Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/18PQJdI94VSkOkoyAJG0KP?si=34ddf85970f94554

Some things to keep in mind while reading:

Internal character thoughts will be represented in italics, like this!

All characters in the story are based physically on the depiction from the Hobbit film, but feel free to imagine them however you'd like.

Unfortunately I am no expert on Middle Earth/Tolkien lore so I am bound to make mistakes and write inaccuracies that diverge from the canon. If you bring it up to me, I'm happy to fix it as long as it won't derail the whole story! Also, I of course will be adding my own twist to things, so apologies for the intentional inaccuracies  :^)

The plot will be based on the Hobbit movie not the book, though there may be crossover.

However, Tauriel doesn't exist in this story (that bitch cannot take our man).

Please comment and let me know your thoughts! Enjoy!

Chapter Text

The ship creaks loudly with every wave, as if the wood keeping us afloat could snap with each oscillation. I focus on the sounds, listening to every murmur of the men, every whistle of the wind, every surge of the sea. Miles out, deep into the ocean, I can ground myself.

I can feel each sway of the waves as my body travels with them. The ocean seems to penetrate all my senses, with my mouth even tasting the salt in the air: just like home. It brings me comfort, in a strange way.

Opening my eyes, I slowly adjust to the dreary, dark room, filled with small beams of light shining through holes in the floorboards above me. Two men and four fellow elves share the cabin with me. Most are lost in thought, just as I, but two of the elves glance in my direction. I pray they don't recognise me.

This boat is nothing like those that would normally traverse Aman, my homeland. I'm used to luxury; beautiful, magical vessels lining the shores of Alqualondë with bows shaped like necks of swans. In contrast, the tattered ship where I currently reside is old, dirty, and unstable. Perhaps this is just the beginning of my series of consequences for leaving my homeland.

Sighing, I grip the edge of the bench harder until my knuckles turn white. My heart beats fast knowing my journey will come to an end soon. Soon, I'll be in Middle-earth and will have to part with the ocean. My familiarity.

After what feels like days, condensed into mere hours, I feel the rocking of the ship subside. Voices yell from the deck and loud footsteps traverse the boards above my head. The two men arise first, talking amongst themselves and making their way towards the stairs leading upwards. On their backs, they carry two large sacks, likely filled with whatever trade they received in Alqualondë. Next, one-by-one, the elves stand and elegantly stride to the exit, bending over to accommodate for the short ceilings.

Sitting alone, I take one more minute to myself. I've never been outside of Aman. What will Middle-earth look like? I wonder. My nerves itch for the new experience.

After gathering my thoughts, I too walk to the bridge, bending over as the other elves did before me.

The light is harsh. The sun blares down as my eyes struggle to adjust to the change in contrast. Sounds of the crew surround me, mixed with noises projecting from the docks at which we have just landed. The setting sun casts a long shadow along the buildings lining the dock. Alongside the shadows, a warm light trickles across my face, unlike the cold blue light emitted from home.

My eyes become drawn to the other travellers, who begin stepping off the swaying boat onto a stone pier. I take one final moment to immerse myself in the new scenery, before begrudgingly making my way off the boat; I had wished the moment could last forever. A moment of pure discovery.

But soon, the reality of the situation sets in. I am alone in unfamiliar territory. I trail behind the other passengers as we walk along the pier towards the checkpoint to pass, in order to enter Mithlond, the first port-city of Middle-earth.

Minutes drag on as I wait for each traveller to remove documentation from their satchels, talking with the guard stationed within the checkpoint. Soon, a soft wind trails through the town, parallel to the sun, and a chill runs down my spine.

After what feels like years of waiting, the final man passes through the point, and I approach the elven guard.

"Purpose of travel?" He asks with his hand stretched out.

"Just passing through," I reply, handing him my permit to enter the city.

"Final destination?" He asks again without looking at me, his eyes glued to my papers.

"Not sure yet," I say quietly, skeptical of the leniency of rules within Mithlond.

The man's eyes widen as he continues to scan my documents.

He says my name in an accusatory manner.

"Daughter of Suiauthon?" He questions, clearly doubtful of my identity.

"Yes, sir." I respond promptly, though my nerves are getting the best of me.

The man scans me up and down and raises an eyebrow. Eventually, he hands me my papers back and waves me on.

"Lots of good trade from your father. I hope Mithlond treats you well," the man says as I begin to walk away. I nod in thanks before continuing into the town.

That's a relief... I think to myself.

Now, the sun has set further behind the buildings. Traders pack up their stands in the streets, and the city seems to bustle, with men and women hurriedly making their way down the sidewalks.

I had better find a place to settle for the night.

Wandering through the streets, I find an inn down the road with a clearly labelled "vacancy" sign swinging from the door.

After sorting my bed for the night, I decide to go back out into the city to explore: my first night alone.

Uneven stone buildings line the sides of unpaved roads, disappearing into the horizon. Although the town is far smaller than Alqualondë, the unknown feels vast and unforgiving.

Lamps glow with dim flames as a lamplighter proceeds down the road, lighting each one in an intricate but sweeping motion. He passes me with a smile, which I promptly return.

The sky is painted with shades of orange and purple with billowing clouds; small stars emerge from behind them. Although beautiful, the town is plagued with a dry air. An unsettling lingering.

As I traverse the roads, the sunlight fades completely, leaving only the moon and stars to light my path. It's a cold light, but to me it feels almost more welcoming than the setting sun. No matter where I am in the world, the night sky stays the same: beautiful.

Eventually, I come to a dead end; within the street's possession lies a series of family homes, crammed together, and a small tavern. Deciding that fate must have brought me here for a reason, I enter the bar.

The interior of the building contrasts with the external environment. The streets lay barren and empty in the moonlight, but within the building exists a bustling microeconomy of men and elves raising their tankards together, chattering loudly. Again, I return to the warm light.

After ordering a small meal and a drink, I take a seat at the bar, leaving distance between those on either side of me. The layout is quite unusual; although the tavern itself is square, the bar wraps like a circular crescent along one wall, with small tables surrounding it.

My head pounds, and for the first time in hours I become aware of the ravaging hunger inside of me. I haven't eaten in ages.

After promptly ordering a meal, I reach around to open my satchel, pulling out a rolled-up map with torn edges. I lay it out onto the table, spreading it across the bar where I sit. Studying the paper, I place my finger onto Mithlond, my current location, and trace a path through the continent. I twist my face and turn my head, trying to decide how I want to go about this exploration.

After minutes of thinking, my food and drink arrive, and I place the map aside. A problem for a later time.

The food is slightly dismal, but it will do for now.

"May I join you?" asks an old voice from behind me.

I turn my head to see an older man with a long, gray beard and piercing eyes. He bears a long wooden staff and a dark pointed hat.

I nod and offer the seat to him, beginning to eat.

The man sits and calls over the barmaid, ordering himself a meal before pulling out a long reading pipe.

"So," the wizard begins, speaking slowly and pausing to prepare his pipe, "what brings Alqualondë royalty to the port city of Mithlond?" he finally asks, taking a drag of the pipe.

I freeze, unable to look away from my plate. Quickly, I regain composure, turning my head towards the man.

"Sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else." I reply, hoping to draw attention away, but glancing around to ensure no one else heard his remark.

"I don't believe I do." he replies quickly, raising his eyebrows. "That ring you wear, I am no fool. Glistening, blue, sea stones are given only to that of royal blood: the elvish royalty of Alqualondë." The man speaks quietly, as if not to alert others of my status.

I hold my hand up to the light. The ring was given to me many moons ago by my mother. It is an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation, dating back as far as the first age. The original owner was my great-great grandfather Olwë, who bestowed it upon his daughter after its creation. As my father’s only daughter, I was given the ring on my 20^th birthday.

Carefully, I remove the ring from my finger, placing it inside a small pocket within my satchel. I shall not make the same mistake again.

"Please, do not speak of this any further, I wish not to be recognised." I tell the man, pleading with my eyes.

"You never answered my question." he insists, with curiosity in his tone.

"Self-discovery," I eventually reply with a sigh, deciding he must not mean harm. "I just wanted to see more of the world. To experience what it has to offer outside of Aman and find out more about myself in the process."

He nods solemnly, content with my answer. Before he can say any more, his food and drink arrives, and he waves as an unspoken thank-you to the barmaid. The conversation pauses as he takes a swig of beer from the tankard beside his bowl.

"Intriguing indeed..." his voice trails off as he sips a spoonful of stew.

"And who are you, exactly?" I ask, in a slightly accusatory tone, suddenly deciding I shouldn't be too revealing to strangers.

"You may call me Gandalf," he says as he reaches his hand out to me. I return the gesture, shaking his hand firmly. "I have some... connections... you may be interested in."

My eyes widen quickly, our hands still intertwined. I'm not sure I completely trust this man...

"I have a friend, residing in the east, looking for an... assistant of sorts," Gandalf waves his hand, using the other to take another sip of beer. "Although I am unsure of the intricacies of the duties, it won't be too difficult, I can assure you. Assuming you're good with a sword." His eyes flutter to my back, where my greatsword is sheathed.

"I'm going to need more specifics than that. I don't like ambiguity." I say, turning my attention back to my own food.

"The man's name is Radagast. Radagast the Brown, honorable man he is. He lives on the western eave of Mirkwood, you see. Recently he's found himself in a bit of a... predicament... shall we say? He insists that a darkness is beginning to plague the forest, something foreign."

"So, he wants protection?"

"Oh no, Radagast can protect himself." Gandalf chuckles at the insinuation. "He has found that, recently, there aren't enough hours in the day. That is, to tend to matters regarding the forest and his research, and so he could use a helping hand..." he trails off again, bringing out his pipe again. "This offer," he continues, "would include room and board. You'd be well compensated for your efforts, and you'd have ample freedom to explore as you wish."

"This seems too good to be true..." my voice wavers, as I am unsure of what to think of the man.

"My name, it carries weight here. You can take your time, ask around, come back to this bar, and meet me in a day's time. The journey to Rhosgobel, in Mirkwood, will be a long one though. Make sure you are prepared."

I turn my head to contemplate, staring back towards the bar. Well, assuming this wizard is telling the truth, and he isn't trying to deceive me, this could be a good opportunity to explore the country. But how do I know his intentions are just?

"Why are you offering this to me?" I suddenly ask, prompting a discussion into his motives. "You could have asked anyone. Hell, you could have asked no one at all. Why me?"

The wizard smiles as he takes a drag from the pipe.

"Just a feeling."

Chapter Text

“Oliver! Penelope!” a yelling voice echoes from the lower floor. A staggered crash follows the call as two birds come flying through the slight gap in the doorway, quickly hiding in a nearby cupboard. I glance up from my work, startled by the sudden noise.

“Come back here!” the voice calls again, getting louder as the source approaches. The stairs groan under the pressure of footsteps approaching the attic.

I whip around just in time to see the door slam open, revealing a dishevelled wizard on the other side: Radagast. He stomps around playfully, tapping each of the cabinets with the tip of his staff, as if to decipher where the two birds had gone.

After hitting one cabinet, his mouth twists into a smirk.

“Boo!” Radagast yells as he furiously opens the creaky cupboard doors, sending the two hidden birds into a fluttering frenzy around the room.

Radagast laughs as the birds continue their manic, clearly just messing with them. I let out a slight chuckle, turning my attention back to my project on the desk.

“Oh, come on now, you aren’t going to ask?” Radagast eggs, leaning around my chair, just as the two birds settle, perching on an upper shelf on the other side of the room.

“Alright,” I reply smirking while letting out a sarcastic sigh, “what happened?” I swivel around in my chair, giving my attention fully to the wizard.

“Well, you see…” Radagast begins, walking over to the restless birds, “Oliver and Penelope, jittery things, thought it would be a good idea to peck away at my staff, right up here.” He motions to the top of his staff, where the twirled branches of wood branch out like roots, surrounding a shining gem.

Radagast removes his tall hat, motioning to the birds with his hand. On que, the birds quickly fly over to the raggedy nest atop his head, surrounded by bark and leaves, and settle. The wizard returns his hat to his head before sauntering back over to the desk.

“They’re nervous, you know?” he pauses, sensing my curiosity, “about the forest, I mean.” After clarifying, he takes a deep breath before joining me at the desk, sitting beside me in a rough oak chair.

“Radagast, it’s getting worse…” my voice trails off, and I let out a deep sigh, glancing over to the various potions on the desk before me.

Dark vials plague the desk, as if the darkness of the forest has reached inside of Rhosgobel as well. They rest in a straight line, stretching the entirety of the surface, a gradient of black progressing with every bottle.

“I take it the tree isn’t coping too well?” he asks, though he knows the true answer.

I shake my head in disappointment, eyes grazing the various bottles.

Every other day, for the past two months, I collect a leaf from a tree about 2 miles south of the house, closer to the old orc settlement Dol Guldur. And every other day, for the past two months, the leaves have gotten darker, and darker. Within each vial is a pool of liquid – magical, though its contents are out of my scope – in which I place the leaves.

The colour of the liquid was a neutral translucent colour at first, and through the first week or two it stayed that way as the leaves degraded into it. But now, the decayed leaves leave a black sludge within the vial, as if it became a pool of oil.

“What do you make of it?” I ask Radagast, completely out of my element. Although it has been half a year since I first arrived at Rhosgobel, magic has never been something I have picked up fast.

“Hmmm,” the wizard picks up the latest vial, holding it up against the window into the sunlight. The sludge is opaque, and even in the harsh light remains a pitch-black colour. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I just can’t believe that’s a simple virus, there’s more to it than that. It’s spreading more. At this rate, the trees here will be darkening in half a year’s time.”

“I agree that there’s something more at play here.” Radagast pops the cork off the vial, giving it a sniff before twisting his face in disgust. He shakes his head before returning the vial to the desk. “We’re doing the best we can now. There must be a cure.”

“I’m worried about the animals and how they’re reacting,” I motion to his hat, to Oliver and Penelope. “What if this thing is transmissible to them?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Radagast replies reassuringly, removing his hat for the birds to involve themselves in the conversation. He begins to stand, clearly ready to resume his own research downstairs.

“I’ll keep looking into it.” I glance over at the stack of books on the edge of the desk, pages lined with notes sticking out from all corners. Though my readings of botany have been thorough, I am by no means an expert.

Suddenly, another bird flies through the open window, nearly crashing into Radagast as it tries to reach the nest: Luna. The trio of birds begins to tweet away, eventually leaning towards Radagast’s ear.

“Oh, interesting,” Radagast pauses, eyes looking upwards, deep in thought. “I see. Well, best get ready then.” The wizard quickly turns begins to make his way towards the door before whipping back around to face me.

“Best prepare yourself,” his eyes widen, and his mouth turns into a twisted smile, “seems like we’re about to have some visitors.”

~

A knock echoes throughout the house, travelling quickly through the wood lining every wall. I peer nervously though the small attic window, down towards where the front door is, taking precautions to stay hidden.

The warm sunlight trickles through the leaves above the house, leaving a blotchy pattern on the ground below. My eyes travel across the grass and flowers, through the twists of the tree branches, landing on three figures standing within a shadow.

Suddenly, I feel the floor below me creak as the door opens below.

“Good afternoon…” Radagast stretches his syllables, likely examining the elves as he speaks. “Well then, what brings the Prince of Mirkwood to Rhosgobel, hmm?” he hums with a light but firm tone.

My eyes widen with his words. A prince? Here? I knew the elves of Mirkwood resided north, but the distance is quite far. And for a prince to be here? What does it mean…

I twist my head further towards the window, trying to spot the elf himself. The three elves are arranged in a triangular formation; the back two wear matching armour and have long, dark-brown hair. Contrastingly, the central elf is taller, wearing a slightly scaled unique armour, and has pale blonde hair: presumably the prince.

“We thought to warn you and discuss some matters regarding the forest.” The central elf replies, expression unwavering.

“Warn me?”

“Spiders. We don’t know where they’ve come from, but they’ve begun to settle around the kingdom. They’re large, venomous, and viscous. We’ve lost men already,” he pauses, beginning to scan the surroundings, examining the state of the trees. Looking for the virus… His eyes trail across the tree, dancing along the branches. It’s as if I’m in a trance; watching him investigate.

Suddenly, his vision jolt towards the attic window. I quickly retreat back against the wall, but the damage has been done: we made eye contact. Shit.

“Well, I can promise you we have seen nothing of the sorts here-“

“We?” The elf interrupts the wizard. “Do you have someone staying with you, Radagast?”

“Oh, no. No guests here for a while.” Radagast replies, “I simply meant, the royal ‘we’, as it were.” I can hear his voice wavering. I refrain from peeking out of the window another time.

The conversation pauses, and I hold my breath.

“Well, we’d better be off then. Let us know if you encounter anything on this end of the forest.” The prince speaks again, and I sigh in relief.

“Of course. Always a pleasure.” Radagast replies, and I hear the door creak shut. Carefully, I peer out of the window with a single eye, seeing the three elves walk away into the forest. I wonder why he didn’t pressure Radagast for more information…

More footsteps break my train of thought as Radagast stops up the stairs to the attic.

“Well, seems as though the kingdom of Mirkwood is having some issues then,” the wizard says, swinging open the door.

“He saw me,” I say bluntly.

Radagast’s eyes widen in surprise, and perhaps in slight disappointment.

“All fine,” he eventually says, walking towards the desk, “the only reason I wanted to avoid disclosing your presence was to not alert the Silvan elves that I am hosting a Teleri. Not sure what type of elvish politics are going on between your people, if any, and I refuse to be between it.”

“We have no issues with the Silvans. They played no part in the Kinslaying in the first age. I can’t imagine they’d harbor any ill-will towards us either.”

“Still, can’t be too careful. Plus, if they like you, it might be even worse. Can’t have them stealing away my helpful assistant, now can I?” Radagast winks and nudges my arm. I chuckle in return.

I’ve never met an elf from Mirkwood. In fact, after leaving Mithlond, I haven’t seen another elf in all of Middle-earth. I am curious…

“Anyways, back to work. We have some gardening to do, I think.” Radagast interrupts my thoughts as he rummages through a closet, eventually pulling out a pair of hedge shears. “Hopefully our day will not be interrupted by any more unwanted visitors,” he continues, handing me the shears.

“Have you not figured out a way to trim the garden with magic, Radagast?” I tease, “you are one of the greatest wizards in Middle-earth, after all.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he chuckles, “it won’t get you off hedge duty. Let’s go.”

~

The sun begins to set behind the trees as Radagast and I finish our work in the garden. Crouching, I pluck a final carrot from the ground, setting it aside in the wicker basket next to me, along with a plethora of other harvested vegetables: perfect for a stew dinner.

“I think I’m done over here!” I call out to Radagast, working across the garden where he refills the bird feeders. I make my way over to him, continuing to speak. “I’ll clear out all of the cut leaves and weeds, and make a start on dinner?”

“Yes, I need to just round up some of the animals…” his voice trails off as he clearly focuses on balancing on a bench, leaning forward to load the bird-feeder.

“See you soon, then.” I reply, deciding to leave him to his own devices, as I clear up the yard. Heading into the house, I begin chopping the vegetables, humming a small tune. Life in the forest is peaceful, unlike my previous experiences in Alqualondë. It’s simpler here.

A long meow interrupts my chopping, and I look down to find a small calico cat rubbing against my leg.

“Oh Daisy, are you looking for a snack?” I chuckle, leaning down to pet the cat. It purrs in response to my question, clearly interested in what I’m cooking.

“Fine, but don’t tell Radagast.” I wink at Daisy as I reach over to the cabinet, grabbing a small treat from a container. I lean down, holding out the treat to Daisy, letting her eat from my hand.

Daisy meows in excitement after eating the treat, purring even more. Clearly, she wants more.

“That’s all you’re getting from me today, dinner will be soon for you.” I say softly, giving her some scratches behind her ear.

All of a sudden, Daisy’s ears perk up, twitching as her eyes grow wide. She makes a quick departure, running towards the door and outside.

“Daisy?” I call after her, wondering what caught her attention. Deciding to investigate, I walk towards the door, soon figuring out what piqued her interest. The muffled sounds of voices grow clearer, as I hear Radagast happily conversing with another man.

“Gandalf?” Opening the door reveals the tall, gray wizard, standing next to Radagast in the garden.

He calls my name back to me.

“A pleasure to see you again.” He continues, now making his way towards the house, “how are you settling into Rhosgobel?”

“Very well, Radagast is an exceptional host.” I say, smiling. Radagast gives me a nod of approval as well, winking as he follows Gandalf towards the house.

I haven’t seen the gray wizard since our second encounter in Mithlond. That is, when he told me how to reach Mirkwood, and where I would find Radagast.

“What brings you here, Gandalf? Are you staying for dinner? There’s plenty of stew.”

“Yes, I’ll stay the night if you’ll have me. But I’ll be off early in the morning,” he replies, tilting his hat with a smile.

“Gandalf was discussing with me an important inquiry he has for you,” Radagast begins, motioning us into the house. “Perhaps I was wrong to fear that the elves would be the ones to steal you away.”

“How so?” I ask, making my way over to the kitchen to continue the chopping.

“Well,” Gandalf begins, “I have a proposition for you. An adventure.”

“Go on.”

“It will be highly dangerous, and the company will be… volatile…” he says, taking a seat at the breakfast table with Radagast. “But, if we are successful, you will definitely quench your desire for a new experience.”

“And if we aren’t successful?” I ask while putting a large pot on the stove, attempting to hide my excitement behind the façade of cooking.

“Let’s not think of that right now.” Gandalf replies, smiling. “Are you still sharp with your blade? I hope you’ve gotten some good practice in the forest.”

I think back on the past few months, glancing at my greatsword sitting by the door, clearly collecting dust in its sheath. Clearly, Gandalf overestimated the dangers in the South of Mirkwood.

“As sharp as ever,” I reply confidently, knowing it’s a skill I’ll never forget. “Though,” I pause, glancing at Radagast, “I’d hate to leave Radagast on his own with the forest situation getting worse. I made a commitment, you see.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Radagast replies swiftly, “as much as I appreciate your help, and the company, I knew this was only going to be a short-term arrangement,” he pauses, smiling at me from across the room, “I know you dream of exploring further, seeing more than just trees every day. I think you’ve got enough of that now.”

My face saddens. As much as I yearn to leave, Radagast has become more than just a friend though my time at Rhosgobel: he has become family. By the look on his face, I can tell he feels the same way.

“The issue with my proposal…” Gandalf breaks the tender moment, raising his eyebrows at me, “is that you’d need to leave tomorrow.”

My eyes widen as my gaze glances back and forth between the two wizards.

“I-I’m not sure,” is all I manage to stutter. “I don’t know if I’d be ready to leave on such short notice.”

“I understand, it’s merely a proposal. You do not have to accept.” Gandalf replies kindly, leaning back in his chair.

My eyes settle on Radagast, who stares back at me with a tender look. He wants me to go, as bittersweet as it is.

I take a moment to think, adding all the vegetables to the pot to simmer. It really would be a great adventure. To have Gandalf as a guide, and be with a company of many, I’d get to experience something completely new. And I’m sure I can just come visit Radagast after it’s over…

After what feels like an hour, I finally reply.

“I’ll do it.”

“That’s it? You don’t want any more details?” The wizard laughs, looking over at Radagast, who chuckles himself.

“I mean, I would like to know what I just signed myself up for.” I say, trying to stay calm. In reality, I cannot contain my excitement, as a broad smile escapes.

“To keep it simple for now,” Gandalf begins, ready to give us a story, “I am assisting a friend in peril. Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, right to the throne of Erebor, the lonely mountain. This deserted dwarfish kingdom lies northeast of Mirkwood, and I have put together a company of around thirteen to reclaim it. You see, within the kingdom resides… an unwanted visitor.”

“So, we break into this mountain and kill someone? Why do you need thirteen people to do that?”

“It’s not so simple. You see, the current resident of Erebor is Smaug, the magnificent.”

“And what exactly makes this man so magnificent?” I question.

“He is no man. Smaug is a dragon.”

My stomach drops as the words leave his mouth. A dragon?

“That is why we need such a large company,” Gandalf continues, “that and the fact that we are not the only ones who seek to reclaim Erebor. I suspect that the orcs have similar motives, so having more protection is in our best interest…”

“I see…” I consider changing my mind for a moment, but eventually shake the nerves away.

“Well then, we leave tomorrow morning.” Gandalf finishes, smirking at me in amusement as I stir the stew.

Radagast gives me a look of reassurance, calming my thoughts. Gandalf knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t have us walk into a trap.

“Alright. I’ll be ready to leave in the morning. But wait,” I pause inquisitively, “where exactly are we going? Are we meeting the company at Erebor? It isn’t far from here, really.”

“If only it was that simple.” Gandalf shakes his head, “we unfortunately must travel west, to the Shire, home of the hobbits. This is where we’ll meet the others, and escort them to the mountain. We need all the blades we can get.”

Well, at least it’s a place I’ve never been before. Though I’m sure the Shire is very far from Rhosgobel. I anticipate it will take weeks to reach it.

“Is there a reason that’s the meeting place? I mean, it’s very far for us, and I’m sure the company of, presumably dwarves, also does not reside there?”

“You see,” Gandalf begins, “we are missing one last member of our company that we must retrieve.”

“Who?” I ask, thinking this last member must be very important if it means detouring so far west.

“Our burglar.” Gandalf cracks another smile.

Chapter Text

The sunlight filters its way through my eyelids, waking me softly as the brightness becomes harsher. Unbeknownst to me, Gandalf had already risen, trekking the final three miles to Bag End.

