a little farther to go. Stop hurting yourself, okay?”

The boy released the taut skin of his arm. “Fine.” He pouted.

They fell into silence, still hand in hand, the mist chilling them down to the bone. “Just so you know, I don’t dream about girls," Oswin said. "If this is really my dream, there’d be dragons.” Kamal grimaced. She'd seen enough dragons for one lifetime.

Suddenly, Oswin froze. Kamal stopped, hand still fastened to his. The boy’s head tilted, listening to the empty air. The vacant holes in his face seemed to widen. He mouthed something silently before he asked, "Do you hear that?"

Kamal’s heart lodged in her throat. She looked all about and was met with silence. “Hear what?”

“A lady’s voice.”

Lady? Kamal thought, her heartbeat picking up into a frantic pace. “I don’t hear anyone.”

Oswin held a finger to his lips. Kamal inadvertently inched a little closer to the boy. She held her breath and strained her ears. The mist drifted around them in silence. She could hear a slight ringing but passed it off as pressure in her ears. But then a new sound pierced through the muggy air. It played one high-pitched chirp. Then another. That sounds familiar. 

“Do you hear her now?” Oswin asked, noticing her body tense.

“No,” Kamal said. “I think they’re crickets.”

“Crickets?”

“Point which way you hear the voice,” Kamal commanded. Oswin did, and lo and behold that was the direction where the chirping was loudest. “Come on,” The girl said, pulling him along. 

One chirrup turned into another until it was a chorus of chirps. The farther they sprinted, the clearer the fog became. Kamal glanced down at her feet and realized she could finally see her boots again. She nearly toppled over as the hard floor disappeared and her foot sank into something soft. The momentum sent Oswin crashing into her shoulder. “Ow!” He hissed. 

Kamal shifted her weight. Firm stalks of meadow grass crunched under her soles. She took a tentative step forward. An insect launched off its perch and darted right past her ear. Oswin flinched at the sound. The thick, murky air took on a strange light, like sunlight passing through a thundercloud. Kamal could make out vague shapes through the haze. The crickets continued to sing as they pressed forward.

At long last, the children emerged from the bank of fog. Clouds of mist trailed from their clothes before finally settling in the gray shadow behind them. They released each other’s hands. 

There they stood in a small glen surrounded by white trees that towered over them like marble columns. Their bark looked smooth to the touch. A canopy of golden leaves draped dappled light onto the clearing. Bugs sang to each other in the undergrowth. The air smelled like summer after a rain shower.

An elated giggle jumped from Oswin’s chest. “It’s so pretty.” Kamal looked at him, and her heart flip-flopped. A wide smile was plastered on Oswin’s face as the boy stared up at the canopy. With his eyes. His irises were a pale blue. Long, fanning eyelashes beat like a butterfly’s wing as he squinted. A handful of leaves flitted down from the branches. Oswin reached for one, but it flipped in the breeze and spiraled out of his grip. Kamal watched the fallen leaf spin through the air until it reached the ground.

When she looked up again, her breath seized in her chest. 

A ghostly figure watched them from the edge of the meadow. Kamal couldn't see the stranger's face in the deep shadows, but she could sense their gaze. She kept her eyes trained on the stranger as she reached blindly behind her. "Oswin," she hissed. Oswin didn't reply. "Oswin?"

"I'm here."

Kamal plucked up the courage to look. Oswin was only a few feet behind her, but someone else was with him. A man dressed in simple work clothes wrapped a hand around the boy's shoulder. His fair skin was speckled with sunspots. Kamal’s stare fell on Oswin, who smiled back at her. The worried pucker above his brow was gone. A soft light suffused his face as he leaned comfortably against the man's leg. “Thank you for helping me.”

Kamal realized what was happening a moment too late. "Wait," She gasped. 

“Don’t be sad. You’re going to be ok.” 

“Wait!” 

A wall of wind suddenly blasted through the forest, kicking up a wave of gold leaves. Kamal threw her arms over her head. The gust was so powerful it filled her lungs, almost choking her. When it faded, she lowered her arms, catching her breath. Oswin and the man were gone. 

Alarms rang in her skull as she turned back to see the figure slowly approaching her. The stranger broke from the shade and into the veil of sunlight. Long, flaxen hair cascaded down their back. Their skin was shockingly smooth, pale like the bark of the white trees. Though they were well into adulthood, the only signs of age were the soft smile lines around their eyes and at the corners of their lips. In ten steps, they drifted up to Kamal until they were just an arm’s reach away. The stranger stood as tall and lean as a young tree. A silvery-white dress hung like woven spider-silk from their broad shoulders. Their protean blue-gray eyes seemed to shift color with every blink. They smiled. "I’m glad you found your way.” 

The honeyed rhythm of the elven language took shape in Kamal’s head. The words had a familiar ring. It took her a moment to find her voice again. “You’re the witch,” the human spoke hesitantly in the same language. 

“Witch?” The elf asked, her tone curious. A light chuckle lifted from her lips. “Perhaps to some I am.” 

Anxiety bucked in Kamal’s chest. She’d never spoken to a witch before. She glanced at the ground under her before quickly kneeling on one knee. The elf's eyebrows rose. “Stand, child. You needn’t bow to anyone.”

Kamal stood on wobbly legs, her face already hot. Her mouth filled with cotton. Something in the elf's eyes made her feel like she was being pinned to the floor with a needle. “I— I saw you in a history book."

The elf’s smile softened. “Am I so ancient that I only inhabit dusty tombs?”

“That’s just the book I picked up…” The girl knew she was mumbling, but she couldn’t help it. She forced herself to hold her head up and meet the elf’s penetrating gaze.“You’re her. You're Galadriel." 

The pause was deafening. The elf folded her hands in front of her. “I am whomever you desire to see."

A fist clenched around Kamal’s heart. What does that mean? Was that a yes? She wondered if the elf could hear her blood racing. "You have to help me.” Her words burst from her like water from a leaking dam. “You have to send me back home." 

Galadriel’s polite smile wavered slightly as the elf ran a speculative eye over her. With careful attention placed on each word, she responded, “You presume that I can."

Dread pooled in Kamal’s gut. “You’re the only one who can help,” she stammered. "You have magic.” Kamal did a quick once-over for a magic wand or staff, but the elf was unarmed. Had Agathaire been wrong? “I came from a place called Earth. I have no idea how to get back and… and…” She swallowed hard, struggling to settle her staccato breaths. “I came all the way here to find you. I –”

Galadriel's enigmatic expression shifted. A chill flushed through Kamal as the elf crouched, sinking into her dress. The sun glinted off the dew clinging to the gossamer fabric. The elf reached out a long-fingered hand, gently taking hold of Kamal’s chin. Kamal’s heart jack-hammered. Galadriel looked the child square in the eye. “I know who you are, Kamal. We have followed your journey since you first stepped into Arda.”

The child involuntarily shivered. We?