I rub my eyes, finally processing my consciousness as I sit up, propping myself up with my elbows in the grass. Breathing in the fresh air, feeling content, and I slowly rise further, hopping to my feet gingerly.

"Gandalf?" I call, yawning and looking around the makeshift campsite. The only reply comes from the cicada, which hum away at a constant, low frequency. I shrug, figuring Gandalf has already left, and recalling our previous conversation the day before, in which he stated that he needed to approach our new burglar, alone.

Shaking my head, I walk over to the stream, gently washing my face with the cool, crisp water. In spite of Spring coming to an end, the air remains cold, causing the various bodies of water to retain their nighttime chill. The sole generator of warmth remains the sun, and in direct light, without the frisky wind, I stay warm. I can't help but hope the upcoming months are a bit warmer.

I take a deep breath, standing up from the stream and glancing out over it. The rolling hills and trees that surround this area of Middle Earth look never-ending, with their patches of various greens like polka-dots painted until the horizon.

In the meantime, I recall Gandalf's final words to me the night before:

"Do not follow me right away. The burglar: he will be wary at first, but I know he will be convinced. I do not need another stranger to scare him away. Instead, plan to arrive in the evening, just in time for, dinner: 7:30. Look for the mark on the burglar's door. His name is Bilbo Baggins."

I sigh, turning back to my bags and horse, deciding to lay in the grass a while longer. 7:30 is a while away... it'll only take me around an hour to reach Bag End from here. I guess I have some free time.

The day passes by slowly, as I entertain myself with mundane, but peaceful activities in the countryside. I sharpen my greatsword, meditate, sketch, and eat, enjoying the time to myself after being on the road with Gandalf for a few months.

As the sun just begins to sink behind the tips of the mountains in the distance, I gather my supplies, hopping on my horse to begin the journey. My stomach grumbles in anticipation for dinner, and I smile, not having had a proper home-cooked meal since leaving Rhosgobel.

I appreciate the ambience as my horse trots down the path, taking in the sights of the Shire, just as I begin to see small hills in the distance, littered with round, circular doors and windows.

Lit torches and fireflies light my journey as I travel into the opening of Bag End, reaching the serene and peaceful Hobbit community. My eyes wander across the hills and small farms, taking in the sights of the new environment, a community I hadn't travelled through during my initial trek to Rhosgobel.

Quickly, I regain my sense of purpose, realising I need to begin checking the doors. Soon, however, my gaze catches on a specific home, up on a tall hill; chaos ensues in the garden as numerous horses interact, tied to the lengthy fence haphazardly.

Bingo.

I approach the house, leaning in from below the door, just enough to see the symbol carved on the door, confirming my suspicions. Allowing my horse to join the others, tying it to a nearby fence-post, I walk up the pathway of stone stairs to the green door, knocking hard.

It doesn't take long for me to realise that I must be one of the last ones in attendance, counting the horses. 10... 11... 12. Seems like all but one of the dwarves have beaten me.

The door begins to creak open, and I turn my gaze back to in front of me, looking down at the clearly nervous and frustrated man before me.

"No... no," the hobbit shakes his head, speaking before even meeting my eyes. "No, this is not a party..." he finally looks up at me, eyes widening.

"Mr. Baggins, presumably?" I say, with a warm smile, pushing the door open more for him. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance." I tell him my name.

"Great... there are elves now too..." he mumbles under his breath, but doesn't fight as I step into his home, ducking under the short door. The ceilings are quite low for me, and I crick my head down to fit into the house.

"Am I the last?"

"I... you'd better be," he replies, almost with a scoff, clearly anxiety ridden. I hear commotion from the neighbouring room.

"Wait..." I pause in confusion, "were you... not aware you were hosting this?"

"Hosting this? What am I hosting?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why are there dwarves in my house!"

"I see..." I let out a slight chuckle, putting my hands up defensively, "I would've thought Gandalf told you about this. It'll be alright, how messy can dwarves really be?" I say, reassuringly.

"See for yourself," Bilbo replies curtly, crossing his arms in annoyance, stamping his foot.

I shrug as I walk further into his house, ducking under more beams as I make my way towards the source of the rowdy noise. As soon as I step into the kitchen, my eyes widen. Compared to the chaos of the horses outside, it looks like a bomb went off. Food lines the table as the dwarves move to set up their feast. Miscellaneous drinks are spilled, and chairs are littered around the room, with one dwarf even stepping across the table with tankards of beer.

Standing up straighter, I walk towards the end of the table. The dwarf on the end spots me first, freezing in his seat, hand still hovering over the spread of food. It doesn't take long for the rest of them to follow suit; the cascade of realisation flashes through the table like a wave, each dwarf freezing as he looks along the table to see me, the commotion dying down.

Silence. Deafening silence. Nothing but the breeze creaking a nearby window relieves the room from the absence of sound.

Without warning, the dwarf at the head of the table draws his sword, and the other dwarves follow, another wave of silence filtering back to me with a surge of metals, all pointed directly at my form. I step back with a smirk as the dwarves closest to me react, just missing their swords as they swing down. I figured Gandalf hadn't told them about me...

"No!" Bilbo walks into the room, breaking the tension. "Hey, no fighting in here! No blood is going to get on my floor." He paces the room anxiously, not quite standing in front of me, but holding his hands up protectively.

"Why the hell did you let an elf in here?" The dwarf standing on the table grumbles, scoffing and holding his sword up higher, as if to point at me. He has a long, blonde beard, and looks younger than most of the others.

"Same reason he let you in here. To eat." I retort, confident I won't be killed, my face still plastered with a smile.

The dwarf's expression darkens, and he looks as though he is about to jump off the table to kill me, tankards still in hand. Suddenly, the tension in the air is broken as we hear the front door creak open, paired with heavy footsteps approaching us.

"Ah-" says a familiar voice. Gandalf steps into the room, slightly crouching just as I am. His eyes flicker across the scene, seeing the plethora of weapons drawn, pointed at me. "I see you all have met our elf."

"Our elf?" hisses another dwarf, with a bald head and long brown hair.

"Yes, our elf." Gandalf reiterates, stepping further into the room and slowly pushing one of the dwarves' swords down with his hand. "You shall not kill her..." he mumbles, looking out across the table.

Slowly, the swords begin to lower themselves, as the dwarves begin to skeptically listen to the wizard.

"She will be joining us to Erebor. No negotiations. She is a valuable asset..." Gandalf finishes, nodding to me, but not explaining further.

"We can't trust her," says the same dwarf as before.

"I trust her. So, you must as well." Gandalf finishes, motioning to me. "She is not of Middle-Earth, she holds no allegiances with the elves of this continent. Her alliance is to the party."

I nod, agreeing with Gandalf's statement and turning back to the dwarves.

"Thorin will not be happy..." one of the younger dwarves warns, voice slightly nervous.

"Thorin... will be fine." Gandalf takes a seat at the table casually, moving to grab some food onto an empty plate.

The tension slowly begins to dissipate as some of the dwarves slowly turn back to serving their food, but their eyes remain unwavering from my form. My body retains its tension, tightening under their judgemental stares. They can trust me... but can I trust them?

As the chatter in the room begins to pick up again, I turn to Bilbo. I quickly realise that I need someone on this journey to ally with, and the hobbit seems most deserving of that privilege.

"Sorry... about your house. I understand how you must be feeling." I say, empathetic to his situation, that I would never want to find myself in.

He grumbles, waving his hand dismissively.

"They've pillaged my pantry, are sitting on my antiques, and are creating a cacophony of noise. How could this get any worse..."

Before I can reply, Gandalf motions towards the two of us.

"Take some, before it's all gone," he points at the food on the table in front of him, the quantity already decreasing.

I nod, cautiously stepping closer to the table, eyes unwavering from the dwarf closest to me. He peers over at me, raising an eyebrow as he continues to eat his own plate of food.

Taking a seat next to Gandalf, across from him, I give the dwarf a solemn nod as I take some food from the centre of the table. Bilbo scoffs again, looking at the turmoil of the table as he stomps into another room.

"Here," Gandalf interjects, handing me a small cup of wine. "You'll need it." He finishes, raising his eyebrows as he accentuates each syllable.

I take a swig of the wine, eyes wandering across the table and landing back to the dwarf in front of me. Holding my free hand across the table to him, I introduce myself, trying to create some semblance of friendliness amongst the harsh tension.

"Bofur..." he says, cracking the slightest smile. I return the gesture, nodding. Hopefully some of the younger dwarves will be more... open to my presence.

"What brings you along on this journey, Bofur?" I inquire.

"My brother," he gestures to another one of the dwarves, a large redhead, "and I are here for the treasure... but I suppose the free beer also swayed my decision." He grins, taking another bite out of a slab of some kind of meat.

"Treasure?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Gandalf chimes in, chuckling in amusement as he takes another sip of wine. "Accompanying us on this journey gives you the right to one fifteenth share of the riches within the mountain. I think you'll find it adequate for your time..." He nods to Bofur, whose eyes widen in shock.

"Wait... you agreed to this without knowing about the reward?" Bofur says, baffled. I laugh, rolling my eyes at Gandalf.

"A bit of a crucial detail you left out there, Gandalf." I turn back to Bofur. "And to answer your question, yes. I'm an explorer of sorts, you see, and this journey will quench that need for me."

Bofur shakes his head, clearly still perplexed by my motives.

"To agree to such a thing without reward... you must be utterly insane..." he eventually admits.

~

"Bebother and confusticate these dwarves!" Bilbo yells to himself, watching the dwarves rummage through his home again as they finish their meals. "What are they doing here?!"

"Oh," begins Gandalf, reaching for his pipe. "They're quite the marry gathering, once you get used to them," he utters, looking at the chaos ensuing.

"I don't want to get used to them!" Bilbo snaps back, motioning to the various messes around his house.

"It'll be alright, Bilbo. We'll clean up," I lean down with a nod.

"Kili!" calls the blonde dwarf, throwing a plate across the room. I lean back to dodge the hurled projectile, watching as a young, darker haired dwarf catches the plate before tossing it into the adjacent room.

"Ah!" Bilbo's eyes flash with hundreds of emotions at once. "Take that back! Excuse me!" He tries to intercept the many plates now being hurled in Kili's direction. "That's my mother's West Farthing pottery, it's over 100 years old!" he cringes.

Running into the kitchen, Bilbo continues.

"And can you not do that," he says at the many dwarves sitting at the table, bashing silverware against the table in a steady beat. "You'll blunt them!"

"Oooh, you hear that, lads?" taunts Bofur, "we'll blunt them!" He begins stomping his feet under the table. "We'll blunt the knives..."

Suddenly, the room erupts in a cacophony of chants, coming from all the dwarves at once.

"Blunt the knives

Bend the forks

Smash the bottles

And burn the corks!

Chip the glasses

And crack the plates,

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

I snicker to Gandalf as the dwarves continue to sing, and he gives me a knowing wink. Each verse continues with the same theme, all causing Bilbo even more turmoil as he watches his prized possessions be tossed around carelessly. Soon enough, however, the table is completely clean, the mess and turmoil of dinner nothing but a faded memory to the untainted wood. The cutlery and dishes appear neatly stacked and organised across the surface, just as Bilbo walks back into the room.

The dwarves laugh at Bilbo's shocked expression as the song finishes.

"Bilbo..." Gandalf nods, gesturing to the scene with a smile, taking a seat.

A harsh pounding on the front door breaks the tender moment, pulling us all back into reality.

"... He is here," eventually announces Gandalf, taking a drag from his pipe. Thorin Oakenshield...

The group of us all shuffle quietly over to the front door, and I make sure to take a position towards the rear, not wanting to scare the short-tempered king of Erebor.

Gandalf approaches the door gingerly, unlatching it and allowing it to swing inwards. The dwarf that stands before us is slightly taller than most of the others, with long black hair and a beard, both wavy and well-kept.

"Gandalf..." Thorin's voice comes out gravelly and deep as he naturally steps into the home, beginning to remove his long cloak. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he continues, now beginning to scan around the rest of us, standing in a huddle to the side of the door.

Instinctively, his eyes land on me, the tallest of the group. The most out of place. His eyes widen, in an emotion only to be described as fury, and it's as if I can see the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His breath, along with his next words, remain caught in his throat, trapped with no escape.

"Thorin..." Gandalf interjects calmly, clearly trying to soothe the situation before anything begins.

"What..." Thorin interrupts, stepping forward aggressively as the sea of dwarves part to reveal my full form behind them. "Is an elf doing here?" His tone is harsh, as he almost yells the words. His face twists further in anger, and his finger becomes outstretched, pointed directly at me while he continues to stride forward.

"Thorin." Gandalf repeats, this time stepping between Thorin and I. "She is an ally to us. We need her, not only for her sword, but for her... amicability to the other elves whose kingdoms we may pass through," he pauses, leaning into Thorin with raised eyebrows. "Or have you forgotten that elves sometimes hold ill will towards dwarves, just as you do for them?"

"This is my reclamation." Thorin scoffs back, authoritatively. "I never agreed to having elvish scum joining this party."

I feel my eye twitching, but I keep my demeanour calm. I can't let him get to me.

"Without her, there is no party. You will never make it past Rivendell. And even if you manage that, Mirkwood becomes another problem," the wizard continues to insist reverently, knowing my presence is non-negotiable, even to Thorin.

Thorin grumbles, turning his back on the situation, clearly sensible enough to know Gandalf is right, even if it hurts his pride.

"Fine... but we use her for that, and that purpose only," he demands again after a long moment of silence, turning his back on me. I sigh, accepting his antagonism towards my people, knowing there is likely history I cannot make up for.

Gandalf nods in recognition of his acceptance.

"So, its settled then." Gandalf says as Thorin leaves the room, clearly eager for some mead.

I exhale deeply, looking up at Gandalf.

"History there, hmm?"

"You would be correct," Gandalf smirks slightly, with an amused glint in his eye.

Chapter Text

Fireflies twinkle in the darkness as the moon glistens in the sky, casting a cold light upon the hillside, contrasting the harsh warmth of the campfire. Chatter ensues around camp, each dwarf setting up his own bedroll and controlling his horse as he prepares for the night.

It's our first night away from Bag End. The group appears to be settling in well; the dwarves know each other well, bantering as the horses trotted down the dirt road through the Shire. I lingered towards the rear of the group, watching the trees and taking in the sights. As much as I hope the dwarves will warm up to me, I shouldn't count on it too much.

"You're on first watch."

The deep voice breaks the serenity of my moment in thought, and my gaze meets Thorin's. I nod in understanding, solemnly, as I lead my horse to a nearby tree on the hillside. Thorin follows close behind me, as if watching my every move.

"You'll be with Fili and Kili," he finishes, crossing his arms.

"Three of us?" I tilt my head inquisitively, beginning to tie my horse loosely to the tree. "I thought we were going in groups of two?"

"I don't trust you." Thorin replies curtly, continuing: "But I do trust that Fili and Kili could take care of you, come to find out your loyalties lie elsewhere."

"Right..." My voice trails off as I finish tying the knot in the rope, turning to face him. I start unloading my tent from the side of the saddlebag of the horse.

"Right?" Thorin questions mockingly, a slight aggression in his voice at my dismissive tone.

"I'm saying I understand. It's fine." I say, tilting my head down at him with raised eyebrows. "I haven't given you a reason to trust me yet, so I accept that you don't."

I clench my fist slightly, taking in a subtle deep breath. I can't fight with him... as much as I may want to. Keep it civil.... Keep it civil. He'll come around eventually, though, his anti-elf sentiment runs deep.

Thorin scoffs, nodding in the slightest acknowledgement before walking away.

Sighing, I continue to set up my camp, slightly further away from the other dwarves than they are from each other. My tent, a soothing green color, matches the environment of the hill well, and soon enough, my camp site reminds me of Rhosgobel: the tent and supplies intertwined with nature, as it should be.

A quiet trotting sound draws my attention behind me, and I turn to see Bilbo approaching with his Pony.

"Can I camp here?" he asks, pointing a couple paces to my right. I nod warmly, smiling and watching him unload his equipment. Surprisingly, I see that he too has a tent, unlike the rest of the company.

I sit in front of my own tent, passing some time before night-watch starts. Rearranging the arrows in my quiver, I ensure that I have enough of each type: larger arrowheads, smaller arrowheads, and those with a poisonous concoction that Radagast gave me.

Occasionally, I steal glances at Bilbo, who seems to struggle to put up his tent. He rubs his chin, stomping around in frustration before continuing to tackle the task. Then the process repeats.

"Need some help?" I ask, genuinely, standing from the grass.

"Uhhh..." Bilbo pauses, eyes widening. He thinks for a minute, clearly reluctant to ask for help for such a simple task, but eventually succeeds. "Yeah... yeah I could use some help," he finishes, lowering his head in defeat. I chuckle, waving my hand dismissively.

"There's no shame in it. It is your first adventure, after all. Lots to learn," I grin encouragingly, grabbing the wooden stakes for the tent. Bilbo watches me closely as I set up his tent. I intentionally move slowly, explaining each step of the process to teach him.

"And... it's done," I say, stepping back from the tent and gesturing to it with wide arms and a smile, a sarcastic flare of a performance.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it." Bilbo says with a smile and a nod, starting to unload the rest of his stuff. "So..." he continues, voice a bit weary. "Why exactly are you here?"

His eyes widen as the words leave his mouth, and he rushes to clarify.

"I mean, you're not a dwarf, and you're not reclaiming your own homeland. So... why?"

I smile, settling on the stump of an oak tree next to his tent.

"I think I could ask you the same question, Bilbo Baggins." I look over at him as he carries supplies from his pony to the tent.

Stretching my legs, I look up into the night sky, seeing the twinkling stars, the cool light reminding me of home.

"But I'll humor you." I wink jokingly. "I am from Alqualondë, on Aman. The Haven of the Swans." I wait for Bilbo to nod in understanding as he settles nearby on a blanket in the grass.

"Back home, I was under the tight control of... politics and family matters, you see. My life had been laid out for me, and I had no right or reason to protest. At least, that's how I felt when I was young." I smile softly, admiring the cold light of the sky. "But I realized that my life is mine to create. Regardless of what is laid out for me, I should take charge of my own destiny, to put it poetically." Chuckling, I smile at him.

"Politics?" Bilbo inquires. "I'm not familiar with... um... elven traditions. What exactly do you mean? Do elves all have to follow some code or something for their lives?"

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask in response, leaning in slightly, voice hushed with a smile.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow and nods. I hum, satisfied enough to continue, leaning back again.

"My father is Suiauthon, son of Indomerun, son of Olwe," I pause. "How familiar are you with the House of Olwe?"

Bilbo's eyes widen subtly as he leans back onto his hands, mouth slightly agape.

"You... you're royalty? If I understand correctly?"

"Yes," I nod. "Heir to the throne of Alqualondë. Well... I was, before I left. You understand now why you need to keep this quiet?"

"Yeah..." his voice trails off, and he stares back out at the dwarves, the rest of them now gathered around the campfire. "I won't say anything. You have my word."

I smile back at him before looking out at the campsite again, feeling a lingering nostalgia in the air. It's been almost nine months since I left Alqualondë. And not a day goes by where I don't miss it. As much as a part of my heart tugs at me, yearning to return, I wouldn't give up what I have now for the world. I wonder what younger me would think...

~

"Dad!" I yell, running over to him through the slick hallway of the castle, nearly slipping on the newly polished marble.

He calls my name as he scoops me up in his arms, laughing as he carries me.

"I have a meeting soon, princess. I'm seeing some elves from Middle-earth." His voice is soft and warm as he holds me up on his broad shoulder. "I'll have to give you back to your mother."

"Nooo..." I whine. "Please, Dad, let me watch," I say, begging with a smile.

"You have a long way to go until you're going to be queen," he says my name with a chuckle. "Hopefully another couple hundred years, if your old man can last that long," he winks.

"I'm six! I'm old enough to learn!" I continue to nag on his shoulder as he walks.

"Fine, fine..." he laughs heartily as he succeeds to my demands. "You're like a young ruler already."

I grin, giving his head a hug and raising a fist in the air enthusiastically.

My father strides into the throne room, lifting me from his shoulder and placing me gently on the floor. He sits down on the elaborate sea stone and marble throne and pats his knee for me to join.

"Now remember," he begins as I settle onto his knee. "A queen must always be proper, straighten your posture."

I do as he says, intentionally trying to make myself tall on his knee. He chuckles before continuing.

"Alright, our guests should be arriving soon. Let your father do all the talking." He smiles and places a hand on my shoulder.

As if on cue, the grand doors at the end of the throne room begin to open, revealing a small group of elves being escorted to us by guards.

A woman leads them; she wears a green tunic covered partially by a long brown cloak. Her hair is long and black, as dark as the midnight sky.

"Lord Suiauthon, it's a pleasure," the woman says as she approaches, bowing her head slightly. "I am Ardhoniel of Rivendell." Her eyes wander across the room, landing on me and offering up a sincere smile.

"Ardhoniel, it's wonderful to make your acquaintance. What can I do for you?" Her eyes draw away from me and back towards my father.

"Sir, I come with news from Lord Elrond," she steps closer, unlatching a sheathed and rolled-up scroll attached to her quiver. "He insisted that it was urgent; we traveled as fast as we could to reach you."

My eyes widen as I follow the scroll as it travels between Ardhoniel and my father. The intricate scribbles along the browned paper make no sense to me.

"So, little one..." the woman in front of me hums. "What's your name?"

My father chuckles as he continues to read the scroll, and I shift on his lap nervously, telling her my name.

"A beautiful name," she replies softly. "You know, I was just about your age when I was learning the ropes from my father as well. That was a hundred years ago now..." her voice trails off as she winks.

"Are you a princess too?" I ask, captivated by the new woman.

"No," she replies softly, and her and my father share a laugh together. "I am simply a traveler who does some errands for my Lord," she squats down to my height. "Your job is going to be much more important than mine is." Her tone is reassuring and soft as she tilts her head to the side playfully.

I play with my hands nervously in my lap, somewhat scared of strangers, as I consider her words.

"You get to travel?" I inquire.

"Mhm..." she nods. "All around the world. From Middle-earth to Aman, from the East Sea to the Outer Sea. I've just about seen everything there is to see."

"Woah..." my mind runs, slightly in awe, never having contemplated leaving the confines of Alqualondë, my haven.

"It's pretty amazing out in the world." Ardhoniel continues with a wink. "Cities so different from Alqualondë, but just as beautiful in their own way. I may be biased, but Middle-earth is the prettiest continent," she chuckles.

"I want to see everything too! I want to be just like you!" I say suddenly, beaming with a smile. Ardhoniel laughs, clearly enthused that I had warmed up to her.

"Out of the question," my father suddenly interjects, in a firmer tone than I had ever heard before, returning the scroll to the sheath. "A princess does not involve herself with such trivial matters," he pauses, voice softening as he sees my countenance change from excitement to fear.

"What would Alqualondë do without you? Everyone here needs you," he begins to smile affectionately, tickling my side.

I giggle and squirm on his knee, soon forgetting all about his harsh tone and the prospect of life outside Alqualondë.

"Don't worry, Dad!" I insist, trying to stop the tickling. "I'm going to be the bestest princess!" Ardhoniel grins at the interaction, but her eyes flicker with a hint of something else...

"It's just 'best,' sweetheart."

~

"It's time"

A harsh voice draws me from my memories, pulling me back into the moment. I blink a few times, staring up at Kili from the tree stump.

Nodding solemnly, I begin to rise, giving Bilbo a friendly nod as I follow Kili across camp. Around me, the dwarves begin to pack in for the night, disappearing into their respective tents groggily after putting out the central campfire.

Kili leads us to the edge of the hill; the campsite behind us is flanked with dense forest, leading back towards Bag End. Below the hill, in front of us, lies a green prairie filled with an assortment of different grasses and flowers, its beauty apparent even through the monotone colors of the night.

I sigh and take a seat on a fallen log near the edge of the hill, looking out at the sight. Kili settles next to an absentminded Fili, who continues carving away at a piece of wood with a large knife. His cuts are rough and somewhat erratic, his precision hindered by the size of his blade. My gaze flickers from the two men and back out at the view.

We sit for a few moments in silence before I turn my attention permanently towards them, sitting in the grass to my left.

"So... what are you making?" I ask, quietly to not disturb the nearby dwarves wanting to sleep.

"Not sure yet..." Fili replies bluntly, eyes unwavering from his 'project.' Kili, however, looks up at me on the log, eyes widening with a hint of curiosity.

I smile softly, beginning to reach into my boot. Without hesitation, Kili jumps up and draws his own knife from his sheath.

Putting my other hand up defensively, I chuckle as I draw a small, angular knife from the inside of my boot.

"Here." I flip the knife in my hand, holding it carefully in my fingers by each side of the blade as I hold out the handle to Fili beside me. "You're probably going to need something smaller for the more intricate cuts."

Kili's stance softens and he somewhat embarrassingly sits back down next to his brother. Fili's eyes refuse to look up at me, unwavering through the entire interaction.

The knife remains outstretched for a few seconds, an awkward silence ruminating in the air. Before long, I shrug, tossing the knife gently in the grass next to Fili and turning back out to the prairie. Kili's eyes dart between me, the knife, and his brother, before he relaxes further into the grass, resting back on the palms of his hands.

The two dwarves chat to themselves casually as I sit nearby, clearly not welcomed into their conversation.

Soon, the night grows colder, and I begin fidgeting. I wrap my cloak further around my body, allowing it to completely engulf me. Trying to keep my mind active, I focus on the cold sensation, forcing myself to stay awake. A small rustle in the grass beside me catches my attention, and I turn slightly to look at the two dwarves as their conversation subsides.

Fili's eyes widen as he's caught in the act; he pauses, about to make another chip into the wood with the smaller knife I left in the grass beside him. He furrows his brow and makes an expression that can only be described as pout-like before diverting his gaze and continuing to chip away at the sculpture.

I turn away from them with a slightly giddy smile on my face.

Quickly, however, my expression quickly drops as I hear a strange cackling in the distance across the field, just below the hill.

Orcs.

In one swift motion, I slip my bow from my back and stand up carefully. My hand lingers by the quiver, the soft feathers of an arrow resting between my pointer and middle fingers as my eyes dart across the scene before me.

"There'll be dozens of them out there," says Fili casually, not moving from the grass.

"We're a big target. Can't be too careful."

"A big target, but a big company. I don't think we'll be having any troubles with the orcs tonight," Kili adds, shrugging.

They're too casual about this...

I sink back down, but this time I join the two dwarves on the grass. They look surprised, and perhaps slightly suspicious, with Kili slightly cocking his head to one side and Fili raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not from Middle-earth, you know?" I start, relaxing in the sod. "Whatever quarrels you have with elves, it likely was not with my kin."

"You're not Silvan?"

"Falmari." I respond to Fili.

"Mmmm..." he hums. Silence fills the air as the men consider my words. "Long way away from the ocean for a sea elf."

"Do your people not hate dwarves?" Kili inquires.

"No, I wouldn't say they do... our biggest conflict arose with the Ñoldor hundreds of years ago. The current lord..." I swallow and divert my gaze. "He seems quite tolerant of dwarves, and I believe most of the citizens share the same sentiment."

"You don't like him...?" Fili quickly interjects, a small smirk beginning to tug at his lips.

"No... No," I sigh. "It's not like I know him very well or anything."

Fili and Kili exchange a glance beside me but decide not to pry further.

I glance down at Fili's wooden sculpture. It's slowly starting to take shape; the small knife allowed him to create smoother and more delicate cuts, contouring the wood into a small animal.

"So, what did you end up deciding on?" I ask, changing the subject and gesturing to his hands.

"Well," Fili sighs, fidgeting with the wood. "It's supposed to be a dog."

"Doesn't look much like a dog, mate." Kili laughs as he snatches up the carved wood, looking at it closer.

"Hey!" Fili laughs and shoulders Kili beside him, tussling with him momentarily to retrieve his sculpture.

Kili laughs and widens his eyes at me before tossing the object across Fili towards me. I chuckle and catch it gently, looking down at it in my hands.

"Would you like some help with it, Fili?" I ask.

"Oh," Fili tilts his head to the side. "You know how to fix it?"

"Be nice to yourself, it doesn't need to be 'fixed' per se." I shake a finger at him playfully. "But if you want to get some more details in, I can show you how. I used to do a lot of sculpting when I was younger."

"Really?" Kili says in surprise, leaning in closer to watch.

"Yeah, go for it" Fili affirms, nodding and handing me back my small knife.

I smile and begin carving away, explaining to them each step and cut. The dog gets passed back and forth between me and Fili, each of us carving as I direct the sculpting. Kili watches, intrigued by the whole scenario.

Eventually, the dog takes its shape completely. The small, somewhat undetailed puppy remains seated, staring upwards with a blank face.

"Well, once you have access to paints, whenever that is, you can really make him come to life." I smile, returning the dog to Fili and putting the knife back in my boot.

"Wow... it actually looks really good," he laughs.

"See? I told you we could do it."

"I'm quite impressed too," Kili chimes in with a chuckle.

The three of us sit together, admiring the finished product in a comfortable silence. The cackling of the orcs seems to have subsided, replaced by the chirping of crickets.

"Here," Fili says, handing me the dog. "You should keep it."

I shake my head and put my hands up with a smile.

"It's yours, Fili."

"No, seriously. Think of it as... a peace offering." He and Kili laugh together.

"Alright," I roll my eyes playfully, receiving the dog. "I'll accept the offering." I place the dog in my tunic pocket, right by my hip.

"Thank you." I say solemnly after a moment, offering both dwarves a smile, secretly very excited to have been accepted.

"You are part of the company, after all." Kili winks with a smile.

Chapter Text

The soup steams in the pot, heated by the gentle touch of a fire beneath it. I breathe in the smells: tomato, meaty broth, and an assortment of other vegetables. After around a month on the road with the dwarves, I've gotten used to their cooking.

"Here," Bofur speaks, calling my name and handing me a bowl of soup he poured. I nod in gratitude with a smile.

"He's been a long time..." Bilbo interrupts, pacing slightly around the fire.

"Who?" Bofur inquires, ladling another bowl.

"Gandalf." Bilbo says, as if stating the obvious.

"He's a wizard, he does as he chooses." Bofur replies casually with a smile. "Here, do us a favor you two," he gestures to Bilbo before turning to me. "Take these to the lads, will you?"

I nod, sipping from my own bowl already as I grab another from Bofur. Bilbo sighs and reluctantly receives the other bowl before trudging off.

"Hey, hey. Wait up." I skip to catch up to him, almost spilling my dinner in the process.

Bilbo's foul mood continues as we walk, his steps heavy as he carries the bowl. Knowing he's just worried about Gandalf, I decide not to bother him. I too am equally as worried, especially after seeing the way the wizard left suddenly with his aggressive mumbling a few hours before.

Further ahead in the darkness, Fili and Kili stand with our backs to us, staring at the horses.

Bilbo and I approach and begin to hand them their bowls, but their gaze is unwavering from the scene before them, as if in a trance. I raise an eyebrow and turn to the horses, continuing to slurp my own soup.

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asks with a furrowed brow, eyes darting between the dwarves and the horses.

"We're supposed to be looking after the ponies..." Kili begins.

"Only we've encountered a... slight problem." Fili continues, mumbling. "We had seventeen... Now there's fifteen."

"Sorry, what? You lost two horses?" I ask in shock.

"Yes, alright. We lost two horses. Daisy and Bungo are missing," Kili says, already starting to walk off towards the makeshift pen. I follow close behind, finishing the last drops of my soup and resting the bowl on a nearby fence-post before handing the other bowl to Bilbo. He gives me a quick look in disapproval but accepts it.

"That is not good," Bilbo says, chuckling nervously. "That is not good at all. Shouldn't we tell Thorin?"

"Errr... no," replies Fili, joining the rest of us by the pen. "Let's not worry him. As our official burglar, we thought... you might want to look into it?" He finishes with a sly smile.

"Well," Bilbo replies reluctantly, walking further into the pen where two trees are laying flat, collapsed on the ground. "Something big uprooted these trees."

"That was our thinking," agrees Kili.

"Something very big and possibly quite dangerous..." Bilbo trails off.

"Hey..." whispers Fili suddenly, beginning to crouch near one of the trees. "There's a light. Over here, stay down." He beckons the rest of us forward.

The four of us walk quietly through the brush and trees, crouching behind a collapsed tree. Mumbled voices plague the silence of the forest, and the light flickers brighter now.

"What is it?" Bilbo's eyes widen.

"Trolls." Kili responds, already hopping over the tree and running closer to the source of the noise. My hand flickers to my bow, keeping hold of it behind me as I take shelter behind a nearby oak tree after catching up to Kili.

The ground begins to quiver, thumping with nearby footsteps. My body stays pressed against the tree as Kili and Fili crouch beside me. Bilbo, still clutching the two bowls, quickly runs behind another tree.

Breathing deeply, I wait for the source of the footsteps to reveal itself. Paired with the light squeals of two horses, the perpetrator steps closer.

Kili was right.

A huge troll walks past us, flaked by two horses which he grips tightly to his sides.

"He's got Myrtle and Minty!" I hear the anger and concern in Bilbo's voice. "I think they're going to eat them, we have to do something."

Fili and Kili exchange a look before Kili walks closer to Bilbo.

"Yes, you should!" Kili insists, pushing Bilbo forward. "Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and you're so small. They'll never see-"

"No, No!" Bilbo interrupts as Kili continues to speak, wagging his finger disparagingly.

"Are you two not... equally as small?" I ask the two dwarves, tilting my head down playfully with a smile.

"Its perfectly safe." Kili responds to Bilbo, giving me a disapproving glance before continuing. "We'll be right behind you."

I chuckle, watching the men banter back and forth. Fili quickly grabs the bowls from Bilbo and pushes him forward into the clearing.

"If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a brown owl." Fili nods, still whispering.

As Bilbo mumbles, repeating the instructions while staring at the light, Fili and Kili both pull me back further away beside another tree, unable to contain their chuckles.

"You two are evil, you know that?" I laugh.

"Ah but we can handle those trolls, especially with backup. We just want to see what he does... and a distraction never hurts," Fili grins mischievously.

Silently, the three of us sink back into the brush, scoping out around the troll camp. Kili motions for us to split up, pointing Fili back towards our camp. Kili and I position ourselves at different angles around the clearing where the trolls' campfire lies.

There are three of them, all equally enormous and ugly. The stolen horses are barred up in a makeshift pen. The trolls stir a large pot of stew above the fire, reaching to grab more ingredients while talking amongst themselves.

Suddenly, I spot Bilbo, sneaking around the pen and looking for a way to help the horses escape. I grind my teeth as he gets closer to one of the trolls, reaching towards it to grab a knife from its back, presumably to cut the ropes of the pen open.

Without warning, the troll before him reaches behind his back to grab a handkerchief, snatching up Bilbo in the process. I nearly gag as the troll blows its nose straight onto Bilbo, covering him with slimy snot.

"Ah!" The troll screeches, standing up with wide eyes as he continues to grasp Bilbo. "Blimey! Bert, look what's come out of me hooter! It's got arms and legs and everything."

"What is it?" Another troll asks in a deep voice.

Shit.

I quickly ready my bow, waiting for Kili's signal from across the clearing. My breathing quickens as the trolls continue to talk with Bilbo, eventually dropping him onto the ground. The tussle continues, with Bilbo continuing to dodge the trolls' advances, but they slowly close in.

Once the tallest troll snatches Bilbo up, I aim my arrow right between his eyes.

Come on Kili...

After a few moments, Kili runs out from the bushes, slashing a nearby troll's leg with a battle cry.

The screech that followed was almost deafening. Jumping around, clutching its leg, the troll continues to squeal as Kili lands another cut on the top of his foot.

I shoot my arrow straight for the troll clutching Bilbo, and it lands straight at into its head.

It grunts and rips the arrow out of its head, eyes darting around into the trees to find me.

"Drop him!" Kili yells, readying his sword again at the trolls.

"You what?" the troll holding Bilbo yells, rubbing its head where the arrow hit. Kili grins, swinging his sword around teasingly as I ready my bow again.

"I said: drop him."

The troll grunts, throwing Bilbo at Kili before charging forwards. I shoot a final arrow at it, hitting it straight in the left eye.

Just as it shrieks in pain, I hear the cry of the other dwarves. Led by Thorin, the other twelve dwarves charge into the clearing, swinging their weapons. Unprepared, the trolls are hit with a maelstrom of blows from every angle.

Deciding I'd be a better asset in the trees, I climb the nearest one quickly and shoot continuously down at the scene as the fight unfolds.

Dwarves are yelling, trolls are roaring, and weapons are slashing. Unfortunately, the trolls' thick skin seems to be an issue for even the sharpest of dwarven blades.

A horse neighing tears my attention back towards the pen, where Bilbo has cut through the rope and released the ponies from their captivity.

The commotion, however, has also drawn the attention of others. One of the trolls begins charging at Bilbo.

My eyes widen and I turn my bow towards the troll, shooting as fast as I can as it approaches the hobbit. The arrows simply bounce off its skin as if it were made of brick.

He quickly grabs Bilbo and gestures to another troll, who stretches the hobbit from all four limbs. I load another arrow.

Bilbo.

"Bilbo!" Kili calls out in concern, held back by Fili.

"Lay down your arms, or we'll rip his off!" One troll grunts, my arrow still pierced through his eye.

"And you!" his voice booms out to the trees, gazing around ominously. "Little archer. Show yourself."

I feel my body tense up with anxiety, hearing myself called out. I freeze for a second before I snap myself out of my momentary trance. Bilbo's life is on the line. I consider shooting another arrow, my breaths slowing and brushing softly against the feathers on the tail of the shaft.

The arrows bounced off them like nothing. What can I really do unless I hit all three at once in their eyes?

Letting out a deep sigh, I climb down from the tree, stepping out into the clearing to join the dwarves as they all drop their weapons slowly.

The troll's good eye widens as he spots me, and his mouth twists into an impish smile.

"And what do we have here? An elf amongst a band of dwarves?" he approaches me quickly, yanking me by my hair and dragging me across the camp. "I wonder how you're going to taste..."

I squeal slightly and squirm under his grasp, the bark and twigs on the ground stabbing me through my clothes.

"Oooh, I've never had elf before!" One of the other trolls says giddily, hopping slightly.

"Quiet. She's mine. A payment... for my eye." He stops dragging me, pulling me up into the air by my hair. "Now to decide on a seasoning..."

~

The fire burns brighter as one of the trolls tosses more logs into it, the embers firing away onto the ground. Dwalin, Fili, Oin, and Gloin had been tied to a spit; they mumble protests as they spin above the hot flames. The rest of the dwarves, as well as Bilbo, have been shoved in sacks and are piled on a nearby floor.

I writhe against my restraints as the trolls continue to talk. Being separated from the dwarves, tied to a fence-post, I watch the rest of them squirm on the ground in their sacks.

"Don't bother cooking them, let's just sit on them and squash them into jelly," one of the trolls suggests.

"Yeah, William, and what about this one?" another troll asks the one with the arrow in his eye.

"This one?" he points a twisted finger towards me. "She's dessert," he quips, but says in exhaustion. He begins to shake slightly, but turns his head back to the other trolls.

While the trolls continue to discuss their meal plans, I squirm my right foot out of its ties. Lifting my leg, I contort my body to allow my hand – tied behind my back and anchoring me to the post – to grab the small knife from my boot.

"They should be sauteed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage," the troll tending to the spit chimes in, disregarding the others' conversation.

"Well, that does sound quite nice..."

I slip the knife up and begin sawing away at the ropes that tie my hands together.

"Never mind the seasoning; we ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away and I don't fancy being turned to stone."

"You'd be lucky if you make it to dawn," I say, directed at William.

"What did you say?" the troll roars back, walking aggressively closer to me.

Got him.

"Well, that arrow in your eye... It's poisoned." I explain. "It should be kicking in now... you have maybe another hour until you're dead." I hear the quiet snapping of the rope around my hands.

My trap is set.

"What?" he thunders in return, his voice laced with concern.

"William? You're poisoned?" the smaller troll interjects.

"Shut up, Tom," William says, whipping around before returning his gaze to me. He takes one step closer, and I seize my opportunity.

I rip my arms out of the cut rope, using the fence behind me to push up on as I jump towards the troll. Grabbing the arrow still lodged in his eye socket, I swing my body up, almost flipping as I land with my legs on either side of his head.

The shaft of the arrow remains firmly gripped by my right hand, just as my left hand comes up to his throat with the knife. I pull back on the arrow, jolting his head backwards and exposing more of his neck.

"Move and you die!" I yell, pressing the blade slightly into his neck, drawing a slight trickle of blood.

William grunts under my grip, his scalp digging into my torso as I remain sat on his shoulders. The other two trolls jump up from the campfire, attempting to step closer.

"If you two get any closer, he dies."

The other two trolls shrivel back, putting their hands up defensively.

My gaze travels over to the dwarves, all of whom look upon the scene with wide eyes.

"Now, you two" I command, nodding towards the trolls with my head, my position unwavering. "Untie the dwarves on the spit."

The trolls look back and forth at each other for a minute, clearly contemplating my demand.

"You have ten seconds before he dies," I assert, pressing the knife slightly further into William's neck.

"Do it!" William grunts, pushing his head further back into me as if trying to escape the blade.

The trolls stumble backwards at William's harsh tone and begin hastily untying the dwarves, starting with Gloin.

My eyes dart towards Bilbo, who begins to stand up and slightly hop in his sack. He twists his head, flickering his eyes back and forth to me and something nearby. I furrow my brows at him and turn to what has caught his attention.

"The dawn will take you all!"

A loud voice booms across the campsite, coming from none other than Gandalf. He approaches the campsite on top of a large rock nearby, the sunrise outlining his dark silhouette.

"Who's that?" one of the trolls asks, pausing.

Without hesitation, Gandalf raises his staff and slams it down upon the rock, causing it to crack straight in half. Immediately, the fresh sunlight seeps into the camp, sending the trolls into a state of panic. They struggle to cover their eyes as the light floods in, their flesh beginning to crinkle and crush as it hardens to stone.

As they finish their transformation, twisting and crumpling almost to the floor, I feel the coldness of the stone begin to seep through my clothes. I look down to see gray; the stone beneath me alludes to no former signs of life, as if the statue had simply spawned out of nowhere – inanimate, still, motionless. Soulless.

I'm torn from my thoughts as cheering erupts from the dwarves.

Right, best get them out of their restraints as well.

I climb down and begin untying the dwarves from the spit first, with the help of Gandalf. Soon, we're assisting those in the sacks.

"Here," I say, beginning to cut Thorin loose from his sack. After a small cut, he rips the rest of it open aggressively, already standing to shake off the lose burlap.

He nods at me, his face unreadable as he begins to pace towards Gandalf. I smile softly, knowing that was as close to a real "thank you" as he could give.

"You're growing on him." Bilbo smiles as he walks up to me, stretching.

"I think we both are." I recall his demeanor shifting slightly towards us more recently, the longer we've been on the road.

We stand in silence for a few moments, staring out at the chaos of the environment: dwarves stretching, throwing off their sacks, the stone trolls in the morning sun, Gandalf and Thorin scheming to themselves.

"Do you miss Bag End?" I ask suddenly, eyes not wavering from the landscape.

"Hmm..." Bilbo hums, considering the question. "Every day. I miss it every day. I miss my armchair, and my fine china. I miss my journalling. I miss sitting out on my bench each day, smoking my pipe as small children run by on their way to play. I miss my friends and my family. Hell, sometimes I even miss Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, and she's-" he cuts himself off, shaking his head with a chuckle.

"Although I miss it... a lot, even. I think... this is where I'm meant to be in this moment," he finishes.

"At the remains of a troll campsite where you were almost eaten?" I joke, smiling as I turn to him. He laughs in response.

"Something like that. What about you? Do you miss home?" he asks, a hint of concern in his voice, as if he wants to be a comforting presence if I do.

"It's... complicated." I purse my lips into a forced smile as I look up at the sky. Blue. Blue like the sea.

Everything reminds me of home.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?” I ask Bilbo.

The group of us had moved to a nearby cave where the trolls had stashed their treasures. Inside of the hoard laid an assortment of collections – including gold and weapons stored in caskets – which the dwarves promptly looted.

Among the various fortunes settled an elven shortsword, a delicately carved blade which glows blue in the presence of orcs and goblins.

“Yeah, um….” Bilbo fidgets with the sword in his hands nervously, clearly unsure of his own wielding ability.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I say reassuringly, grinning as I pat him on the shoulder. “Plus, we’re friends now. I’ve got your back, if anything happens.”

Bilbo’s expression softens into a warm smile, and he opens his mouth as if to respond but is interrupted by a loud yell from Gandalf:

“Something’s coming!” his voice booms, echoing off the nearby trees.

Instinctively, I ready my longsword, quickly unsheathing it and gripping the handle tightly as my eyes shift between the trees.

“Stay together! Hurry now, arm yourselves!” Gandalf repeats.

The rest of the dwarves follow suit, all drawing their weapons and preparing for another fight. We collectively begin moving deeper into the forest, getting into position.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

I jump slightly as rabbits quickly billow into the clearing, tied to a wooden sled. Quickly, my surprise turns to excitement.

“Radagast?!” I say excitedly, beaming up at the wizard who brings his sled to a stop before the group.

Radagast’s previously nervous expression fades slightly as he spots me, and his lips turn into a smile as he says my name. I push through the rest of the dwarves and bring him in for a hug, being careful to avoid the fresh patches of bird-poo in his long hair.

“It’s been months! It’s great to see you again…” I say, muffled by the many layers of fabric he wears.

“Radagast. Radagast the Brown…” Gandalf says cheerfully as he approaches the other wizard.

“What on earth are you doing here?” the gray wizard mumbles in a soft tone.

“I was looking for you, Gandalf.” Radagast replies, separating from our hug. He leans in close to the both of us. “Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong,” he warns, stressing each syllable.

“…Yes?” Gandalf replies, leaning in slightly after a moment.

Radagast opens his mouth to reply, raising a finger in the air, but pauses. His eyes shift upwards as if he is trying to remember something, lost in thought.

“Just, give me a moment…” he eventually whispers.

“Ohhh,” he grumbles. “I had a thought, and then I lost it! It’s right there… on the tip of my tongue! Oh… it’s not a thought at all…” his voice becomes muffled as he begins to stick his tongue out. “It’s a little…”

Galfalf reaches out cautiously, pulling out a large, thin bug from Radagast’s mouth.

“Stick insect!”

I laugh as Gandalf drops the bug into Radagast’s outstretched hand. Bilbo’s gaze meets mine and he furrows his brows in confusion. I continue to chuckle and just shrug with a smile.

Radagast gestures to Gandalf and I suddenly.

“I remember now!” he says as he begins to walk off deeper into the forest.

Gandalf sighs and nods at Thorin knowingly before following the brown wizard, and I jog to catch up, following suit. We reach a small clearing in the trees and begin to settle, standing together as Gandalf reaches for his pipe.

“The greenwood, it’s getting sicker. The darkness is growing further into the forest, reaching Rhosgobel. It’s official, nothing grows anymore… at least nothing good. The air is foul with decay, just like the leaves you extracted months ago.” He gestures to me with wide eyes.

“But worse are the webs…” Radagast’s voice trails off.

“Webs? What do you mean?” inquires Gandalf.

“Spiders, Gandalf. Giant ones.”

My expression twists into surprise, and I suddenly recall the conversation I overheard all those months ago with Radagast and the elves of Mirkwood…

…“Spiders. We don’t know where they’ve come from, but they’ve begun to settle around the kingdom. They’re large, venomous, and viscous. We’ve lost men already,”…

I recall the Mirkwood prince’s words and feel my stomach drop: the spiders have reached Rhosgobel.

“Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant, or I am not a wizard. I followed their trail; they came from Dol Guldur. I know they’ve been residing around the elven kingdom for months, but I didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation until now…” Radagast finishes, pursing his lips in concern.

“Dol Guldur? But isn’t the old fortress abandoned?” asks Gandalf with narrowed eyes.

“No, Gandalf… it’s not.” Radagast begins to recall the story of him visiting the previously inhabited orc fortress.

“A dark power dwells in there, such as I have never felt before,” he starts. “It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead. The same presence that caused the decay of the forest to the south of Rhosgobel all those months ago.” Radagast’s eyes gloss over as he recalls the incident, clearly deep into his own memories.

“I saw him, Gandalf,” he says bluntly, his attention turning to the gray wizard. “From out of the dark: a necromancer has come.”

Gandalf shakes his head, somewhat in disbelief, while offering a smoke of his pipe to Radagast.

“A necromancer? Are you sure?” he asks to confirm.

Radagast reaches into his cloak, pulling out a large item covered in a yellowing cloth, and promptly handing it to Gandalf. Gandalf unwraps the object as I watch over his shoulder.

“That is not from the world of the living…” Radagast whispers.

Before I can seriously look at the object, a small sword, a strange howling interrupts my attention. Gandalf’s expression grows grave as he charges back through the trees to the group.

Sprinting into the clearing where we left the dwarves, I arrive just in time to see Kili shoot an arrow directly into the head of a strange wolf-like creature. The monster whimpers, falling to the floor as I draw my own sword.

“Warg scouts! Which means an orc pack is not far behind…” Thorin yells, pulling his sword out of one of the fallen creatures.

“Orc pack?” Bilbo blinks in disbelief.

“Who did you tell about your quest?” Gandalf demands, stepping closer to Thorin. “Beyond your kin.”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf asks again, this time louder.

“No one, I swear!” Thorin reassures Gandalf loudly, stepping closer to him. “What in Durin’s name is going on?” He whispers under his breath.

“You are being hunted.” Gandalf sighs, glancing around.

“We have to get out of here…” Dwalin interjects, mumbling slightly.

“We can’t!” Gloin calls, appearing from over a hill. “We have no ponies, they’ve bolted!”

“I’ll draw them off,” Radagast responds, fiddling with his hair.

“These are Gundabad wargs, they’ll outrun you,” Gandalf shakes his head in concern.

Radagast smirks slightly, gesturing to his sled and rabbits.

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits… I’d like to see them try.” Radagast begins walking to the sled, jumping on swiftly and grabbing the reigns. He shoots me a wink, a silent goodbye, before shooting off into the distance through the trees.

“Go! Move!” Gandalf yells as Radagast leaves, waving us onwards through the trees and into the plains. The environment shifts from a slightly dense forest to grassy, hilly plains. Large boulders break up the homogeny of the scene, creating a landscape of greens, browns, yellows, and grays.

I hear Radagast’s yells in the distance as he leads the wargs away, their growls growing more distant. Peeking around a rock alongside Gandalf I finally see them: orcs.

My stomach drops at the sight; orc warriors ride the wargs across the plains, chasing Radagast’s sled, their weapons held high in the air.

I’ve never fought an orc before.

Gandalf continues to lead us down a steep hill, further into the plains. Wargs continue to howl in the distance. Radagast had better be safe…

Thorin waves us on as he runs with his sword out, pausing in a small clearing before our path would intersect with the wargs’.

“Stay together.” Gandalf demands, ushering us in another direction. My breathing grows heavy as we continue, all of us weighed down by our various armor and gear.

We approach another large boulder, and I turn towards Bilbo who has remained near the anterior of the company. I nod at him, and he returns with his own.

“Ori, no!”

My head flicks back to the direction of Thorin who had just pulled the younger dwarf back, further behind the cover of the large rock. After a few moments of resting, Gandalf continues to lead.

“Come, come on. Quickly!” The wizard waves us around the boulder.

It feels as though the wargs are swarming us, though still unaware of our presence. We reach another large rock formation, pressing our backs against it quietly, knowing the wargs are close by. Soon enough, a single warg and its rider climb the formation on the opposite side. I duck further under cover more, hiding my height.

The growling grows louder above us, as Thorin turns to Kili and I. He nods in our direction, eyes darting to our bows and back to us.

Kili turns to me, giving me a knowing glance before drawing his bow with a slender arrow; I quickly follow suit.

Simultaneously, we run out from the cover together, whipping around and shooting our arrows. Luckily, our unspoken targets are different: one arrow hits the warg, the other the orc. After tumbling down the rocks, the warg and orc are bombarded with a string of blows from about four different dwarves, finishing them off.

“Move!” Gandalf’s booming voice draws our attention to the larger pack of wargs in the distance, who begin their pursuit towards us. “Run!”

I’ve never sprinted faster in my life. It’s as though my legs were free from the weight of my body, carrying me through the dense grass at a striking speed. The group of us reaches a section of the plains, lined with small trees and other assorted rocks. The orcs draw closer.

“This way, quickly!” Another shout from Gandalf directs us further.

The orcs begin to surround us now, their wargs approaching from all directions.

“There’s more coming!” Kili yells just as I draw my bow, shifting it around to point at the various enemies.

“Shoot them!” Thorin calls out my name, followed by Kili’s. “Shoot them down!”

I waste no time, letting my arrows fly at the wargs.

“Kili, you take the south side!” I shout backwards at him. I continue to land shots on the approaching wargs, prioritizing the ones getting closer to us.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili yells, giving me a nod to continue. The group of us beings to convene tighter in a slightly atypical circle.

“Where is Gandalf?” Kili asks aggressively as he fires an arrow.

“Has he abandoned us?” Dwalin grunts, readying his weapon.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin demands, readying his longsword.

“Here, this way, you fools!”

Gandalf’s voice is a blessing to the ears, and I turn for a moment to see him pop up from behind a rock. I run over to Kili, going back-to-back with him as we fend off the orcs with our arrows. The other dwarves run towards the rock, disappearing behind it one by one.

Another warg is slashed by Thorin as he yells for the two of us, the only two remaining outside from behind the rock.

“Let’s go!” I yell, grabbing Kili and running towards the rock. We leap over it, not knowing what to expect.

I grunt as my body hits the ground aggressively, sliding down a slope into a deep cave below the rock formations. Kili and I roll a couple times before settling at the bottom, dusting ourselves off and backing up.

My gaze darts around the dim cave. Are we trapped?

A whizzing sound draws my attention back outside of the cave, hearing a commotion. Wargs and orcs groan, a sound paired with that of weapons clashing. Unable to see anything other than the blue sky above, my pulse begins to speed up.

I jump as something is hurled into the cave: the body of an orc. It tumbles down the slope sloppily, landing in front of the company, head struck with a slender arrow. It’s dead.

The trotting of horses and wargs alike begins to carry further away from our cave, as our enemies and their pursuers run deeper into the plains. I sigh in relief.

Thorin pauses for a moment before gripping the shaft of the arrow tightly, pulling it swiftly from the skull of the orc. He studies the arrowhead for a moment, his face twisting in disappointment as he tosses it aggressively to the side.

“Elves,” Thorin scoffs.

Elves.

~

“Psst… hey? Are you there?” A voice whispers outside my door, paired with a soft knocking sound.

My ears perk up at the noise, and I quickly jump down from my bed and rush towards the door. It creaks softly as it opens, allowing a soft candlelight to flood into my dark room.

“You ready?” the girl on the other side of the door grins.

“Ready.” I confirm, firmly nodding. I feel my heart rate picking up in my chest, pumping harder as I grab my satchel from my dresser and leave my bedroom.

“Remember, we have to be quiet, Raina.” I whisper as we begin moving down the hallway, the both of us crouching as we tip-toe silently through the castle.

She nods in response, looking back at me as we move against the wall carefully. Before we turn the first corner, she puts her hand up to stop me, peeking nervously around the edge of the wall.

“Guards. We’ll have to be fast,” she hisses quietly in frustration.

Without giving me a chance to reply, she takes one more look down the intersecting hallway and runs. She treads quietly and quickly across the hallway, making it to the other side of the intersection without being spotted. Waving at me eagerly, she urges me to do the same.

I swallow hard, the saliva nearly getting caught in my throat as I hear my heart pounding in my ears. My eyes nervously look down the hall, and I’m careful to not stick my head too far out. She was right: two conversing guards stand in the hall, whispering quietly amongst each other, their gazes unwavering. This is my chance.

Like Raina, I run.

And in a split second, it’s over. I’ve crossed the hallway.

My chest heaves up and down as I relax on the other side, and Raina gives a faint chuckle at my status. She nods, beckoning for us to continue down the hallway.

We continue through the castle, dodging guards and sneaking around, until we reach a balcony on the third floor.

“Here it is.” Raina says as we step out into the fresh air. The night is cold and breezy, the salty smell of the sea overwhelming my senses.

“What?” I ask, confused. “Why are we on the balcony?”

She grins, simply responding by gesturing to the edge of the balcony where a tall, old willow tree’s branch hangs. Climbing on top of the stone railing, she steadies herself before looking back at me.

“This… this is our escape!” as the last word leaves her mouth, she jumps towards the branch, catching it in her hands and swinging slightly, laughing as she swings her arms to travel to the trunk.

My eyes widen in panic.

“Raina!” I whisper loudly, pushing against the railing. “Raina! There… must be another way.” I call out to her as she climbs onto the splitting branches of the trunk.

“There’s no other way,” she shakes her head with a grin. “You’ve gotta jump.”

My jaw tenses, and I feel a bead of sweat running down my forehead. I’ve never done anything like this before.

“Come onnnn…” she continues to egg me on. “You’ll be fine.”

I look down over the balcony, seeing the large drop onto a slanted hill. Taking a deep breath, I push up with my hands and climb onto the railing. Thankfully, the stone is thick, accommodating my feet comfortably so I don’t have to focus on balancing.

“Okay… Raina, I’m gonna do it…”

Without another moment of hesitation, I jump. I reach my arms as high as I can, praying that they’ll grasp the branch.

The wind brushes against my face, along with the vines of the trees, and I suddenly feel the bark under my fingertips.

Grip.

I gasp as I open my eyes, not even realizing I had closed them, as I hand from the branch.

Raina cheers from the trunk, laughing while waving me closer. I carefully make my way down the branch and join her at the split of the trunk.

“See? Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

“I guess… it was alright.” I reply, taking deep breaths.

“Come on, we got a long walk to the edge of the city,” she says, barely giving me a moment to recover before she starts to climb down the trunk, using other branches to steady herself.

Nearly falling down the tree, I manage to join her on the solid ground, gripping the bark tightly in my hands even when my feet hit the floor.

The walk to the edge of the city is fairly uneventful; all sights I’ve seen before. The ocean glistens under the moonlight, the swan-shaped boats resting peacefully at the docks. We walk along the wood, and then the sand, and then more stone, before reaching the edge of the city, further inland towards the mountains.

“We’ve done it!” Raina exclaims as we reach a clearing in the mountains right by the last couple of city buildings: a small, stone path twists through the diverging mountains, climbing higher as the elevation increases.

“Come on, trust me,” she says again, excitedly grabbing my hand in hers, starting to drag me up the mountain. I laugh as I take one look behind us at the city, its lights illuminating the otherwise dull night.

We climb the path for about two hours together, hand-in-hand, before reaching a clearing at one of the hilltops.

Taking deep breaths from exhaustion, we collapse on the peak of the small mountain, laughing as we sit on a rock.

“Wow…” My gaze wanders off the peak, looking down at the sight behind us. Alqualondë, in all its beauty, looks like nothing more than an insect colony from this perspective. The stars above and lights below twinkle in sync, as if tied together somehow.

“I know, right?” Raina grins, putting her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her hands. “I love this place. And it’s not too far from the city.”

“Soooo…” she pauses, tilting her head to me. “How does it feel to be out of the city for the first time in your life?”

“It feels like… I should’ve done this a lot sooner.”

She giggles in response, smiling as she looks out at the view.

We sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company alongside the environment. Crickets chirp through the night, and clouds travel slowly across the sky. I look out further across the ocean, trying to see the other continent, Middle-earth, but the fog is too dense.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

A deep voice cuts through the blissful quiet, causing both Raina and I to whip around in our seats.

“Father…” my eyes widen as they lie upon him, standing by the edge of the path alongside two guards.

He grins and shakes his head as he approaches us on the rock, resting a hand on both of our shoulders from behind us.

“Play time is over now… Raina, I’m sure your parents are looking for you…” he looks down at my friend with a smile, a hint of annoyance behind it. Waving the guards over to us, he continues: “why don’t you let my men escort you home safely.”

Raina purses her lips and stands, knowing there isn’t anything she can do. She flashes me a nervous glance before following the guards compliantly.

Silence fills the air again as Raina and the guards begin walking back down the mountain pass, just as my father takes a seat next to me on the rock.

I can’t look at him, my vision blurring slightly as tears form in my eyes. I stare at a worm, scooting itself along the dirt below me. Its body writhes, curving as it struggles against some of the rocks on the ground, as if facing a perilous journey. I wonder if it’s trying to escape from its home too.

“Care to explain what exactly you’re doing here?”

His whispers seem to echo through the air as his own eyes remain unwavering from Alqualondë below us.

“I…” I swallow hard. “Raina and I wanted to see the city from up here, that’s all…”

“You know you aren’t permitted to leave. You’re only fifteen,” he says my name softly, trying to sound concerned.

“I know, I know.” I say, voice cracking under the emotional stress. “I just… I wanted to see something new. I promise, this is as far as we were going.

“There’s a reason you’re not allowed to leave, you know. Your mother and I aren’t some evil monsters. We’re keeping you safe.”

I nod, looking back down at the ground, ashamed. My father sighs, shaking his head.

“Promise me you won’t leave again?” he asks, placing an arm around my shoulder.

“I promise,” I say, leaning into him, needing comfort in the moment as tears flow from my eyes.

I take a deep breath, staring out at the city below, the city I know I must stay in. For my sake. For my father’s sake. For the peoples’ sake.

But I can’t help but cry.

I know I’ll never see Raina again.

~

“I cannot see where the pathway leads! Do we follow it or no?” Dwalin’s voice echoes through the small cave as he calls out from deeper into the rock. There’s more to the cave?

“Follow it, of course,” Bofur nods, running after the other dwarf.

I shake my head from the memories, lagging behind the group as we trail down the cave. The cave twists and turns, becoming sort of a cavern or ravine, the sunlight seeping through the top of the rocks.

The dwarves grunt and groan as we continue, having to squeeze through some tight areas. Soon enough, a small waterfall that opens into a clearing restores our hopes. The group walks towards it, the bright light beginning to penetrate further into the cave.

My jaw drops slightly as I twist around the corner into the clearing. Before me lies a large settlement, a bright kingdom on a hill, separated from us by only a small forest of trees and a large river. The view from the outlook is incredible, and I feel a mix of emotions. It’s bittersweet.

“The valley of Imraldis. In the Common Tongue, it is known by another name,” explains Gandalf, walking towards it with his staff.

Rivendell.

“Here lies the last homely house east of the sea.” Gandalf finishes.

“You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?” Thorin grumbles, clearly not happy to be approaching the kingdom. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will, but that is where she comes in, remember?” Gandalf smiles at him, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this needs to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to us.”

I nod, knowing my history in elven politics will come in handy, although Thorin may not know that fact about me yet.

Thorin bows his head in frustration, and a slight hint of understanding.

“We will go ahead of the group, and give them a… warning, or an outlook, on the situation, so to say…” Gandalf’s voice trails off as he speaks to me, leaning in with a hushed whisper as he continues. “You should… reveal your identity to the elves or Rivendell. It may work in our favor.”

I nod, pursing my lips in nervousness. This is exactly what I was trying to escape from when I left home.

Elves.

Chapter Text

Gandalf and I continue down the path towards Rivendell, the uneven stones snaking through the small forest opposite the kingdom. The birds chirp a welcoming song as we pace along the road in silence.

“You’re nervous.” Gandalf states suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. He smiles, clearly intrigued, as he begins to smoke his pipe.

“Slightly…” I reply, letting out a deep sigh I wasn’t aware I was holding in. “I just… haven’t seen other elves in a while, especially not those of royal blood.”

He nods in understanding, taking a drag from the pipe and offering it to me. I chuckle as I hold up my hand in a polite refusal.

“Your choice,” he replies softly, smiling and continuing to smoke. “You know… Elrond, the lord of Rivendell, is an agreeable and kind man. You won’t have anything to worry about here.”

“I don’t like to imagine what my father has told other lords – those that he is amicable with – about me.”

“You underestimate the understanding of Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says reassuringly. “Trust me.”

I let out a stressed sigh, but nod; I do trust him.

As we approach the bridge across the river, the echoing of foreign catches my attention. Gandalf hesitates beside me in the trees, peering out to the bridge: four men and three horses trot along the granite, conversing amongst themselves.

My eyes widen when I scan the faces of the men.

Is that…?

“Interesting,” Gandalf whispers, interrupting my thoughts. “What could the prince of Mirkwood be doing in Rivendell…” He hums, his voice trailing off as he continues to smoke.

My gaze lingers on him, the prince. He looks the same as he did when I last saw him in Rhosgobel; his blonde hair pulled back in small braids, his shiny armor still unweathered by the elements. I crouch slightly behind a tree, to be sure the men can’t spot me.

“It’s been a pleasure, Legolas. Have a safe journey home.”

The soft voices of the elves come slowly into earshot as Gandalf and I listen from the shadows of the trees.

“Lindir, thank you for your hospitality. We hope to hear from you soon with any developments,” Legolas replies, bowing his head at the other man as he begins to mount his horse.

“Of course, Lord Elrond will be in contact with King Thranduil as soon as we discover anything new,” the brunette elf responds.

The other two elves mount their respective horses, and Legolas nods in their direction. The prince’s eyes wander across the landscape, eventually moving towards the trees. I quickly slide behind a thick trunk. I won’t repeat the same mistake as last time.

With one final goodbye, the three elves lead their horses away from the bridge, prancing down the opposite road.

Gandalf’s head remains still as his eyes flicker towards me, clearly amused. I sigh in relief, nodding as I step away from the tree cautiously.

“You seem more scared of other elves than you are orcs,” he says as his lips turn up into a mirthful smile.

“Only sometimes,” I chuckle.

He laughs with me as we make our way towards the bridge, the Mirkwood elves now completely out of sight down the horizon.

The sun glistens as it hits the waterfalls around us, the light rippling with the water as it flows beneath us on the bridge. Beautiful buildings line the landscape in front of us, those which encompass the massive mountain behind it. Tranquility is the only word I can use to describe it.

As we reach the end of the bridge, two large stone statues stand on either side of the arch that separates the kingdom from the outside world. I study them for a moment as we walk past; elves have never been the type to be subtle with their architecture.

“Mithrandir.”

I blink as I look away from the statues and towards the brunette elf in front of us, the one who sent the Mirkwood elves on their way.

“Ah, Lindir,” Gandalf replies jovially to the elf. The two greet each other as if they are old friends, and I shift on my feet somewhat awkwardly.

“And who might your partner be?” Lindir eventually inquires, turning his attention towards me.

Gandalf nods at me, as if silently acknowledging that I should be the one to introduce myself. I purse my lips for a moment before shuffling towards Lindir.

I bow my head slightly in respect and tell him my name, feeling my pulse beginning to quicken.

“Daughter of Suiauthon, of Alqualondë.” My chest tightens as the words leave my mouth, and I look away nervously.

Lindir’s countenance shifts slightly as he processes my identity, his brows subtly raising in surprise as his head tilts to the side.

“You’re Suiauthon’s daughter, you say?” He eventually repeats back to me. He hums for a moment, and I feel a bead of sweat building on my forehead.

“I haven’t seen your father in quite some time. He doesn’t tend to leave Aman much, does he?” His eyes twinkle for a moment as his mouth twists into a crooked smile.

He knows… and he’s… teasing?

I let out a subtle exhale in relief, masked with a smile.

“Yes, he doesn’t leave much,” I confirm.

“Well, your presence here marks a shift in the bloodline then, shall we say.”

I let a slight smirk slip from my lips, and Gandalf shoots me a crafty grin, as if to say ‘I told you so.’

“So,” Lindir continues, clapping his hands together slightly as he turns back to Gandalf. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.” Gandalf says with a serious tone.

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir replies sympathetically.

“Not here? Where is he?”

Before the final word can leave Gandalf’s mouth, elven horns ring throughout the courtyard. I hold my breath as I see a pack of horseman approaching us from the bridge. They continue to ride into the courtyard, encircling the three of us where we stand.

“Gandalf,” one elf says, separating himself from the pack as his horse approaches us.

“Lord Elrond.” Gandalf bows, hanging his head low in respect. Suddenly, the two switch to speaking in elvish. “My friend, where have you been?”

“We’ve been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the south. We slew a number near the hidden pass.” Lord Elrond explains as he gracefully dismounts from his horse, enveloping Gandalf in a friendly hug.

“Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders,” Lord Elrond continues while tending to his armor. “Something… or someone… has drawn them near,” his eyes move from the ground up to me, as if scanning me with a raised eyebrow.

“Lord Elrond,” Lindir interjects, introducing me. “She is the daughter of Suiauthon.”

Lord Elrond’s eyes widen in surprise before he laughs heartily.

“Really? A Falmari elf all the way here in Rivendell? And a princess at that. You’re quite a long way from home. Welcome,” Elrond says with a slight bow himself.

I feel my face heating up, slightly embarrassed that such an elf would bow to me; I’ve never been privy to the interactions of the high-class.

“Thank you, Lord Elrond. I’ve heard a lot about you from my father, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” I reply with a warm smile.

“And I’ve heard quite a lot about you from your father as well,” he adds with a sly, but playful smile. “Adventuring across the continent, I hear? Well, Gandalf will serve as a wonderful guide for that,” he pats the wizard on the shoulder.

So, my father really has told the others about my presence in Middle-earth…

“Well, Lord Elrond, this isn’t simply a Middle-earth tour, you see…” Gandalf mumbles, raising his eyebrows at the elf.

“Ah, so there’s a purpose to your journey, is there?”

“And, perhaps, we have some other members of our little company,” Gandalf adds with a light skepticism, deflecting from the question of intent.

“Rivendell would be happy to have you all,” Elrond turns to me. “Did you bring some other Falmari with you to Middle-earth?” He asks, unknowingly.

“Uhm…” I mumble slightly. “Not other elves, no…”

~

“Try it. Just a mouthful” Dori leans into Ori, inspecting the large leaf of lettuce in the younger dwarf’s hand.

“I don’t like green food…” Ori replies, shaking his head and putting the lettuce down.

“Where is the meat?” Dwalin says in frustration, picking up the salad from his bowl to search under the leaves.

“Have they got any chips…?” Oin adds, leaning around the table to search.

The company continues to banter, the feast in front of them going almost untouched as they groan in frustration. In the background, elves play soft tunes on stringed instruments, serenading the men as they eat. The company sits at a long table on the floor of a small courtyard, a balcony of sorts, overlooking the rest of the settlement. Thorin and I, however, sit at a raised table of four seats.

I watch as Gandalf and Lord Elrond approach the courtyard, joining us at the taller table.

Lord Elrond smiles at Thorin and I as he sits, and I feel Thorin tense up in the seat beside me, still not completely amicable to the idea of associating with elves.

As dinner progresses, his tension only builds, as if the air grows thicker around the table. Gandalf tries to relieve it, drawing Lord Elrond’s attention to our recent travels, including the new weapons the company had acquired the day earlier.

“This is Orchrist,” Lord Elrond explains, studying the blade Thorin looted from the trolls’ cave. “The goblin cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the high elves of the west. My kin. May it serve you well.”

He returns the blade to Thorin, who takes it with a slight nod. Thorin’s uncaring attitude wavers slightly, as his face gives way to the slightest smile.

“And this is Glamdring,” Lord Elrond says, directing my attention back to another sword, Gandalf’s new acquisition. “The foe-hammer, sword of the king of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age.” He goes on to explain more of the history of the blade.

“How did you come by these?” Lord Elrond asks suddenly, an almost concerned expression on his face.

“We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs.” Gandalf explains, eyes widening as he tells the story.

“And what were you doing on the Great East Road?” Lord Elrond asks, gaze wandering to Thorin.

Silence plagues the air as Thorin refuses to answer, promptly excusing himself from the table. Lord Elrond looks at me, as if expecting an answer, but I stay quiet. I know better than to intervene in royal matters, especially if those matters include dwarves and elves together.

I nervously place my hand in my pocket, fidgeting with my ring, a recently developed habit. Feeling the cold metal and smooth stone, I focus on the texture and temperature, soothing my thoughts. I haven’t removed it from my cloak since I met Gandalf in Mithlond almost a year ago, and I have no plans to do so anytime soon.

~

“It’s out of the question.”

“You’re not even letting me finish.”

“I said no,” he says firmly, crossing his arms. “What has gotten into you recently? You used to be such a respectful girl.”

I feel tears welling up in my eyes as I stare into his, so cold and empty.

“I grew up. I’m not five anymore.”

“Yes, of course, you’re twenty-five. So much older…” he says mockingly.

“Maybe, we can consider it when you’re two-hundred…” my mother chimes in nervously, trying to diffuse the tension.

“No, we will not consider it, Galadhwen,” my father turns to her, shaking his head. “She has real life responsibilities, real people who rely on her in this kingdom. She can’t throw her life away on something so trivial.”

“You’re not even dead yet, it’s not my responsibility!” I reply, raising my voice.

My mother says my name disappointingly, leaning her head in and raising her eyes disapprovingly.

“What exactly are the people of Alqualondë supposed to do without you once I am dead? You’ve been raised your entire life for this, the kingdom will fall apart without a suitable heir to the throne, and as an only-child that is your responsibility, as well as your birthright.”

“And how come other lords and princesses travel the world with their people, rather than allowing others to do their dirty work for them?” I question, in attempt to hit a nerve.

“Travel? You? You really think you’d survive out there?” my father scoffs, repeating his previous statements of dismissal to the idea.

“I’ve been training, I’m prepared.” I grit my teeth.

“Training?!”

I purse my lips, knowing I shouldn’t have said that, but deciding I’m too deep in now.

“Yes.” I continue. “I hit the targets every time with my bow. I can even beat Caladwen with my longsword now too.”

“Oh, so is she the one who has been ‘training’ you?” my father replies, an accusatory tone in his voice. “She’s one of the worst scouts we have, and now I think a further demotion is in her future…”

“It’s not her fault, I-” I pause, knowing there is nothing else I can say, and I just put one of my closest friends in jeopardy for helping me. It’s not the first time.

I feel the tears beginning to flow down my cheeks, the warmth trailing down my skin as they drip onto my dress. Clenching the fabric into my fists, I try to restrain my anger. My mother touches my arm reassuringly, giving me a somewhat knowing look.

“You’re soft. It’s pathetic.”

My father’s words break the silence of the hall, ringing in my ears over and over again.

“You’re fit for nothing more than politics. For sitting right here on this throne as others have done before you. We haven’t had a conflict here in hundreds of years; you will not see war in your lifetime. You will never leave this city, let alone this continent, so long as I live.”

“This,” he reaches over, grabbing my wrist tightly in his hand, pointing to the blue-stoned ring on my finger. “This is what you’re alive for. This kingdom and this kingdom only.”

~

“Our business is no concern of elves.” Thorin says bluntly, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Night has fallen across Rivendell, casting a blue glow along the buildings as the atmosphere grows cooler. Moonlight pours through the stained-glass windows of the throne room. The moodiness matches the current state of personal affairs.

“For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map.” Gandalf demands, slightly scoffing.

“It is the legacy of my people.” Thorin begins, emotionless eyes unwavering from Gandalf. “It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.”

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves…” Gandalf shakes his head, his tone growing angrier. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few here in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

Bilbo and I exchange nervous looks as Thorin reaches into his coat.

“Thorin, no…” Balin insists, trying to grab his arm. Thorin waves him off and approaches Lord Elrond, handing him a folded slip of paper.

Lord Elrond delicately unfolds the map, studying it carefully under the moonlight.

“Erebor…” he looks up at Thorin. “What is your… interest, in this map?”

Thorin opens his mouth, as if to reply, but is interrupted by Gandalf.

“It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?”

I watch silently as Lord Elrond walks across the room with the paper, twisting it slightly into the light that floods in.

“Moon runes.” Lord Elrond eventually speaks, though in elvish.

“Moon runes, of course.” Gandalf replies in the same language before switching back to English. “An easy thing to miss,” he says, nodding at Bilbo, whose face is plastered with confusion.

“Well, in this case, that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.” Lord Elrond explains, turning to Thorin.

“Can you read them?” Thorin asks, a slight eagerness to his gravelly voice as he steps forward.

Lord Elrond smiles, nodding solemnly as he begins walking out of the throne room, the rest of us trailing close behind. He leads us to the side of the castle, which flanks the large mountain nearby. The roaring sound of water draws louder as we trek though the hallway, the walls turning from eloquent marble and stone to roughly textured rock. As the moonlight seeps into the tunnel, so does the cool breeze of the night.

Stepping outside of the dim pathway, my gaze looks upwards at the billowing waterfalls flanking all sides of the cliff at which we now stand.

“These runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago.” Lord Elrond breaks the silence as he walks towards an altar of sorts at the edge of the ledge. “It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines upon us tonight.” He places Thorin’s map on the white, crystal altar, laying it flat.

The moon peeks out from behind the clouds, as if perfectly on queue, flickering through the falling drops of water. I glance over Thorin’s shoulder and watch the map closely; it glimmers under the cool light, patterns starting to form on the lower half: runes.

“Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.” Lord Elrond reads as he traces his finger gently over the lettering.

“Durin’s Day?” asks Bilbo, turning to me.

“It is the start of the dwarves' near year,” Gandalf interjects. “When the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together.”

“This is ill news…” Thorin says quietly, his hand reaching towards his chin. “Summer is passing, Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

I watch Lord Elrond as he carefully removes the map from the altar, studying it outside of the light

“We still have time.” Balin reassures.

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asks, rubbing his neck.

“To find the entrance. We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened,” the older dwarf elucidates.

“So, this is your purpose, to enter the Mountain?” Lord Elrond suddenly turns back towards the group, a hint of edge in his tone.

“What of it?” Thorin flicks his head in Lord Elrond’s direction, growing agitated at the elf’s curiosity.

“There are some who would not deem it wise.”

Thorin reaches for the map, quickly pulling it back from Lord Elrond, folding and pocketing it.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf’s eyes narrow.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth,” Lord Elrond replies firmly, turning before pacing back towards the tunnel in the mountain.

This might be my chance…

“Lord Elrond?” I call out, racing to catch up to him. Thorin shoots me a disapproving glance as I leave, turning his attention back to Gandalf.

The taller elf pauses briefly, allowing me to catch up and saying my name jubilantly.

“I just had a few questions for you, if you’ll allow.” I bow my head as we walk side-by-side back towards the castle.

“Of course, what can I help you with?”

“Well,” I hesitate, pursing my lips as I consider my words carefully. “I happened to… overhear a conversation between Lindir and the prince of Mirkwood as Gandalf and I were approaching Rivendell.”

“You’re wondering why he paid us a visit?” Lord Elrond asks my question for me.

“I’m concerned about Mirkwood. Did he come to ask about the spreading disease… and the spiders?” I clarify. “I have a… particular interest in the forest.”

“Yes, he did,” Lord Elrond replies. “Apparently King Thranduil is growing more concerned with the imposition of the spiders in the north. He asked us to keep him informed if we find similar issues around Rivendell. And well, with the presence of the orc pack by the mountain pass, we might need to send more scouts out.”

I nod in understanding, growing more nervous for the state of the forest and how it will impact Radagast and the animals. We continue to walk together in silence for a few minutes, traveling back into the main hallway of the castle.

“I have one more question, if you’ll allow.”

Lord Elrond nods, pausing in front of a large door, clearly intending to enter after our conversation ends.

“There’s an elf I’m curious about. One of your scouts. She visited Alqualondë back when I was a child… it must have been over one-hundred years ago now.” I chuckle, shaking my head at how much time has passed. “Her name was Ardhoniel, I still recall.”

“Ah… Ardhoniel,” he repeats, nodding solemnly and letting out a deep exhale. “I’m sorry…” his eyes meet mine sympathetically.

“She traveled east with a company, intending to send a message to a wizard past Lake-town. It’s been about twelve years since then,” he explains, his tone soft and considerate.

My stomach turns as I feel my heart drop, knowing I’d never have left Alqualondë if it wasn’t for her sharing her story with me all those years ago. I had hoped to thank her…

“I see. So, shes…” my voice trails off.

“Gone, yes.”

Chapter Text

The ferocious storm billows, sending massive waves of rain and hail surging towards us. I tighten my grip on the nearby rocks, trying to steady my breathing as I focus on my steps.

Left.

Right.

Left...

...Right...

"Hold on!" yells Thorin from the front of the group, his voice barely audible through the crashing thunder and roaring wind.

The path is narrow and crooked, trailing along the edge of a mountainside. One wrong step and I'd be sent tumbling off the side, straight into the dark abyss below, hundreds of feet down.

I hear the creaking of stone behind me, whipping my head around just in time to see Dwalin grabbing Bilbo by the neck of his shirt, pulling him back up onto the ledge. My heart rate quickens at the sight and my hands instinctively grip the stones harder, causing a trail of blood to trickle down to my wrist, mingling with drops of rain.

"We must find shelter!" Thorin screams again, turning around to face the rest of the company.

"Look out!"

Dwalin's voice echoes just in time for the rest of us to duck. A large boulder flies at the cliffside above us, shattering into thousands of sharp rocks as it dents the mountain.

Yells fill the air as I immediately press myself against the cliff, using one arm to cover my head, clenching my jaw. I am going to die...

"This is no thunderstorm... it's a thunder battle!" Balin exclaims, gesturing to a nearby mountain which rumbles aggressively. The ground beneath us shakes, aggravated by the force of the storm and the boulders.

"Well, bless me!" Bofur begins, staring in awe as the peaks nearby shift into some kind of humanoid form, gripping a boulder from beside it with stone claws. "The legends are true! Giants: stone giants!"

The creature immediately casts the rock directly towards us, as if the situation couldn't grow even more dire. I turn to Bilbo behind me with wide eyes as we sink down against the rock behind us, the sharp edges cutting into our backs. The boulder nearly misses our cliff, launching further into another Stone Giant which had formed adjacent to us.

"Take cover, you'll fall!" Thorin screams again, grabbing the nearest dwarf.

Dwalin and I simultaneously grab Bilbo by his shoulders, holding him close to the wall as the cliffside trail begins to crumble beneath us, making the path even thinner.

"Kili! Grab my hand!" Fili cries as the mountain shifts, our path cracking in two and sending the front group of dwarves away from us.

These are...

"Legs." Bilbo's whimper is quiet through the screams and roaring thunder.

A Stone Giant forms beneath us, joining the fight with the other two. I clench my fingers on the stone, closing my eyes and simply hoping that by some miracle, I will survive this.

It feels as though hours pass, the minutes ticking by like a time bomb as I force my eyes shut, feeling my stomach twist and turn as the Giant lunges forward and backwards as the battle persists. I focus on the sensation of being alive.

"Look out!"

My eyes shoot open, and my breath catches in my throat. Within a second, a cliffside is rapidly coming towards us, a sharp rock pointed directly at my head as the Stone Giant starts to fall, its legs collapsing underneath it.

For the first time, a scream escapes my lips as I'm sent flying headfirst into another cliffside, crashing into the hardened stone. I lose my breath, trying to force my diaphragm to contract as I lay motionless on the ledge, hands pressing against my chest. After a moment, yells and footsteps break the imposed silence.

I gasp, immediately sitting up as my body remembers how to breathe, frantically looking around to see the rest of the dwarves also collapsed nearby. Thorin, and the others who were separated from us, rush to help as they grab their friends off the floor, clearly relieved they survived.

And suddenly, my heart sinks.

"Where's Bilbo?!" I scream, standing up immediately, much to the distress of my battered body.

"There!" Fili howls back, pointing off the cliff.

Balin jumps towards Bilbo, who hangs by two hands off the ledge, swinging his feet as he struggles to pull himself up. The rest of us race towards the scene, just as Bilbo loses his grip, slipping further down the cliff and catching another small ledge.

Without hesitation, Thorin swings down the cliff, hanging my one hand as he grabs Bilbo, aggressively hauling him back up onto the ledge.

"Thorin!" I grunt as I watch his hand slip, quickly diving to save him. His hand manages to grip my forearm tightly, and I strain to pull him back up, my whole torso dangling off of the cliff. Hands grip tighly to my sides and back, hauling me back onto the ground, along with Thorin.

I steady myself on the rocks as I continue to help Thorin, chest heaving up and down. My body is on fire.

For the first time, Thorin's gaze seems to soften as he looks at me; not quite a smile, but a look of thankfulness.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar," Dwalin sighs, patting Thorin on the shoulder.

"He's been lost ever since he left home," Thorin grumbles, expression turning dark again as he turns to walk away. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

Bilbo's features drop slightly at Thorin's words, a hint of remorse as his eyes flicker to mine. I simply shake my head in disagreement, offering my hand for Bilbo to stand.

"Dwalin," Thorin calls as he walks further along the path, into a sheltered area of the rock.

The rest of the company trails behind them, filtering their way into the cave. Reaching out, I wrap an arm around Bilbo's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm glad you're not dead," I verbalize, smiling almost jokingly as I give him a slight shake.

"Yeah..." Bilbo's face looks dejected, as if his emotions have been stripped away and all that remains is a shell of himself. I can't tell if it was from the near-death experience, or simply Thorin's harsh words.

The two of us trail along the back of the company, reaching the interior of a dim, musty cave. Water droplets trickle down from the ceiling, creating puddles of water on the slick stone floor.

As we settle in for the night, Bofur and I are assigned the first watch, much to our distaste. We groan slightly, exchanging a look before settling in near the mouth of the cave, backs against the wall. I cringe slightly as I sit, the injuries from earlier slowly catching up to me as my adrenaline fades. This is going to be a long night.

~

I'm jolted out of my thoughts as Bofur's voice breaks the eerie silence of the cave, paired only with the deep breathing of sleeping dwarves.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I blink a few times, vision readjusting to see Bilbo tiptoeing around the sleeping bodies, backpack slung around his shoulders and walking stick in hand.

"Back to Rivendell." Bilbo whispers firmly, clenching his jaw slightly.

"No, no. You can't turn back now. You're one of the company." Bofur exclaims, hopping up onto his feet and approaching Bilbo. "You're one of us."

I too uncross my legs, rising up to join the two of them nervously, almost stumbling across the dwarves in the process.

"I'm not though, am I?"

"You are," I interject, looking down at him fondly. "Hobbit or elf, you're still part of it." I smile softly and pray that my words make it through to him.

"Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins, I don't know what I was thinking. I should have never ran out my door."

"You're homesick. I understand." Bofur continues to try to convince Bilbo, putting his hands up reassuringly.

"No, you don't." Bilbo's voice begins to raise. "You don't understand, none of you do - you're dwarves! You're used to this life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere."

Bilbo's gaze softens as he sees Bofur's unchanging expression, knowing he went too far.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere." Bofur turns, looking out across the cave at his sleeping comrades. I place a hand on his shoulder, shooting Bilbo a slightly disapproving glance.

"I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do," the dwarf finishes, cracking a slight smile as he touches Bilbo's arm.

"Bilbo..." I finally speak, voice slightly cracking in regret, but I know it's selfish of me to beg him to stay.

Before I can say anything else, a small light catches my attention, beaming from Bilbo's waist.

"What's... that?" I ask, pointing at the blueish glow.

Bilbo furrows his brows, pulling back his coat to reveal the source of the luminescence; his small blade glows blue in the darkness of the cave, the light brightening as seconds pass.

Oh no... that means...

"Wake up! Wake up!"

A voice shakes us from our conversation, and I jump slightly, turning to see Thorin already beginning to stand. Without a second to think, the floor drops: a chute.

My stomach flutters as I free fall through the cave, an orange glow now encasing the rough walls as I look back up to where we used to be.

Bang!

I grunt as my back hits a sharp rock, sending a shockwave through my body. Continuing to tumble forward through a tunnel, not an end in sight, I try to reach out to grab something, anything, but to no avail. My body hits that of the others aggressively as we all plummet down into the cave system, feeling the bruises already forming.

I cough as I land hard, straight on top of Dwalin; his hard armor nearly punctures my skin through my clothes. The entire company lays together, flat on the rocky floor and stacked on top of each other.

Screams echo throughout the cavern, fast approaching, as we all struggle to stand from the pileup.

Goblins.

Suddenly, we're surrounded at every angle by a horde of them, grasping aggressively for our weapons and armor, their sharp claws nearly ripping through the fabric of my cloak.

Several arms surround me, hoisting me almost into the air as they drag the group of us down deeper into the cave systems.

We're into a clearing now, hundreds of feet high and long, flanked by new hordes of goblins who watch from mountain ledges. The warm light of torches illuminates the entire cavern: a throne room. I frantically struggle against the crowd, trying to gasp for fresh air as I feel them press together into me.

I nearly fall as I'm thrown into a clearing with the rest of the dwarves, our stolen weapons stacked beside us in a growing pile.

Before us stands a hideous creature: a large goblin, eyes bulging and red, with a tall staff.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom? Spies? Thieves? Assassins?" It calls out to us, voice booming through the cavern.

"Dwarves, your malevolence," one of the other goblins snarls.

"Dwarves?"

"We found them on the front porch."

"Well, don't just stand there! Search them!" The goblin leader booms angerly, growling as watches. "Every crack, every crevice."

The goblins rush forward once again, ripping open our cloaks and toying with our gadgets before tossing everything to the floor.

"What are you doing in these parts?" The leader inquires, waiting for a moment before continuing.

"Very well, if they will not talk, we'll make them squawk! Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone breaker! Start with the youngest. Or the woman."

My eyes widen, immediately feeling the goblins' hands growing tighter around me as the leader points at me and Kili.

"Wait!" Thorin pushes through the crowd, stepping forwards towards the leader with his hands raised.

"Well, well, well, look who it is!" The leader's mouth grins in a twisted smile. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under The Mountain," he finishes, mockingly bowing.

"Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain. And you're not a king. Which makes you nobody, really."

Thorin's anger brews, his stare darkening as he looks up at the goblin.

"But I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. A vengeful enemy of yours," taunts the leader. "A pale orc, a strider..."

"Azog the defiler..." Thorin's gaze is piercing now as his frustration becomes evident in his tone. "Was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago."

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?" The creature laughs as he leans towards the dwarf, eyes bulging from his sockets.

"Send word to the pale orc. Tell him... I have found his prize."

~

The days passed by slowly in the goblin prison, and it's as if I could feel my body rotting away in that musty cave, the damp air nearly making me choke with every breath. The only sounds to stimulate my mind were the distant chatter of goblins through the nearby tunnels, and the occasional dwarvish groan from a nearby cell.

Fili and I quickly found that our only source of entertainment was throwing a small pebble between our cells, across from each other in the cavern hallway. The rock had become nearly perfectly spherical by the time we were hauled out of the cells; such a little prize to represent the fruits of our labor. But still, I kept it in my pocket, alongside my ring.

"Get up!" The goblin in front of my cell scowled, hauling open the barred door and awakening me from my restless slumber.

The opening of my eyes was met with an aggressive grab from the creature, who pulled me to my feet.

Pushed into the hallway, I nearly collide with Fili as he receives similar treatment from the goblin who invaded his cell. My tired eyes meet those of the other dwarves, my first time seeing the rest of them in days, though they were only feet beside me in their respective prisons.

The goblins' yells and screams slowly start to morph into a chant, or a song, as they force the group of us back out of the tightly wound cave system and into the throne room again.

Bones will be shattered,

necks will be wrung.

You'll be beaten and battered,

from racks you'll be hung.

You will die down here and never be found,

down in the deep of

Goblin Town!

The goblins continue to sing their rhyme, their voices echoing against the rock of the cavern as we approach the goblin leader yet again.

He joins the chanting too, his voice harsher and louder than the others – as well as slightly off pitch – as his body flows awkwardly to the tune.

Our pile of weapons remains in the same place as it was days ago, with Thorin's Orchrist on the top. A goblin slowly starts examining the artillery, grabbing Thorin's blade from the pile and removing it from the sheath.

The goblin's eyes flicker with recognition, widening before shrieking in horror. It drops the blade, immediately stumbling backwards as the other goblins turn towards the commotion.

"I know that sword!" The leader interrupts his own tune to yell, backing up onto his throne in fear. "It is the Goblin Cleaver! The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!" He screams, pointing a shaky finger at the weapon on the ground.

I tense as I watch the horde of goblins around us draw their weapons, closing in on the company.

"Slash them! Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all!"

Immediately, we are bombarded with them, the little creatures smashing their weapons into us, beating us into the ground. I throw my hands up to protect myself, instinctively using my legs to kick some away.

"Cut off his head!" The leader howls, smirking as he gestures to Thorin, waving his hands in a slicing motion.

He's behind me.

Without hesitation, I step further in front of Thorin, taking even more blows from the goblins as my arms grow numb. I try to fend them off, struggling and straining to push, kick, and pull them away, but there's too many.

They overtake me, grabbing Thorin and hauling him to the ground; a small goblin with a large knife positions itself over his head.

"Thorin!" I yell, trying desperately to reach the goblin.

~

The world went white. It was as if a wave of light pierced though us all; no one was safe. Bodies flew in all directions, sailing off the ledge as the light zipped in our direction.

My muscles contract as I plummet to the floor, crashing onto my back and grabbing a wooden fencepost that projects from the ground. Silence pervades the cavern as it grows dark again, the wave of light passing like a sudden wind. The warm glow of the torches reappears, and my eyes readjust to the environment.

A tall, slender figure makes its way towards us, staring down at the piles of bodies lining the ground.

"Take up arms," the man demands, stepping into the soft light.

"Gandalf..." I whisper under my breath, stumbling to stand.

"Fight." Gandalf repeats himself. "Fight!"

I scramble towards my greatsword, which lies under the pile of other dwarven weapons. Thrusting it out from under the pile, the force of weight on top of the sword assists in its unsheathing. Simultaneously, I toss some weapons over to the other dwarves.

"Kili!" I yell as I wiggle his sword out from the pile, hurling it towards him by the handle. He catches it swiftly, immediately turning and using the momentum to swing at a goblin.

"He wields the Foe-Hammer. The Beater, bright as daylight!" The leader's voice billows through the cavern, screaming at Gandalf who swings at a nearby goblin, blade shining in the torchlight,

Within a second, the leader is already joining, hurling the top of his massive club at Thorin, determined to kill the dwarven king. Thorin promptly blocks the attack with Orchrist, the force sending the creature staggering backwards.

The goblin screeches as he tumbles backwards, off the edge of the rock, plummeting into the dark abyss below.

"Follow me, quick!" Gandalf urges, walking down the cavern and directing the company. I stay towards the rear, fending off goblins as the rest of the dwarves careen towards the wizard.

"Run!"

Each letter of Gandalf's yell is accentuated, reverberating through the cave and reaching every crevice and corner within the goblin city. We sprint, as fast as our legs can take us, away from the throne room.

"Quickly!"

The words repeat in my ears as I stumble across the wooden bridges, the lack of food and water I've consumed in the last few days finally catching up to me. My vision grows speckled, black stars dancing in the corners of my eyes as I try to focus on the sounds and the evident blue light which trickles into the cave: the outside world's unspoken touch.

The goblins' murmurs and calls follow us down the cavern, growing louder as they catch up.

Unfortunately, our escape is not without bloodshed.

The goblins lurch at us, covering nearly every angle. I swing my longsword, almost in a circle, attempting to hit as many as I can around me.

"Cut the ropes!" Thorin calls from a distance, and my gaze darts to a nearby anchor of knotted cord.

I slash it almost immediately, alongside four other dwarves, promptly causing a nearby wooden bridge to topple over; the tens of goblins lining it fall to the void.

And then, we're running again, the wooden planks below us creaking and clacking with every footstep.

After reaching a rather unstable section of the path, Kili cuts a rope nearby, sending the bridge swaying to the left.

"Jump!" Thorin screams, leaping to safety onto another bridge with part of the company.

Shit.

The bridge sways backwards from where we came, goblins jumping onto it from the previous path. I continue to fight, filleting two goblins' heads along my sword before pulling away, running towards the edge again.

I'm the last one, I'm not going to make it...

I yell as I run, reaching my arm out as far as I can as I pace towards the edge, the rest of the company already safely across the chasm. The bridge wavers, sinking beneath my feet.

And suddenly, I'm a kid again.

"Okay... Raina, I'm gonna do it..."

The tree. I remember the tree as I leap off the wood. That damn willow tree.

Grip.

I gasp as I feel my stomach fall, coming to a harsh halt as my body is caught. My feet dangle over the ravine below, just as the updraft softens.

"Move!" Gandalf yells, hauling me up, his hand tightly on my forearm; my skin is already bruising under the pressure of being caught.

I shake my head, clearing my fuzzy mind and trying to refocus as I'm essentially dragged by my hand down the bridge ahead.

"Arghhh!" The bridge before us breaks in half, chunks of wood flying through the air as a body flings itself atop the ledge: the goblin leader.

The company halts, pressed together on each side as goblins surround us from behind.

The leader grumbles as he stands triumphantly before us, patting the butt of his staff on the ground in victory.

"You thought you could escape me..." he smirks as he swings at Gandalf, denting the bridge further as his staff crashes down onto the wood. Ori and I manage to catch the wizard as he staggers backwards, narrowly missing the leader's strike.

"What are you going to do now, wizard?" He continues to taunt, leaning forward with a widened eye.

Swiftly, Gandalf lunges as he knocks the leader in the chin with his staff, simultaneously swinging the Foe-Hammer at his stomach.

The creature grunts at the first strike, his low tone turning into a shriek as the blade bares through his thick skin. He falls onto his knees, just before Gandalf delivers the final blow: a slash to the chin, his dense fat taking the brute of the force.

At the goblin leader's collapse, the bridge starts to shift below us. My legs wobble as the stabilizing beams break, sending the segment of the bridge on which we stand tumbling downwards, sliding along the rocky cliff.

Dropping to the floor, I immediately grab onto the closest piece of wood I can, pressing my body against it and closing my eyes. The bridge continues downwards, crashing into other makeshift structures and pieces of rock as it accelerates.

My body lurches forward as the platform lands between two adjacent boulders, sliding down softly and collapsing between them as it folds in on itself.

I free fall for a second, catching myself with my arms as I hit the hard gravel below, gasping as I tumble a few times.

"Well that could've been worse..." Bofur chimes in, peeking out from a pile of broken wooden planks as everyone settles on the solid ground.

Bang!

I jump, body instinctively crawling backwards as a loud noise billows through the ravine. My eyes widen: the goblin leader has fallen... straight on top of everyone.

Thankfully I rolled aside...

"You've got to be kidding me!" Kili groans, clearly straining under the heavy force as other dwarves begin to stir, pushing the wood away.

"...Gandalf...!"

My eyes dart to where Kili points. It's a horde, bigger than we've ever seen. Goblins, thousands of them sprinting and tumbling down the nearby rocky hill.

Headed straight towards us.

Chapter Text

“Only one thing will save us: daylight!”

It’s as if I’m frozen in place; the sheer sight of the horde approaching has melted my feet into the dirt, becoming one with the earth below.

“To your feet!” Gandalf scrambles to grab dwarves from under the rubble, clouds of dust rippling into the air.

I wince, feeling the tight grasp of a hand on my arm, tugging me from where I stand.

“We have to go!” Kili pulls at my arm aggressively, which nearly catapults me into him from where I stand. My legs begin to catch up to my body, stomping clumsily beneath me as I follow Kili through the cave. We’re the last of the group – the rest travel further ahead through a cavernous tunnel – and we nearly stumble over the loose stones as we struggle to catch up.

Light. I see light.

My thoughts race as I push forward, body aching from the various wounds and growing fatigue, but I continue. The light is all I see.

The second I taste the fresh air, I’m immediately blinded by the sun. My head spins, unable to process the unfamiliar brightness in which I bask, lacking such a feeling in days.

Although dazzled by the sensation, my legs continue to carry me, as if my inherent survival instincts overpower my waking consciousness.

Kili and I almost tumble down the steep hill, slick with a thick, dewy grass which is interrupted only by boulders. After adjusting to the terrain, we hop and sprint along the rock and foliage, finally catching up to the others.

Gandalf comes into our view, sighing in relief as he sees us, saying my name first.

“13… and Kili, that makes 14,” he finishes, nodding in satisfaction before furrowing his brows again.

“Where’s Bilbo…?” He glances around, pacing slightly as he studies the faces around him.

“Where is our hobbit?” Gandalf calls out, tone loud and almost accusatory.

I haven’t seen Bilbo since before we were put in those cells…

“Curse that halfling! Now he’s lost?” Dwalin scowls. “I thought he was with Dori.”

“Don’t blame me!” Dori interjects defensively.

“Where did you last see him?” Gandalf approaches the older dwarf.

“I definitely saw him after we fell into the cavern… but I don’t know if I saw him when we first met the goblin leader.” I chime in, shuddering slightly. “Maybe he escaped?”

“I’ll tell you what happened…” Thorin walks into the group slightly, a harsh tone in his voice. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone,” he concludes, staring out at the rising sun.

Silence plagues the company as we exchange hushed glances. My stomach drops as I look over to Kili and Fili, eyes filled with worry.

“No. He isn’t.”

My eyes widen and I whip around to see Bilbo approaching us from behind the group, appearing unscathed by the whole ordeal. I light up at the sight of him, letting out a deep exhale in relief.

“Bilbo Baggins…” Gandalf chuckles. “I’ve never been so glad to see any in my life.”

“Bilbo, we’d given you up.” Kili smiles in disbelief.

“How on earth did you get past the goblins?” Questions Fili, clearly confused and concerned.

“How indeed…” Dwalin mumbles to himself.

I simply don’t care. My gaze meets Bilbo and I offer him a reassuring grin, just happy to see him alive.

The hobbit chuckles nervously, putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets.

“Well, what does it matter? He’s back.” Gandalf remarks, echoing my unspoken sentiment.

“It matters. I want to know,” demands Thorin, though more out of curiosity. “Why did you come back?”

“I know you doubt me,” Bilbo begins after a moment of thought. “I know you always have. And you’re right; I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong. That’s home. That’s why I came back, because… you don’t have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help it take it back if I can.”

Thorin diverts his stare, shifting it downwards to the rocks.

The mood of the group becomes lighter, the rest of the dwarves staring at Bilbo with some form of endearment and appreciation: a silent expression of gratitude.

The perfection of the moment is quickly interrupted, however, by the howling of wargs.

Not again…

“Out of the frying pan…” Thorin grumbles.

“And into the fire.” Gandalf finishes. “Run. Run!”

A newfound sense of urgency rushes through me, adrenaline spiking yet again as I sprint down the rocks and dirt of the mountain.

Reaching a small clearing with boulders and trees, I hear the growling and stomping of the wargs growing even closer. We can’t outrun them.

I whip around and draw my longsword, ready to give it my last shot, all my energy building to this very moment.

Screaming, I charge at an incoming warg with my sword pointed straight ahead. The creature leaps at me, claws outstretched as it flies through the air.

I close my eyes at the last second, with the horrific sound of squelching blood – and the lack of physical distress afflicting me – being the only signs that I succeeded. Peeking a single eye open, I see the warg in front of me collapse, my longsword still stuck directly between its eyes. The force almost takes me down with the monster, but I manage to rip my weapon from its flesh before I stumble and crash to the ground with it.

Tearing my gaze away from my personal tribulation, I study the scene before me: the other dwarves fight their own grueling battles against the wargs.

Where’s Bilbo?

A sense of protectiveness floods over me as I remember him, his lack of combat abilities being my main concern. Quickly, I spot him pressed against a tree, arms awkwardly outstretched and knuckles white from his tight grip on his shortsword. He absolutely skewered a warg.

Running towards him, I grab him out of his trance, pulling him away from the combat and further down the mountain.

The group begins to convene again, reaching another clearing. I let go of Bilbo just as the dwarves at the front of the company begin to stumble to a halt, staring down.

“What are you-”

Before the rest of the words leave my mouth, my eyes widen.

It’s a cliff.

“Up into the trees!” Gandalf takes charge again, voice booming across the mountainous terrain. “All of you! Come on, climb!”

Without a second thought, I sprint to a nearby tree, gripping it tight as I scale the trunk. Looking down, I call out to Bilbo, almost screaming.

“Bilbo! Climb!”

After reaching a safe height in the branches, I see Bilbo following clumsily behind me, narrowly avoiding the wargs which whisk by the trunk. Sighing, I grip his arm as he joins me on an upper branch.

My head is pounding, stomach screaming for food. I feel like I’m going to throw up, but I know there’s nothing to come up.

“Hey, watch it.” Bilbo says, voice saturated with worry as he grabs my shoulder to steady me. I didn’t even know I was swaying.

“I’m fine.” I assure him, nodding awkwardly and lightly grazing the bark of the tree with my other hand.

By now, the sun has set fully, the last lights of dusk fading away on the horizon, leaving nothing but darkness.

The wargs scatter around the trees, plaguing the ground below with their gray fur coats and nasty snarls. A single, larger warg walks onto a tall walk in the clearing, its rider a pale orc with an almost satisfied smile.

“Azog…” I hear Thorin’s surprised mumble from an adjacent tree.

The orc mumbles incoherently, sniffing the air as other creatures approach from the shadows: even more riders and their wargs.

The pale orc’s piercing blue eyes don’t waver from Thorin’s form in the tree as he continues to speak in orcish. Although his words are incomprehensible, its meaning is clear in his taunting tone: he wants Thorin dead.

“It cannot be…” as the whisper leaves Thorin’s lips, the orc lets out a war cry, its scream piercing the dry air and unleashing an even bigger mob of wargs upon us.

I lunge at the trunk of the tree, wrapping my arms around it tightly as wargs begin to swam the base of it, clawing their way up and swaying the wood. Beside me, Bilbo’s eyes grow large and he grabs the base of another branch protruding out from the trunk.

“Bilbo, hold onto me!” I yell at him.

“What?” he shouts back.

Before I can explain, I steady my feet on the branch and let go of my grip, immediately spinning and loading my bow.

The arrow I fire whizzes downwards, hitting the warg below straight in the eye. It cries out in pain as it falls back to the ground, collapsing into the dead grass with a huff.

I’m falling.

I flail my arms as my feet begin to lose balance on the branch, feeling myself leaning too far over the empty air.

My breath catches as arms grab my stomach, pulling me back onto the tree, my back hitting the trunk. I steady myself with one hand, clenching the bark as I look over at Bilbo.

“More warning, next time!” he shouts in annoyance, one hand going back to tightly holding the wood, though his expression gives away his true feelings of gratitude.

I smile back at him, proceeding to fire more arrows downwards, now stabilized by Bilbo who holds a bundle of my fabric cloak in his hand.

Nearby trees begin to waver, branches being broken away and roots uplifting from the wargs’ force.

Oh fuck…

It was like dominos. One by one, the trees fell, hitting one another and causing more destruction. As if time had stopped, I stare at the tree directly in front of mine; its trunk and branches travelled closer and closer, aiming straight for my head.

“Bilbo! Jump!” I shriek, sparing no time in leaping to the tree behind us, watching our tree crumble as the two trunks collide.

And the dominos continue. More and more of us gather on each tree as the next falls, leaping from branch to branch, catching ourselves by the skin of our teeth and barely managing to regain our footing to jump again before the next tree comes crashing down.

The last jump winds me; the horizontal branch hits my ribs hard, my diaphragm contracting under the sheer force. I hang by my arms, brain begging my body to recover, to breathe.

Gasping, I feel two hands pulling me up by my arms, hoisting me onto the branch and steadying me. I shake my head, thanking Dwalin and Bombur beside me and taking deep breaths, my ears ringing with the growls of wargs and the laughing of orcs. I gulp, forcing the saliva down my dry throat, trying to push through the pain as I loosely hold onto the dwarves beside me.

A grunt from Gandalf catches my attention, and I find my eyes wandering to a small flaming object, flying straight towards the wargs below.

“Kili!” Gandalf calls, throwing a half-lit pinecone to the dwarf on the branch next to me. The wizard continues to toss the pinecones around the tree, each dwarf hurling them to the ground.

I purse my lips, narrowing my eyes as I draw my bow again. Within a moment, the earth is lit up in harsh flames, the fires growing instantly as it catches on the dead foliage lining the dirt. The warm blaze lights up the scene, casting an orange light across everything in sight. I feel sweat beading on my forehead already.

“Here,” Dwalin stops me for a moment, reaching for the head of my arrow. He sticks his pinecone to the tip, wincing as he burns himself in the process. The second he lets go, I fire: straight at the pale orc.

He didn’t expect it.

The flaming cone hit his shoulder, the force almost pushing him off his warg. Unfortunately, the bluntness of the cone causes it to almost fling off his shoulder on impact, leaving only a large, circular burn and gash on his white skin.

The orc’s eyes dart to me as he yells. Those sharp, glistening blue eyes, filled with nothing but a red rage.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.

Cheering breaks me from my terror-induced trance. The dwarves around me laugh and jeer, taunting the orc as they watch the wargs retreat behind their leader, many paces away from our lone tree.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, almost collapsing from exhaustion as I let a smile slip. However, our celebrations were short lived.

The cracking of roots draws my attention down to the earth, watching our tree become slowly uprooted from sustained force of the other fallen trees. My knees shake under me, trying to steady my body as the tree begins to fall backwards, off the cliff behind.

Screams fill the air as the tree swings downwards, throwing our bodies from the wood. I stumble, slipping enough to grab onto the branch with my arms.

The tree suddenly stops, the roots catching on the ground, leaving the tree hanging parallel to the ground, completely off the edge.

“Mister Gandalf!” Dori calls from behind me, screaming as he loses grip on the tree. Gandalf quickly extends his staff to the dwarf, who barely seizes the top of it, now swinging from the wood.

I look around nervously, seeing that every dwarf has seemingly caught a branch.

The trunk rocks slightly, my grip instinctively tightening on the trunk as I search for the source: Thorin. He slowly steps across the tree, walking back towards the edge of the cliff as he draws his sword.

He’s not going to…

I squirm, swinging my feet as I try to hoist myself up onto the branch by my forearms, but I’m too weak. Thorin charges forward, straight through the raging flames and towards the pale org, still sitting atop his warg.

“Dwalin, please.” My voice comes out dry and harsh as I beg to the dwarf beside me.

He clearly struggles to simply hold himself up on the branch, but he releases one arm and grabs my leg, face twisting as he grunts and tries to help me up onto the branch. I strain, contracting every muscle in my body as I try to push up on my arms, drawing my torso up towards the wood.

By the time I manage to heave myself up, Thorin is already mid-battle with the orc, having fallen to the floor by a blow from the orcish mace.

I swing my legs over the edge of the tree as I cough up some blood, chest tightening as black speckles dance at the corners of my vision. The heat from the blaze does nothing to ease the pain.

In… Out… In… Out…

I try to control my breathing, steadying my mind and focusing on nothing but the sensation of the warm air entering my lungs.

The pale orc turns on his warg, grinning wide as he faces the fallen dwarf. Thorin’s face runs with blood, a trail trickling down to his chin. He grimaces, forcing himself to stand as he draws his sword again.

Within a second, Thorin is taken up into the mouth of the warg; the creature clamps its teeth down onto the dwarf, penetrating his armor. Thorin yells and twitches in its jaws, squirming under the force.

I draw my bow carefully, trying to calm my shaking hands as I press the bowstring to my cheek. The feathers of the arrow tickle my ear, the ear in which I hear nothing but my pumping heart.

The warg tosses Thorin to the side, his body crashing against a nearby boulder, his eyes bloodshot. He tumbles onto the rock, landing on his back.

In… Out… In… Out…

Again.

The pale orc sheers at the sight of the fallen dwarf, directing another orc over to his body. I can only see the rise and fall of Thorin’s chest as the creature approaches, wielding a long, curved blade that glints in the light of the fire.

And…

The orc pulls his blade back to strike.

Now.

The arrow flies, whizzing in the air as it billows towards its target. And strikes.

The orc crumbles to the ground, his legs immediately giving out on him as the arrow collides with his chest.

Suddenly, a figure charges at the fallen creature, yelling as he impales the orc again with his glowing shortsword to finish the job: Bilbo.

I sway on the branch, suddenly stabilized again by Dwalin, who had managed to pull himself up beside me. He gives me a thoughtful nod before standing, immediately charging down the trunk towards the cliffside.

As the rest of the dwarves begin to follow suit, storming into the flaming mountainside, I instinctively watch Bilbo, who stands face-to-face with the pale orc and his warg. Sweating under the heat of the fire, I shoot more arrows towards the scene, until I’ve completely emptied my quiver. I need to protect him.

I watch as the dwarves begin their assault on the orcs and wargs, determined to protect Thorin and Bilbo. A scream from behind me, however, draws my attention downwards, eyes widening as I see Dori falling into the abyss below, only to be caught by some kind of eagle-like creature.

And there’s more of them.

The beasts are huge, the size of almost six men combined, swarming the scene as they swoop down onto the cliffside, shrieking. Some knock over the trees that were set ablaze, toppling onto wargs and orcs. Others simply use their talons to grasp the creatures, tossing them off the edge of the mountain.

“What the-”

My words catch in my mouth as I feel a gust of wind pass over me, paired with the compressing feeling of four-fingered toes wrapping around my body. I’m thrown from the branch, caught in the grasp of one of the eagles.

I grip tighter onto my bow, not wanting it to fall into the void below as I’m carried by the creature, which flaps its wings gracefully, carrying me away from the battlefield alongside its kin.

Around me are the rest of the dwarves, all having been scooped up themselves by their respective eagles; the entire company has been left dangling in the claws of the monstrous birds. The only sound that fills the air is the roaring of the orcs behind us, their cries slowly fading in the distance as we fly into the horizon.

Exhaustion is all I feel, my body swinging, almost limp in the air as I’m transported through the atmosphere.

I’m not sure how long I slept for, only that the light trickling over the horizon at the crack of dawn made its way through my eyelids, waking me from my restful slumber. My whole body aches, still suspended in the claws of the eagle, and I squirm slightly.

The terrain which we fly over has changed; the rocky mountains are long gone, revealing only hills of dense forest with creeks and rivers, its beauty heightened by the rising sun, a warm glow.

A small tower of rock and boulder comes into view, like a gray beacon in a sea of green. The eagles begin to circle it, slowly dropping dwarves gently down onto the tip of the tower. I tense my body, preparing to feel solid ground under my feet for the first time in hours.

“Thorin!” Gandalf calls after landing, immediately running to see the fallen dwarf, who lays on the stone. “Thorin…”

I land, knees shaking slightly before I regain my balance. I join the scene, standing beside Bilbo and watching Gandalf as he kneels before Thorin.

The wizard begins speaking, placing a hand over Thorin’s forehead as he chants in foreign tongue.

Thorin’s eyes flicker, the dwarf slowly blinking himself into consciousness again. I let out a sigh, placing a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder in relief. The hobbit looks up at me with a comforting smile, posture easing at the sight of Thorin’s awakening.

“The halfling…” Thorin mumbles in concern as he tries to turn on the floor, attempting to get up.

“It’s alright. Bilbo is here,” Gandalf reassures Thorin with a soft smile. “He’s quite safe.”

“And the elf?”

My eyes widen, peering towards Thorin, who struggles to stand. The rest of the dwarves start to land as well, gathering closer to their king and helping him to his feet.

“You two…” Thorin says gruffly, standing and staring directly at us. I retract my hand from Bilbo’s shoulder, nervously intertwining my fingers behind my back.

“Did I not say that you two would be a burden to this company? An elf and a hobbit, traveling amongst us. Did I not say that you had no place amongst us?” He walks towards us, expression giving away nothing but hints of annoyance and anger.

“I have never been so wrong… in all my life…” Thorin finishes, almost sighing in relief as he almost collapses into the two of us, hugging us tightly.

I let out a deep breath, the stress of everything having suddenly alleviated, as Bilbo and I hold him in our arms, smiling contently.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Thorin says as he pulls back with a smile, eyes darting between us.

We all bask in the moment, smiling and content, the other dwarves laughing happily. The air feels lighter, and my exhaustion fades slightly.

“Is that… what I think it is?” Bilbo’s murmur breaks the silence, and I immediately turn to see what caught his eye.

“Erebor.” Gandalf nods.

A single, tall mountain stands off into the horizon, clouded slightly by the atmosphere. It’s a beautiful sight, the forest seeming to stretch for miles, all the way to the peak.

“The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth,” Gandalf continues.

“Home,” Thorin’s voice rings, seemingly echoing off the nearby mountainous terrain, bouncing off the oak trees and resonating in the air. Perhaps it even reaches the mountain itself.

We’re so close…

Chapter Text

"Did they catch up?" I inquire urgently, watching as Bilbo stumbles quickly down the gap in the boulders.

The moment of solitude we felt on that stone peak was ephemeral; somehow, the wargs and their riders had traversed the mountains at similar pace to our flight, and we were face-to-face yet again.

"They're a couple of leagues away, no more. But that's not the worst of it..." Bilbo pants as he settles in the middle of the group again, placing his hands on his knees as his lungs recover.

"Have the wargs picked up our scent?" asks Dwalin.

"Not yet, but they will do... We have another problem." Bilbo's expression grows serious as he bares his teeth.

"Did they see you?" Gandalf interjects softly, slowly widening his eyes. "They saw you."

"No, that's not it," Bilbo shakes his head and opens his mouth to continue, but is further interrupted.

"See? What did I tell you?" Gandalf smiles, looking across the group. "Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material!"

The dwarves mumble to themselves happily, nodding as a few begin patting Bilbo on the shoulder.

"Bilbo? What's the issue?" I ask curiously, trying to redirect the group's attention back to the situation at hand.

"Will you all just listen?" Bilbo raises his voice, effectively silencing the Dwarvish murmurs. "I'm trying to tell you that there is something else out there," he continues, gesturing back where he came from between the rocks.

"What form did it take?" Gandalf furrows his eyebrows. "Like a bear?"

"Y..." Bilbo starts, but pauses, voice laced with confusion. "Y-yes, but bigger, much bigger."

"You knew about this beast?" Bofur furrows his brow. "I say we double back."

"And be run down by a pack of orcs?" Thorin scoffs.

The company mumbles, exchanging nervous glances as they consider their options. I turn my attention to Bilbo, who purses his lips, looking at me from the corner of his eyes.

"There is a house..." interjects Gandalf, turning back towards the group. "It's not far from here, where we might take refuge."

"Whose house?" Thorin shakes his head, his voice laced with skepticism. "Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," Gandalf relies promptly. "He will help us, or... he will kill us."

"What choice do we have-"

Thorin's grumbling is interrupted by a loud roar in the distance, whipping our attention upwards, back towards the jagged mountains above us.

"None."

~

"Come on!" Gandalf yells from in front of us, motioning his arm forward as he runs.

My feet are on fire; the grass and rocks beneath them dig into the soles of my shoes, creating a shooting sensation of pain with every clunky step of my pace. We're running for our lives.

As we push through the trees, the sounds of growling wargs draw closer, as if echoing from every piece of bark. Another drawn out roar stops us all in our tracks.

"This way! Quickly!"

Gandalf's voice shakes me from my trance. We continue to run, jumping across the rough terrain as dark speckles dance in the corner of my vision. God, I'm so tired.

"To the house! Run!" Gandalf again gestures before us: a small cottage-like dwelling in the distance stands before us, surrounded by a tall fence of grass and twine. A garden extends behind the wall; the grass is littered with dainty houses for bees, flowers, and various plants twirling up different sized stakes.

The cottage door quickly approaches in my vision, growing larger as my footsteps stomp more desperately towards it. Dwarves in front of me charge into it; their stocky bodies hit the hard wood and nearly bounce off the unrelenting structure, and the sound of a roaring beast draws closer in the distance.

"Open the door!" Thorin's voice billows down the trail through the garden, and dwarves continue to push at the entrance. He pushes his way to the front, unlatching a large metal bar from the top side of the door, immediately causing the mass of dwarves to fall face-first into the dwelling.

I grab some fallen dwarves, pulling them further inside the cottage as the rest of the company quickly gathers in.

The beast.

A bear-like creature lunges at us as the doors shut, pushing back against the closing doors. The air is littered with yells and grunts and roars as the dwarves force the doors shut on the beast.

"Push!"

I join in, pushing against the backs of the dwarves who hold the door. The creature roars again, snarling and baring its teeth as it creates resistance against our force. With a final large smash, the door closes.

A somewhat relieved silence passes over the group, with a few dwarves mumbling in shock and others falling to the floor in exhaustion.

"What... was that?" Ori breaks the silence, turning to Gandalf.

"That is our host..." Gandalf starts, pausing as the company turns to face him with wide eyes. "His name is Beorn, and he's a skin-changer. Sometimes, he's a huge black bear, and sometimes, he's a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable... but the man can be reasoned with. However, he is not overfond of dwarves..."

More mumbles plague the crowd as they reflect on Gandalf's words, processing the dangers of our current situation. I steal a glance at Bilbo, who returns my stare with his usual concerned expression, but with a hint of 'hey, he never said anything about elves or hobbits.'

"He's leaving..." Ori narrates, his head pressed against the wood of the front door.

"Come away from there! It's not natural, none of it..." Oin insists. "It's obvious, he's under some sort of dark spell."

"Don't be a fool... he's under no enchantment but his own," Gandalf clarifies, moving to settle into the cottage. "Alright, now, get some sleep, all of you. You'll be safe here tonight," he chimes, calling out across the dwelling.

I sigh, shoving my bag down on a nearby haybale and collapsing to the floor. God, my feet are killing me...

Nearby, Kili, Fili, and Bilbo all settle, clearly sharing the same sentiment of fatigue. Within a few moments, Bombur brings around some scraps of food for us to enjoy, and we relish in the small bits of nourishment.

"When's the last time we ate?" Fili asks rhetorically with a chuckle.

"Gods, it's been days..." Kili replies with a mouth full to the brim with bread. "Missing the Shire yet?" He grins and turns to Bilbo.

"Uh... yeah, yeah I am..." Bilbo looks down at the bread, sheepishly placing some into his own mouth.

"At this rate, I'm gonna start wishing I was back in Alqualondë," I laugh, alongside the group. The four of us chat up a storm, happy to finally have some reprieve from the chaos of the journey.

Our conversation begins to close alongside the setting sun, which casts a reddish glow into the sky, masked only by the oncoming slurry of dark gray clouds.

"Sleeping to the sound of rain is nice, at least," Fili chimes, seeing my gaze being drawn out the window and to the sky.

"Maybe it'll be enough to cover up your snoring," grins Kili as he hits his brother on the arm. The two of them begin to laugh, smacking each other back and forth before Thorin shoots them a firm gaze from across the room: some of the dwarves have already begun to sleep.

The rest of the group settles down, with some dwarves sleeping on top of hay, and others on dirt. A slight pattering of rain trails along the roof, echoing through the hallow wood. Tiredness tugs at my eyelids, but I find myself unable to sleep.

Sighing, I stand, making my way over to the backdoor of the cottage, away from the sleeping company.

The aromatic elements of the garden flood my nostrils, with the crisp breeze hitting me softly as I open the door. I step out slightly, shielded from the rain by the overhang of the cottage, the soft straw dampening and allowing small droplets of water to soak through with a delicate and rhythmic drip, drip, drip.

A cool glow is cast upon the grass from the full moon, a sight I haven't noticed since being back in Rivendell. The moon, the rain, the garden: three elements which make a peaceful night. Or rather, three elements which should make a peaceful night.

"Can't sleep?"

A low and gravely voice breaks the serenity of the night.

"No, not really," I reply, leaning back against a post supporting the cottage, turning to face him. Thorin nods, a silent reply, as he too gazes out at the rainy landscape.

"Have you ever wondered why I was sitting at the table with you, Gandalf, and Elrond back in Rivendell?" I ask quietly and curiously, ready for a confession.

"You're an elf," Thorin replies bluntly. "Of course you were at the... 'special' table."

"No," I shake my head. "That's not why."

His piercing blue eyes meet mine for the first time, the moonlight only heightening their color, an unspoken question, egging me to continue.

"I haven't been entirely truthful about my past with you," I admit softly. "My past in Alqualondë, it was... messier than originally made out to be..."

"Go on."

"Well," I purse my lips nervously. "My father is the lord of Alqualondë."

Thorin's eyebrow raises, and he crosses his arms. I search for something in his expression, anything to tell me how he's feeling, but am met with a stillness.

"I... Well, I left because I was unhappy. And I had been unhappy for many years prior. That's the truth," I sigh, looking back out at the rain with a frown. "I didn't say anything earlier because I didn't want to complicate your opinion of me."

"Hmm," Thorin grumbles, shifting slightly against the doorframe. There is a moment of silence before he continues, evidently taking the time to process. "You could be from royalty, from the slums, from the depths of the sea, it doesn't matter to me. You're here. Your past means nothing when the present gives you purpose. Your origins don't complicate things; I don't care," is all he says, the final words ringing in my ears louder than the rest, but not because of their actual volume.

I don't care.

The candor is almost refreshing.

The rain draws my attention again; those small droplets find me no matter where I may be on the globe, a somewhat unwelcome consistency in my life. I scrunch my nose, feeling my memories flood back to me.

"You make a face every time you watch the rain," Thorin observes.

"Do I?"

"You do," he confirms. "I would've thought a Falmari elf would be quite fond of water."

"Well... I used to be," I smile, a tender feeling washing over me.

~

Rain pattered down on the marble floors, with the sound reaching every inch of the city and the clouds looming like great shadows over the landscape. The grays and blues danced together; a jumble of dull tones – both visual and auditory – swallowed everything, even my thoughts.

I pushed my wet hair from my face, unsticking the strands from my cheeks as I continued to look up at the sky, getting even more raindrops stuck in my eyelashes.

"The storm will get worse soon."

My father's voice interrupts the constant drumming of the rain, and I turn from the bench to look behind me. He says nothing more, simply moving beside me to sit, looking out at the vast sea before us. The castle always did have the best views.

"And for what purpose are you out here in such conditions?" His formal question carries a hint of judgement as he settles in his seat, brushing the small droplets of rain from his own hair.

"Does everything have to have a purpose?" I inquire, only somewhat sarcastically, a calming essence still within my voice. "I like the feeling of the rain."

"Hmmph..." he hums in response, crossing his arms. "Well, I do not. Can we go back inside?"

"Ah, so you do want something from me then? Of course you do..." I turn my head, finally looking into his eyes, my countenance relaying nothing but neutrality.

"It's a conversation better had inside."

"Just get it over with," I sigh, squeezing some of the water from my hair on the floor beside us.

"Well, your fiftieth birthday is coming up... as you know. And it's only fitting that you start considering some things-"

"I'm not getting married." The bluntness of my words cut through the air. It's a conversation my parents had never brought up before, only heavily implied; their deep concern for the vitality of the kingdom was masked under the façade of their simple worries for my apparent loneliness. "I'm not lonely, and I'm not getting married. It's not a discussion to be had."

My father's brow furrows and I see him beginning to rile. He shifts, positioning himself to further face me.

"Meldarion, son of Sellion of the Isles. Your mother and I would like you to meet him at the event next month," he explains, raising an eyebrow and placing a hand on my shoulder, a false sense of comfort. "We think you two would get along..."

"Don't suddenly act like you care about my personal life. You just want to tie the families together and have a son-in-law you can train to be king." I finally return his gaze, removing his hand from my shoulder. "I'm no longer a child; you cannot lie to me."

He scoffs, standing up from the bench and walking towards the railing of the balcony. The rain continues to fall at a higher frequency, the drops only growing larger as they pound against the castle.

"You will have an arranged marriage, as did I, as did your grandfather, and as did his father," he says, resting his back against the railings and facing me, the rain now drenching his hair and trickling down his face. "And you will not be marrying some working scum from the shipyards..."

My eyes widen at his grumbled words. I stand from the bench, the heaviness of my wet clothes weighing me down as I approach him by the railing, shaking my head.

"I... I don't know what you mean," I reply, subtly biting my lip out of concern.

He simply scoffs, his face twisting with an all-knowing anger.

"Don't act innocent. Just as I cannot lie to you, you cannot lie to me. I have eyes all over this city, I don't know how you could be so foolish as to think you'd get away with it... You and Lairondren..."

My stomach sinks at his name. This whole time... he knew?

"Ah... there it is. More of a reaction than I've gotten from you in a long while. You're very cold nowadays, you know that? My daughter..." he speaks my name with a cunning softness, a sly smile making its way onto his lips.

"Don't mock me." I clear my throat, bringing myself back to the moment. "My personal life is not your business."

"Oh, but it is. It is when it involves my inheritance, and my daughter. And my daughter will be marrying someone of noble blood."

"You can't control me anymore." I shake my head, beginning to walk away from him, back towards the castle.

"Running off so soon? Going to see your little ship boy?"

His mockery sends a shiver down my spine, and I itch to give him the reaction he's looking for. But I don't, I won't, and I continue to walk. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I start to turn it.

"I don't think you'll be seeing much more of that young man anymore..."

I freeze, feeling the pit in my stomach growing deeper.

"What?" I choke out, whipping back around to face him.

"You heard me. You won't be seeing him again," he repeats, his shrewd expression growing more intense. "Let's just say... he and his father had a particularly last-minute and intense sailing mission that they were sent on this afternoon, and it seems as though the storm is only growing worse..."

"You... you didn't..." The words seemingly fall out of my mouth as I stumble forward clumsily toward him again, shaking my head with pleading eyes. "It's not... no..."

"He wrote you a letter before leaving, you'll find it on your nightstand."

"You... you..." I can no longer speak, as if I'm choking. Choking on the rain, the words, my feelings. The salty tears welling up in my eyes mingle with the drizzling rain planting itself on my face, running down my body, weighing me down yet again.

"Think of it as an act of kindness, that you even get anything." He moves past me swiftly, no longer meeting my eyes as he strides towards the door. "God... this is one of my favorite coats too, and now I'll have to get it cleaned."

He sighs as he looks down at his attire, beginning to squeeze some liquid out of the fabric as he continues towards the door. As if unphased, he turns the handle, stepping back inside the warmth of the indoors.

"Well, don't stay out too long, or you'll catch a cold."

Those were the last words he spoke before closing the door, leaving me alone again. Alone with the rain, the dull colors, the clouds, the thoughts.

I swallow again, trying to combat the bitter taste of bile slowly rising in my throat, as I approach the railing. But I can no longer look at the sea. Those gloomy clouds, the rain, the ocean. Those dull grays and blues.

And from that day forth, there was only one thing I hated more than my father.

The rain.

~

"My dearest love,
I hope this letter finds you well. My father and I were asked to head towards Middle Earth to retrieve some metals for the new blades being crafted by the blacksmiths, a surprisingly urgent last-minute trip. The reason eludes me, and yet I must go. But worry not, I will be home in a few moons. I know you'll miss me, but remember, in mere months I'll take you far away from here, away from the kingdom, and I'll teach you to sail just as I once learned. Not even the roughest storm or the deepest sea can keep us apart, my love.
Yours, Lairondren."

I close the note, placing it back into the pocket of my cloak before turning back towards Thorin with a soft smile.

"He always did try to be poetic, in his own way," I joke, trying to diffuse the tension.

"You never saw him again?" He asks, drawing back to the conversation, though he knows the answer.

I shake my head, sighing softly, but allowing a small smile to remain on my lips. My negative feelings towards the rain have softened over the years, as if every time I see those graceful droplets, they wash away some of the pain with them.

"He is but a memory now, it's been over fifty years," I reply. "But it's a reminder of what it took for me to get here, the sacrifices made. And I will not take any of it for granted."

Thorin hums in response, taking in my words as he leans further against the doorframe. We stand together in a comfortable silence for a few moments, appreciating the slight breeze and the earthy smell brought on by the rain, as if finding refuge from the vulnerability of conversation. Just for a moment.

"I... appreciate you joining the company." Thorin speaks softly, his voice barely audible against the pattering of the rain and the distant snoring of the other dwarves. "I apologize for my original hostility towards you."

The last statement clearly stings his tongue as he speaks, his tone almost begrudging, as if admitting his faults is a sin. And yet, that's exactly how I know he's being genuine.

"I accept your apology," I reply softly with a smile, glancing over at him again. His eyes don't meet mine – they continue to stare out at the garden – but I notice a bit of color dancing on his cheeks. "I understand how it is, you know. Obviously, I've never been in your situation, but... I can't say I have the best impression of elves either." I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood as I nudge him with my elbow.

He finally cracks a smile, huffing air from his nose: the closest thing to a chuckle I've seen from him. His gaze shifts from me and out to the garden again, taking a final look before pushing himself off the wood.

"Best get some sleep tonight," he says quietly, nodding in my direction before stepping back inside.

"I'll be back in soon"

"Right... but you need to be prepared for tomorrow, it's a long journey to Mirkwood, we can't have you holding us back." Thorin leaves, disappearing into the darkness of the cottage. I smile to myself, somewhat happy he's back in his usual stern and brooding mood, but appreciative of our brief intermission together, frozen in time.

The storm grows heavier, with the droplets of rain seeping through the straw above me growing more frequent. It tickles at my scalp, dropping gently on my hair.

A strange and foreign feeling of contentment swells within me as I watch it. That damned rain. A simple reminder of what was, and what could be.

Chapter Text

“So, you are the one they call Oakenshield?” Beorn’s slow and deep voice probes, his demeanor calm as he pours Kili milk with his breakfast.

We all sit around his table, fiddling with our thumbs nervously as we eat, feeling like unwelcome guests. The breakfast spread is colorful, with thick honey and warm milk paired alongside cheese, bread, potatoes, and fruits.

“Tell me,” Beorn continues. “Why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?”

“You know of Azog?” Thorin turns to face the skin-changer, his eyes flickering at the aforementioned orc's name. “How?”

“My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the orcs came down from the North. The Defiler killed most of my family, but some he enslaved.” Beorn walks around the table as he speaks, slowly filling glasses of milk. “Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him.”

“There are others, like you?” Bilbo leans in, a hint of concern in his eye.

“Once, there were many.”

“And now?”

“Now there is only one.”

Bilbo and I exchange a tense glance from across the table, taking in his words. The rest of the dwarves stir as well, with most of them nervously looking up at the man who towers over us.

“You need to reach the mountain before the last days of autumn,” recites Beorn.

“Before Durin’s day falls, yes,” Gandalf confirms, taking a drag of his pipe.

“You are running out of time,” Beorn says bluntly, sitting in a nearby chair made from unfinished oak.

“Which is why we must go through Mirkwood.”

“A darkness lies upon that forest…” Beorn’s eyes darken. “Fell things creep beneath those trees. I would not venture there, except in great need.”

I purse my lips and look away, considering the forest’s sickness. I haven’t seen it since I left Radagast’s all those months ago; I dread to know what my temporary home looks like now.

“We will take the Elven Road,” Gandalf nods, as if trying to convince the man of our plan. “That path is still safe.”

“’Safe’? The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin,” Beorn explains, his eyes wandering to me. “They’re less wise, and more dangerous. But it matters not.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin’s attention is regained.

“These lands are crawling with orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive.”

Murmurs flood the table, paired with the exchange of nervous glances. Beorn begins to stand, the creaking of his chair silencing the company.

“I don’t like dwarves,” the skin-changer begins again, approaching Thorin from across the room. “They’re greedy and blind. Blind to the lives they deem lesser than their own…”

He steps closer, grabbing a small white mouse from the table and gently holding it in his closed fist.

“But orcs, I hate more. What do you need?”

~

Decay.

It’s all I could think of when those darkened and dead trees approached in the distance. The ponies ran across the flat plains, a forest of gray and barren wood littering the landscape ahead.

In an instant, it’s like I’m back in Rhosgobel, back with Radagast, mixing those bark potions. And they just keep getting darker, and darker, and darker.

“The Elven Gate,” Gandalf mutters, silenced slightly by the light wind. “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.”

I quickly dismount from the pony as I reach the edge of the forest, watching the twisting and spiked branches of the trees as they extend upwards and back, creating an eerie darkness in the distance, blocking out sunlight.

“No sign of the orcs, we have luck on our side,” Balin’s mouth twists into a faint smirk.

“Set the ponies loose; let them return to their master,” Gandalf nods in the direction of the company.

“This forest feels… sick,” Bilbo comments, hopping off his own pony. “As if a disease lies upon it.”

“It is,” I reply, turning to him, a solemn look in my eye. “It is…”

“Why? I mean… is there no way around?”

“Not unless we go 200 miles north,” Gandalf interjects as he walks cautiously into the forest. “Or twice that distance south.”

Bilbo and I watch as he enters, studying some nearby elvish landmarks and stone carvings. I sigh, turning to Bilbo. His eyes are narrowed, as if studying the wooden pillars of the gate – like tall antlers wrapped in green twine – and twiddling with something in the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Got a keepsake?” I ask, breaking the tension.

“W… what, sorry?” Bilbo replies, shaking his head and dropping whatever he was holding back into the pocket. I gesture downwards to it with a smile.

“I mean, did you pick something up to take with you?” I grin, rummaging through my own pockets. I remove the dog that Fili carved, back from the first night when we were away from Bag End. The wood is somewhat darkened now, touched by the elements, but overall, has stayed mostly intact. “Fili carved this back in the Shire, during our first night on watch.”

Bilbo nods, looking at the poorly carved animal, cracking a slight smile.

“And yours?” I ask again, placing the dog back in my tunic for safekeeping.

“Oh, mine?” Bilbo asks, fumbling with his cloak and waistcoat. “It’s just… a ring, is all.” He carefully and discreetly removes the ring from his pocket, showing me a plain golden band, before slipping it nervously back into his waistcoat.

“Wow that’s… that’s beautiful, and it honestly might be worth a lot if its gold,” I smile, watching as he quickly hides it again. “Good call keeping it safe, something like that will make a good… souvenir? I guess?” I chuckle.

“Yeah… Yeah, it will,” Bilbo nods, seemingly on edge, but I brush it off.

I reach into the pocket of my satchel, feeling the cold metal of my own ring, the one which I removed when I first came to Middle-earth and met Gandalf in Mithlond. It feels like years ago now.

I don’t care.

Thorin’s words from the previous night echo in my mind.

Carefully removing the ring from its pocket, I hold it up to the sunlight. The blue stone glistens, just as it did in Aman; the same sun watches over it, no matter where I am. I slip the ring back on my right ring finger, taking a deep breath of air with it. No longer will I try to escape the past.

“Not my horse! I need it!” Gandalf’s yelling billows from the forest as he steps back out onto the plains.

“You’re not leaving us…” Bilbo sighs, almost dejected. I furrow my brow, opening my mouth to begin to protest, but quickly decide against it.

“I would not do this unless I had to. I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe, and do not enter that mountain without me.”

Thorin lets out a soft grumble but nods in agreement.

“This is not the Greenwood of old.” Gandalf begins with another explanation. “There is a stream in the woods that carries a dark enchantment: do not touch the water. Cross only by the stone bridge. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It’ll seek to enter your mind and lead you astray.”

“’Lead us astray’?” Bilbo asks, turning to me again. “What does that mean?”

“You must stay on the path. Do not leave it. If you do, you will never find it again.” Gandalf begins to ride off on his horse, calling out from the distance. “Stay on the path!”

“Come on,” Thorin interrupts, pushing through the group, towards the gate. “We must reach the mountain before the sun sets on Durin’s day. It’s our once chance to find the hidden door.”

The group of us filter behind our leader, through the gates and into the dense forest. The wood grows from the earth in every direction, and leaves litter the floor like warm-toned patches of fallen sunlight, small hints of color in a monochromatic maze.

“Path turns this way,” Thorin announces as he brushes his boot on the ground, revealing an unkept, stone path.

The narrow, winding stone begins to carry us through the darkness. Thick tree trunks surround every corner, lined with moss, mushrooms, and lichen. Sparce rays of sunlight filter through the trees, their small flickers of brightness offering a semblance of peace and alerting us to the time of day. I dare to think what will come after nightfall.

I rub my eyes; something feels almost… intoxicating. The longer we walk, the more I feel as though I may faint with every step. I’m just tired from a lack of sleep… That’s all.

“We found the bridge,” a voice calls from ahead, presumably Bofur.

Bilbo tugs at the corner of my tunic, looking up into my eyes, studying my features. I nod down at him, blinking a few times and taking a deep breath before continuing forward.

“Oh…” Bofur mumbles, letting out a huff of air as he reaches the edge of the bridge. Bilbo pushes past the other dwarves, dragging me along with him.

“It’s… broken,” I mutter under my breath with a sigh, looking down at the murky, black water below. A small layer of fog billows over the tar-like liquid, and a pungent smell protrudes up from it.

“We could try to swim it?” Bofur suggests.

“Didn’t you hear what Gandalf said?” Thorin calls from behind, firmly. “A dark magic lies upon this forest. The waters of this stream are enchanted.”

“Doesn’t look very enchanting to me…”

“We must find another way across.”

The company begins trudging off in a new direction, parallel to the stream. I, however, continue to look into it. The bubbling darkness, laced with dead lily pads and an assortment of other decomposing plants, looks like it could swallow someone whole.

“These vines look strong enough!” Kili calls from the distance.

“Kili!” Thorin yells, stopping the younger dwarf before he can climb onto them.

Thick and dirty vines, dropping down from the trees above, create a mismatched and jumbled landscape, perpendicular to the stream: a way to cross.

“We send the lightest first.”

Thorin’s statement draws all eyes to Bilbo, who stands beside me, still watching the river. He opens his mouth for a moment, considering what to say, but closes it again not long after. Sighing, he begrudgingly walks over to Kili, attempting to step onto the vines.

“Careful…” I whisper under my breath as I watch his clumsy progression through the jungle of vines.

He attempts to navigate the mess, placing his feet delicately with each step and grabbing onto some of the vines with his hands, but my stomach still twists and turns. After a few slip-ups, he jumps across the water, barely managing to stumble onto the broken stone path on the other side of the river.

Without a second to spare, the other dwarves begin climbing onto the vines themselves, all at once.

So much for caring about weight limits…

I sigh as I join them on the branches, desperately trying to balance and not fall victim to the dark water below. Bilbo mumbles nonsense from the other side, the sickness of the forest clearly getting to him, but I try to focus on the task at hand, and my own personal sanity. I feel the thoughts arising, and I push them away.

Splash!

“Bombur!” A voice calls from ahead on the vines.

Bombur’s orange hair peeks out from the water below, his braids floating next to his head as he rests in the water, deep in sleep.

Groans sound from the vines as the dwarves all begin to trickle downwards, towards the site of the incident. The first few of them pull Bombur towards the shore by his feet, hoisting him onto the stone path.

I assist with some of the other dwarves’ travels, lending them a hand as they transverse the vines and reach the shore. Just as I myself hop down to solid ground, the group has managed to fully pull Bombur to shore, his soaked body still in a state of deep drowsiness.

Within a few minutes, Bofur, Oin, Gloin, and Ori have created a makeshift stretcher for the larger dwarf, rolling him onto it as they each take a corner to carry.

“My head…” Bilbo groans from beside me, placing two fingers on his temple and wincing.

“I know, we have to just keep moving,” I rest my hand on his shoulder reassuringly, smiling down warmly, though I feel the thickness of illusion moving like a sheet, slowly engulfing me as well.

We continue for what feels like days, walking along paths that look identical, up and down, left and right, back and forth. My legs grow tired with the weight of my body, and my mind grows just as tired trying to keep the forest’s magic at bay. Soon it will seep in as well.

As we approach a new section of the forest, a sweet, salty smell infuses the air around me, like a bakery on a warm morning by the sea.

“Bilbo… Bilbo, Bilbo,” I shake my head groggily as I tap him furiously on the shoulder. “You smell that too, right?”

“What… what? I smell what too?” he murmurs, looking up at me with a furrowed brow.

“Mmmm… bread… and cookies, with sea salt. Just like I had… back in Alqualondë.”

“No, no,” he shakes his head and pats me on the arm somewhat aggressively, saying my name over and over again like a chant. “It’s not real.”

“Gods… I feel drunk,” I manage to whisper, blinking my eyes at the path ahead. The other dwarves have begun murmuring their own thoughts, a jumble of nonsensical slurred speech.

Bilbo looks down at his feet, his facial features mimicking the confusion on my own.

“Are you… are you alright?”

He nods, forcefully, before the two of us are drawn to a halt by Thorin up ahead. Conversations split as the group begins chatting to each other, discussing the route and the path.

“We’ve lost the path,” I groan, covering my face with my hands.

“We’re going around in circles,” Bilbo concludes, clearing his throat. He speaks up, announcing: “We are lost!”

“We are not lost. We keep heading east,” Thorin insists from the front of the group.

“But which way is east? We’ve lost the sun…” Bofur’s voice carries a hint of defeat within it.

“The sun…” Bilbo murmurs, looking up at the small rays breaking through the dense leaves above us.

“Hey… hey you…” A firm hand grabs my shoulder. “You’re an elf. You should know your way around here.” Oin’s voice distracts me from Bilbo’s comment, and I turn to face him.

“You… I’m from Alqualondë not Mirkwood,” I roll my eyes, though not maliciously. “You know this.”

“But you, you should have some way to tell, from being an elf.”

He isn’t making sense anymore. The magical sickness is taking over us all.

“Enough! Quiet! All of you!” Thorin’s shouts silence the rest of us, our conversations halting as we stare at our leader with wide eyes.

“We are being watched…”

Before I can react, I hear a hiss from behind me, a crash, and a bang.

And then, nothingness.

~

I gasp as I wake, a suffocating feeling engulfing my entire body as my back slams against something hard.

“What the-”

I cough as I’m interrupted, a sharp pain shooting through my entire body as something, or someone falls on directly top of me, smashing my torso further into the solid ground below me. Frantically flailing my limbs, I try to free myself from this unfamiliar cage, a sticky, stringy, pale substance which encases my entire form.

My eyes shoot open as I pull it from my face, desperate to have some air and understanding of what is happening. All around me, dwarves groan and huff as they free themselves from their respective traps, a frenzied and uncoordinated sight. We all struggle to get off the ground, pushing away the substance which encases us. Is that… webbing?

Pain shoots through my head and I nearly collapse again, my memories flooding back to me. We were being watched and then… and… did I just fall from somewhere?

I groan, pressing my hands on either side of my head to soothe the unrelenting pain.

“Where’s Bilbo?” A voice calls through the chaos.

“Run!” Another calls out.

Still covered in webs, I try to navigate my clouded thoughts and pounding head, forcing one foot in front of the other. The disorientation is all-consuming, and I can no longer tell what’s around me, or where I’m going, only that I am alive. A calloused hand aggressively grabs my shoulder, pulling me forward as I continue to cough.

Breathe… Breathe…

I look up to see a clearing of sorts, surrounded by trees and webs, a familiar sight in this hellish forest. We congregate in the center, and I finally feel conscious enough to gather my bearings. The sound of weapons being unsheathed echoes in the forest, and I reach back to grab my own sword.

“Spiders!” Kili shouts from ahead.

Spiders? What does he mean-

Oh.

The sound of fresh blood squelching sends tingles up my spine as I unsheathe my sword, with the dwarves all around me already beginning to fight. Large, terrifyingly animated spiders lunge towards us in every direction, their webs continuing to entangle the forest surrounding the clearing.

Just as my blade hits the dim light of the forest, a creature jumps at me, its eight limbs outstretched and fangs bared. I strike upwards, skewering the opponent by its head as it pushes me onto my back, my body hitting the hard dirt once again. It screams in pain, thrashing it’s legs in the air before collapsing onto the blade.

I pant, keeping my sword upright and awkwardly twisting it to the side and forcing the beast off me. Stumbling to my feet again as I pull my blade from its flesh, I scan my surroundings again. We’re inundated with them, the creatures.

Blades, arrows, and fists fly, smashing into the creatures one by one as they approach.

“This way!”

A voice only belonging to Thorin calls from the side of the courtyard, drawing us away from the center of battle. I push some more webs from my face, and with it some dirt, trying to remove the reminders of the spiders’ grasps.

We run as the horde follows, jumping over more crooked and broken trees, through more webs.

“Come on, keep up!” Dwalin yells.

“We’re clear!” Thorin’s words are followed by a sudden halt by the company. I stumble forward, watching as a large spider descends from the trees above, guided by its web.

Zing!

It’s a strange sound, like metal scraping against itself, in the distance and above us. A tap on my arm sends my vision upwards: movement in the trees.

A tall, slender figure slides down a descending web before smashing its feet onto the creature which sourced it. He glides, using the momentum of the hill before us, before quickly dismounting, sliding under the spider in front of us, killing it with a sharp cut beneath its abdomen, and drawing his bow: straight at Thorin’s head.

I grip my sword tighter, but the echo of bowstrings being loaded causes my focus to falter. Surrounding us, in every direction, are elves.

“Do not think I won’t kill you dwarf. It would be my pleasure,” the elf before us calmly jeers, a small smirk making its way onto his lips. His eyes flicker to mine, unsurprisingly, as the only elf and tallest member of the company, and his expression falters, just for a moment.

“Out of the frying pan…” Kili mumbles beside me, inaudible to anyone else, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

“And into the fire.”

Chapter Text

And then it clicks. It's him.

"Search them!" The elf's yells billow through the forest, drawing the auburn-haired soldiers forward. I narrow my eyes, studying his features from up close: those blue eyes, that blonde hair, the unique armor. It could only belong to him. The man who I've seen from a distance before, yet never faced.

"You," Legolas says, tightening his bowstring as he turns the head of his arrow to point towards me. I lower my sword to the ground slowly and open my mouth to speak, but am quickly cut off by his hostile words.

"Silence," he demands, looking down at me in suspicion. The rest of the soldiers approach us, beginning to search the dwarves, confiscating weapons and patting down pockets. Groans and protests follow, with each dwarf being searched by a corresponding elf, while the prince and I stay silent, unmoving, as if statues.

"I've seen you before," the prince finally says with curiosity in his tone, retracting his weapon as he steps closer to me. "You were in Rhosgobel... What is an elf doing with a band of dwarves?"

"What's it to you?" The words come out harsher than I would've intended, but the meaning carries.

"I'm the one with the weapon," Legolas retorts while kicking my fallen sword further away. He places a hand on my upper arm, forcefully turning my body as he grabs the bow from my back, alongside my quiver. "Answer the question."

"I'm here for the same purpose as anyone else in this company..."

He scoffs slightly, moving to search the rest of my body. He pats up my legs militantly, quickly finding the dagger hidden within my right boot. I grit my teeth as he continues, his hands reaching my hips as he runs them along my utility belt, confiscating yet another shortsword.

Finally, he reaches my arms, running his hands along my sleeves before reaching my hands. Another elf walks by, handing him rope which he promptly secures around my wrists, the uneven and sharp texture causing me to wince.

"Any other weapons?" he asks, sighing as he steps back, grabbing my longsword from the forest floor.

"Find out yourself," I huff in annoyance, plucking some of sticky, rogue spiderwebs from my arms with my awkwardly cuffed hands.

I can't understand why they're so hostile; the elves of Rivendell were very welcoming...

Before he can respond, another soldier approaches him, handing him Thorin's seized sword. He hums, his attention drawn away from me and towards the blade as he studies its craftsmanship in the dim sunlight which flickers through the leaves above.

"This is an ancient Elvish blade, forged by my kin..." the prince observes, flipping the sword in his hands as he speaks in Sindarin, a somewhat familiar language to me from my time studying at the royal court.

"Where did you get this?" Legolas switches back to English, turning his attention to Thorin as he flips the sword upright, holding it firmly by the handle.

"It was given to me," Thorin replies in a firm but hushed whisper.

The prince's gaze shifts from the cool metal of the blade to Thorin's eyes, the slightest hint of a smile plastered on his lips. He lowers the tip of the sword, swinging it down towards Thorin, stopping it right at his throat.

"Not just a thief, but a liar as well..." Legolas grins before swiping the sword away. "Take them away!" He calls out to the soldiers in Sindarin.

I grunt as a forceful shove contacts my shoulder blade, sending me stumbling forward, towards the direction of their realm. Steadying myself on Bofur, I nod a silent thanks to him before continuing to walk.

"Thorin, where's Bilbo?" Bofur whispers to the other dwarf behind him, before being forcefully lead down the path with the rest of the group.

Bilbo?

I quickly scan the tops of the dwarves' heads, counting each one as I pass.

Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bombur, Ori, Dori, Nori...

"Shit, you're right," I murmur to Bofur as we begin trekking further down the path.

"You think the spiders got to him?"

I bite my lip nervously, considering the options. The trees around us are eerily silent, devoid of any noises, man or spider.

"Hopefully he got out and ran far away from this disaster..." I eventually nod down at Bofur, trying to stay optimistic. He returns with wide eyes, a twistedly concerned expression.

"You," a firm voice says from behind me, paired with a squeezing sensation on my upper arm. "Come with me." Legolas comes into my line of sight, pulling me forward by my arm to the front of the group.

"I can walk by myself," I grumble, wrangling my arm from his grasp. He obliges, releasing his hold but nodding forward, not meeting my gaze.

"Where are you from?" he asks in Sindarin.

"My heritage is no concern of yours," I reply in English. "We are not cordial; I will not speak with you in your native tongue."

"In my native tongue?" he repeats, humming to himself. "But you do understand it, at the very least."

"And our understanding of the Sindarin language is our only shared quality," I reply firmly, eyes sharply focused on the path ahead as we walk. "I am no idiot; you will get no information from me simply because we are both elves."

He scoffs, almost chuckling to himself as I speak.

"Fine, have it your way," he sighs, shrugging with a coy smile.

The walk to their fortress is short, with time passing quickly as the trees shift from dark and twisted to a softer and autumnal. Soon, we reach a short, stone bridge, opening to a large architectural façade built into rock with some dull-gray stone pillars extending up to the sky like intertwining trees. Moss grows, lining the bottom of the concrete and stretching up to the faint blue paneling of the outer wall; a blend of cool tones contrasts the yellowing leaves which fall from above.

A billowing waterfall roars gently beside the bridge, casting its water beneath us, a different stream from the darkened tar we had crossed previously. Finally, a flicker of light reaches us, the warmth caressing my face for the first time in what felt like days, a welcome comfort.

I study the kingdom as the gates open, the guards on either side pushing against the large doors as the company crosses the bridge. Legolas pauses, stepping to the side and letting the rest of the guards pass him, furrowing his brow at something in the air.

"This is..." I hear mumbling to my side, Fili already looking up and into the cavern as we are led inside. A damp but fresh smell draws my vision slowly into the fortress, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim lighting.

"The Woodland Kingdom," I whisper under my breath, taking every detail in. Curved bridges of stone and wood intertwine, crossing over one another, creating a coordinated network like the branches of a tree. Soft rays of light float in from holes in the rock above, working synchronously with the warm glow of torched chandeliers, the walls lined with a thin layer of dewy moss.

In the center of it all lies a taller platform, held with intricately carved stone pillars, joining together with arches and extending branches like the antlers of a stag: the throne room.

The elves direct us across the bridges, over a rippling waterfall which flows through the rock, all the way to a more secluded area of the cavern. Small but intricate cells are speckled throughout the winding stone walls, still opening to the larger area of the cavern.

One by one, each dwarf's rope is cut, and they are thrown into their respective cells by the soldiers, the heavy metal bars slamming and creating a cacophony of sound. An aggressive push jolts me from my thoughts, my body being sent into a different alcove, the clicking of a lock sounding behind me. The cell is cold, the beginning of an autumn chill causing drafts of frigid air to settle from the crevasse above.

I turn and wrap my hands around the solid bars, a shiver running down my spine at the touch. My eyes wander out, watching as the soldiers retreat into another section of the realm, until they reach Legolas. He watches sternly, arms crossed as he scans the cells, studying each captive until moving onto the next.

Sighing, I rest my head against the cool stone wall, sliding down against it to sit on the floor.

"What have we done..." I mumble to myself.

~

It has been almost 20 minutes since they took Thorin.

The air felt heavier, the rest of us murmuring to each other through the thick walls, across the gorges.

"Do you think he'll make a deal?" I call out softly to Balin, situated in the cell adjacent to mine.

"No, lass," he hums dejectedly, and I can almost hear him shaking his head. "Thorin is far from fond of the Woodland king."

I purse my lips, mind reeling with millions of thoughts, but one overpowers them all:

Are we going to make it to the mountain by Durin's Day?

"Stand."

The harsh command tears my attention from my imagination and to the door to the cell, where I'm met with the prince yet again. I raise an eyebrow but obey his command, steadying myself as I plant my feet.

Another soldier unlocks my cell door, entering and promptly grabbing my wrists and tying them together once more.

"Is this really necessary?" I sigh, looking away. "I'm unarmed..."

Without a reply, the elf grabs my arm, tearing me from the cell to face the prince. He passes me off to Legolas, whose grip is somehow even tighter on me.

"Your presence is requested by the king," he states promptly, already beginning to lead me away from the prison.

The walk is silent, though I can feel the prince's stare burning into the side of my face, as if studying me. I look at him from the corner of my eye, causing him to divert his gaze.

"Staring problem..." I huff, though not entirely angrily.

"Who are you?" Legolas scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows he won't get an answer.

We approach the throne room, perched on a high rock in the middle of the crevasse; the stone and wood wind up and up, merging in a feat of elven architecture.

"There are gems in the mountain that I too desire," a deep and steady voice echoes, the unfamiliar tone causing me to glance ahead, up to the throne room. "White gems, of pure starlight. I offer you my help..."

My eyes find Thorin, his black wavy hair almost swallowing him from this angle. He stares up at the elf, presumably the king, whose stature is nearly double the height of the dwarf's.

"I am listening," Thorin's low voice rumbles in return.

Legolas stops walking at the base of the staircase leading up to the throne, his arm tugging me back. He gives me a stern look before his gaze darts upwards to the men.

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine," the elf speaks again, his voice almost demanding.

"A favor for a favor," Thorin hums, now turning his back to walk away from the king. I catch his eyes from below as he narrows them, a silent communication.

"You have my word; one king to another." The elf's voice is commandeering and firm, a small smirk growing on his thin lips. Thorin pauses for a moment, his expression becoming sterner before he swiftly turns back on his heel.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word," Thorin calls, raising his voice as he steps closer to the king. "Should the end of all days be upon us! You, who lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends..." Thorin spits, continuing to speak as waves of emotion crash over him, gesturing and approaching the king more aggressively now.

"We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help. But you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!" Thorin continues, speaking words in Khuzdûl, seething in anger.

"Do not speak to me of dragon fire," the king suddenly interjects, leaning down to be level with Thorin, their faces just inches apart. "I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North," he continues, now stepping back. "I warned your grandfather what his greed would summon, but he would not listen. You are just like him."

Without another word, Thranduil waves for the guards to take Thorin away, two of them tugging at his arms.

"Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf!" The king calls after Thorin. "I am patient. I can wait!"

As Thorin is dragged down the stairs begrudgingly, he grunts, shaking his shoulders as if trying to free himself. He passes me, saying nothing, but simply looking at me with his cold, dark stare. If we weren't companions, I would think it a silent warning.

The walk up the staircase is charged with tension, as if I can still hear the king's voice echoing in my mind. What is he going to want with me?

Thranduil is tall man – tall like the pillars and trees encompassing his kingdom – with long, white hair that falls gently down to the middle of his back. But he is anything but gentle, I know that now, for his presence looms over the cavern like a misty shadow, darkened by something of a grim depravity.

He hums as I approach, tapping his fingers delicately on the side of his throne, his nails creating a constant clicking sound against the hollow wood. His lips curl up into a slight smirk, his gaze piercing into my soul as he runs his eyes across me, like a predator studying its prey.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a Falmari visiting my halls?" he eventually hums neutrally, contrasting his previous demeanor, standing graciously with his hands behind his back as he steps closer from the throne.

"'Visiting' is quite a gentle term," I huff slightly, putting my bound hands in the air, still trying to remain somewhat professional through the current situation.

The king's smile grows, his eyes widening almost in a playful way before he beckons to one of the guards nearby. The elf approaches me, promptly cutting the ropes around my wrists.

"As I asked," Thranduil continues. "To what do I owe the pleasure... especially of someone with a title such as yours?"

I feel my chest tighten as Legolas furrows his brow beside me, glancing between me and his father, as if trying to figure out what he means.

The ring.

I stare back down at my hand, seeing that damned twinkle of the sea stone. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to return it to my hand.

"Yes, it was the ring that gave you away," he confirms my suspicions, shaking his head with a sly smile, speaking my name. "Daughter of Suiauthon, correct? I haven't seen those stones in many, many years. Not since I last saw your father." His words are spoken slowly, as if each syllable is calculated. Intentional. Precise.

I simply nod.

"Mhmm..." his hum is again filled with something else, something scheming, or even sinister. "How unfortunate that you've chosen to step down as heir to Alqualondë or perhaps we'd have met under different circumstances..."

"I take it you and my father exchange communications?" I reply curtly, hearing his taunting tone but not wanting to react, the feeling of Legolas' stare piercing into the side of my face, reminding me to keep a professional appearance.

"That we do..." Thranduil nods, now beginning to walk a circle around me. "I'm interested to know how he'd react if he knew his only daughter was caught trespassing in my kingdom... alongside a band of dwarves." His emphasis on the last word causes me to suppress an eyeroll.

"My engagements are no concern of his," I reply, eyes not budging from ahead of me.

"And yet, if they were, it would have worked in your favor," he says, finally coming back around to face me. "I'm sure he'd pay a pretty penny to see you returned home safe to Alqualondë."

"At one point he would've."

"But no longer?" Thranduil grins at his own rhetorical question, returning to his throne. He sits back down for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought.

"What do you really want from me?" I say, my face mirroring the expression of his own. "Enough with the niceties. My father won't give you anything for my return, I promise you he cares not for my undertakings."

"You're not like your father, you're... direct," he sighs with a slight chuckle. "But you're correct, I suspect he cares not for your actions. However," the king tilts his head, conniving expression finally letting loose. "Alqualondian royal reputation being tainted? Now that, I suspect he cares for. Especially regarding one of his strongest allies."

"And?"

"And if I was to voice these concerns to him, perhaps even threaten to cut my trade..."

"So, you're blackmailing me," I scoff, almost laughing at the attempt. "And you think he'd rather see me dead than his commerce disrupted?"

"Well, he doesn't have to know, if we make a deal," he says, finally settling further into the throne, intertwining his fingers gently over his thighs.

"If you didn't hear it from Thorin, you won't hear it from me."

"I seek not information," Thranduil says, shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively. "You overheard my conversation with Oakenshield, did you not?"

"Yes..."

"The jewels. I'll release you, and all your little Dwarf friends, if you seek those gems in the mountain, returning them to me," he explains, raising an eyebrow. "Oakenshield will never know, he will not miss them. Tell the dwarves you were released because of... elvish matters which do not concern them. You decide that-"

"No," I reply firmly, cutting him off. "If Thorin has denied you already, I won't go against his wishes."

"You're quite disrespectful for royalty," Thranduil replies curtly, his voice laced with more aggression than before.

"I may not be amicable with my father, but he would never condone my death over something such as trade," I roll my eyes, sure in my words. "You cannot blackmail me with him."

"Your life isn't in his hands, it's in mine," he growls, tone growing more hostile as he steps closer. But for some reason, I feel certain he won't kill me.

We stare at each other in silence for a moment, eyes piercing into each other's, Thranduil's sly smirk long since faded from his face. I sigh, beginning to speak again.

"And I believe my father would have a bigger issue if you killed me-"

"Your father is soft," he almost snarls, placing one finger on my chest, the pressure driving into my sternum. "He will do nothing about you. Do not think I am like him; you know not the true meaning of 'king,' being sheltered in the marble halls of Alqualondë."

He turns, just as quickly as he leaned in, waving his hand contemptuously. Without another word, Legolas' hand meets my arm again, squeezing tight as he tugs me away.

"I'll send word to your father tomorrow, lest you change your mind before then," Thranduil calls as I'm dragged away by Legolas, submitting to his grasp.

I sigh, walking back down the stairs and away from the throne room alongside the prince. The walk back to the cell is silent, charged with tension, a silence before Legolas breaks it.

"He has killed people for less than that," he simply comments, gaze darting to mine as we walk, his grip still tight on me.

"And he'd have issues if he did. I know where I stand," I say, a bit shaken by the king's outburst but confident in my stance.

"I wouldn't be so sure."

I roll my eyes, gaze now moving down to the dagger by his side, dangling in its sheath. We're all alone, the only sound being our footsteps echoing through the halls and the soft flowing of a distant waterfall. The other soldiers have scattered, presumably gathering for a meal, as I'm certain it's around dinnertime. I flex my fingers, itching to make a move.

It would be so easy... If I just...

It all happened in an instant: me, tearing my arm from the prince's grasp and reaching straight for the sword, and him, switching his grip to my wrist and forcing me against a nearby wall with his other arm.

We struggle together for a moment, my hand straining to pull the knife from the sheath, the other gripping his forearm, trying to push it away from my neck. I spit in his face, attempting to distract him for a moment, but he only pushes me further against the stone. He's too strong.

I struggle to breathe as his arm crushes my neck between him and the wall, my grip quickly leaving the handle of the dagger to push his arm away. He moves his body closer to mine, now pinning my lower body to the wall, arm not leaving my neck as he uses his other hand to draw the dagger from his belt.

He promptly pulls his arm back, leaving me gasping for air as he brings the dagger straight to my throat, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he wipes my spit from his cheek.

"You really thought that would work?" he mocks softly, his body still pressing mine against the wall as the cold edge of the dagger lightly grazes my skin. I push my head back further desperate to escape the knife.

I can feel his every breath on my face, every rise and fall of his chest, every slight shift in his position. My jaw tightens and I narrow my eyes.

"Kill me then," I whisper, taunting him, knowing he won't. Knowing he can't.

He tilts his head, smile growing wider as he pulls the dagger back, sheathing it again while he grabs my arm, his hold now tighter.

"Count yourself lucky," he chimes, pulling me back from the wall and continuing down the hallway. He doesn't even try to shield the dagger, knowing I won't try again.

He's too confident...

And once again, I'm forced back into the dingy cell, the heavy doors closing behind me, sending a gust of air against my back. I don't look at him again, though I feel the prince's presence lingering. I stare at the wall, sighing as I sit back on the cold floor. I won't turn around and give him the satisfaction. I can't.

Chapter Text

"I'll wager the sun is on the rise," Bofur groans, voice echoing through the chambers, reaching into every cell. "Must be nearly dawn."

I yawn, rubbing my eyes as I stand up from the hard, cold floor. A soft, warm light trickles into my cell, disrupted by the shadows of the iron bars.

"We're never gonna reach the mountain, are we?" Ori's soft voice meekly calls out.

Sighing, I move to press my head against the cell bars, allowing the coolness of the metal to soothe my tired head. Sleep, last night, was unforgiving.

"Not stuck in here, you're not."

A familiar voice and a jingling of metal. My eyes open wide and dart to the origin of the sound: just across the rock from my cell, standing as a free man, is none other than Bilbo.

"Bilbo!" Balin calls, the first of much clamor that fills my ears as dwarves celebrate the arrival of their comrade.

"Shh, there are guards nearby!" Bilbo hisses as he begins to unlock Thorin's cell with a set of iron keys. I watch as Thorin steps out, a relieved expression on his face.

Bilbo then makes his way over to my cell, across from Thorin's, undoing the mechanism of the door with a different key.

"Bilbo," I speak his name softly, immediately enveloping him into a warm hug, unable to wipe the grin from my face. "I'm so glad you're alive," I say, my cheek pressed against the top of his head.

"Hurry, Master Baggins," Thorin mumbles, placing an arm on Bilbo's shoulder to pull us apart. "We have no time for this." I nod, letting Bilbo go and allowing him to release the other dwarves from their respective cells.

We begin to gather by one of the stairways leading away from the prison, counting heads to make sure each dwarf is accounted for.

"Here, up the stairs," Dwalin whispers, placing his hand on the shoulder blade of Balin before gesturing up the stairs which curve to an area of flickering candlelight.

"Not that way," Bilbo quickly corrects. "Down here, follow me," he commands, already beginning to hustle down an adjacent staircase.

The company mumbles and huffs as we begin to travel further into the crevasse of the Woodland Realm, the sunlight growing fainter as we descend. Barrels upon barrels lie within the cellar of the fortress, with wooden torches lighting the way, contrasting the refined sconces from above.

The soft sound of breathing nearly makes me stop in my tracks as we reach the end of the concrete staircase, two half-asleep elves resting their heads on a nearby wooden table, stirring ever-so-slightly. My eyes widen, quieting my footsteps as I gesture to the rest of the company, a silent beckoning.

Bilbo tip-toes ahead, his large feet surprisingly light against the floor as he creeps further towards the elves, leaving the rest of us perched nervously on the stairs.

"This way," he eventually whispers, motioning for us to join him in sneaking around the table and behind a large shelf of meads and wine. "Come on."

"I don't believe it, we're in the cellars!" Kili scoffs, raising his voice to a harsh whisper as his face twists in frustration.

"You were supposed to be leading us out, not further in," adds Bofur, brows furrowed as he approaches Bilbo.

"I know what I'm doing-"

"Shhh!" Bofur quickly hushes the hobbit before hearing his explanation, continuing down the path Bilbo gestures to.

We begin consolidating again behind a group of barrels, turned on their side and stacked upon one another, the lot of us no more than twenty feet from the sleeping elves.

"Everyone," Bilbo announces. "Climb into the barrels, quickly!"

"Are you mad?" Dwalin calls out in concern, rapidly approaching Bilbo. "They'll find us."

"No, no," Bilbo begins, desperately shaking his head, almost pleading. "They won't, I promise you. Please, please, you must trust me."

His eyes wander to mine, my head above all the dwarves, and I give him a reassuring nod. I trust him.

"Do as he says," Thorin's grumble echoes through the cellar, sending a wave of murmurs through the other members of the company. He stands to the side, glancing at Bilbo once more before flicking his head, motioning to the barrels.

I bite my lip, watching as the dwarves begin climbing head-first into the barrels. I reach towards one of the upper ones, almost climbing over it before using the leverage to swing my legs inside, sinking down onto my knees as I settle. Squirming slightly, I adjust my position so my knees aren't completely digging into my chest, and slowly pop my head out of the top, the world now appearing sideways in orientation.

"Everyone's in..." Bilbo mumbles under his breath, counting the barrels and dwarves alike as he paces across the wooden floor.

"What do we do now?" Bofur inquires, popping his head from the barrel. The rest of the company follows suit.

"Hold your breath," Bilbo grunts while pushing a lever protruding from the floor.

"Hold my breath? What do you me-" The shifting of the floor beneath us causes Bofur's words to catch in his throat. "Wait, wait, wait, wait!"

A cold burst of wind sends my hair flying and I feel my stomach drop, gravity pausing as I feel the barrel tumble through the air, the spinning force sending my flying into the side of the wood. Tucking my head back into the barrel, I grip the cold metal on the rim as I hold my breath.

Freezing water rushes into the barrel as I grunt upon the impact, almost too stunned to process what was happening as I feel my weight shifting in the wood as the barrel continues to move. I cough, blinking hard as I push my wet hair from my face and eyes, sticking my head back out and taking a deep breath.

Rough stone and wood walls extend upwards on either side of a river, dark and murky water trickling down from adjacent waterfall which churns the stream forward. The dwarves – each one popping their heads out of an identically wet barrel – begin creating a web of barrels, holding each others' like a network.

Another soft splash draws my attention back, as Bilbo resurfaces, panting in the water like a lost puppy. He coughs and sputters as he quickly grabs Nori's barrel, nodding up at Thorin, in the front of the pack.

"Well done, Master Baggins," Thorin's lips twist into a soft smile before shooting his arm forward: a signal to ride the current.

Barrels thud together as we begin to trail down the stream, paddling with our arms to travel quicker. The soft glow of sunlight trickles into the cavern from ahead, and I let out a sigh of relief, just as I hear Sindarin yells from above.

"Hold on!"

Thorin's yell causes my gaze to snap up ahead, where the dwarf begins to fall down a small waterfall at the exit of the kingdom. A series of yells and splashes follow as each barrel tumbles down, though the whitewater and crashing into the deep river below.

And for a second time, I hold my breath.

My barrel tumbles like the rest of them, and as quick as it capsized into the depths of the water, it resurfaced, my lungs inflating again. I cough out some stray water and look around at the equally as disheveled dwarves around me.

"Bilbo, hang on!" Nori calls out to Bilbo, the dwarf holding onto the hobbit has he clutches the side of the barrel.

I use my arms to paddle with the flow of water, closer to Nori's barrel. I hold onto it, sandwiching Bilbo between the two of us and keeping him safe from any potential jagged rocks, stretching out from the terrain. The environment around us is far different from that of the Mirkwood we had seen previously; lush, golden trees are more sparsely scattered, with thick, jade grass lining every dirt surface, broken up only by gray rock.

"Close the gate!" My body twists back towards the kingdom, immediately spotting the prince as he shouts at his guards in Sindarin. He widens his eyes as he watches us float downstream, his legs now carrying him forward, rushing parallel to the river towards us.

The sound of a horn follows, billowing through the atmosphere, loud and authoritative.

"Quick!" I yell, paddling forward with my hands trying to drag Bilbo and Nori behind me.

As we turn another rocky corner, the sound of Sindarin floods my ears again. A small stone gate lies before us, stretching over the river with a bridge above; two guards flank either side, alongside another two on the rock above. One swiftly moves, climbing a set of stairs before placing his gloved hands on a long, wooden lever above us.

A harsh creaking sound of the wooden lever is followed by the mechanical clicking of spinning gears. My heart drops as I see the gate before us beginning to shut, the crosshatched metal doors swinging shut, just before a single dwarf can pass.

"No!" Thorin shouts as he grips the gate, pushing against it with his barrel before sighing in defeat.

Murmurs from the dwarves ahead, whose barrels are now congregating behind Thorin and the gate, are paired with the sound of sliding metal as the elves around us unsheathe their longswords.

I tense, nearly closing my eyes as I watch them from above, instinctively reaching down to grab Bilbo by his coat protectively.

The whizzing of an arrow shakes my from my trance, the elf above suddenly grunting as his limp body falls forward.

"Watch out!" Bofur yells as the elf falls into the river, splashing the nearby dwarves as it almost impacts Bombur's barrel.

Shrieking and growling orcs begin to lunge from the shadows, attacking the elves who stand guard of the bridge.

We have no weapons.

I clench my fist harder against the fabric of Bilbo's wet coat, mind spinning with everything but ideas of what to do.

Another splash jerks me back into reality, an orc jumping into the river and straight at a barrel.

"Get under the bridge!" Thorin's yell is mixed with the yelling of an orc in the distance, a clear order of intent to kill. As one of the outermost barrels, I push Bilbo further under the bridge for protection and brace myself to be attacked first.

The first wave of orcs arrived, diving into the river or swinging from above. My eyes shoot over to a fallen elven sword, perched on the rock adjacent to the bridge, and I reach out to quickly snatch it.

Yells and crashes and splashes fill the air like a cacophony of jumbled music, each dwarf fending for himself with his hands or makeshift weapons as the orcs begin their assault.

"Kili!" Dwalin calls out, and I watch as he tosses the younger dwarf another fallen sword. My eyes widen. He's out of the water, nearly onto the bridge above.

The lever.

I watch as Fili throws a small axe with acutely accurate precision straight into the chest of an orc, defending his brother as he makes his way up the stairs. Kili fights off a few more orcs with surprising ease, decapitating one and impaling the other before making his final lunge at the lever, no orcs left in sight.

An arrow stops him in his tracks.

"Kili!" Fili calls out in concern, his brother frozen in place with an arrow piercing straight into his knee.

The dark-haired dwarf grunts in pain, stumbling towards the lever but eventually falling backwards onto the floor. Before I can even think, my body is moving. I climb out of the barrel and onto the rock nearby, the opposite side of the bridge which Kili dismounted onto.

My blood, loud and fast, pumps so hard I can barely hear a thing, though muffled callings of my name make it through. I claw at the rock, hoisting myself up and making my way up towards the fallen dwarf.

I yell as I almost jump forward onto the upper-part of the bridge, still clutching the longsword in my hands as I run it straight into the chest of another orc approaching Kili. Grunting, I remove the weapon and turn to slash another orc, praying the onslaught doesn't get any worse before I can help him.

An orcish boom of words echoes through the forest, and as I look out at the landscape before me, I see the heads of tens of orcs turn straight in my direction.

Shit.

I quickly run at Kili, crouching beside him and using all the strength I can muster to push him off the bridge and back into the water below. He mumbles slightly in protest but lets me, using his arms to direct his descent, straight into an empty barrel.

Right as I turn around, expecting to be met with the lever, an orc appears out of nowhere hurling towards me and giving me no time to react. I shriek and put my arms up to cover my face at the last moment, preparing for the worst.

I grunt as the force of a body is sent tumbling into me, the orc now limply dead atop my body.

"What the..." I mumble as I push it away, trying to regain my composure as I look up to see the Mirkwood prince from across the river, sending quick arrows directly into the oncoming onslaught of orcs.

Without another thought, I rise to my feet, faster than I've ever moved before, and pull down on the lever.

The creaking sound of metal from below causes my tensed shoulders to relax, if only for a moment, as the barrels below begin to tumble out of the kingdom's walls, down another white waterfall.

I pick up the longsword from the ground and climbing the last few steps to the top of the bridge, killing another lone orc on the way. The landscape ahead is rough, but the river below runs straight off into the horizon, meeting a lake in the far distance.

The yelling of orcs snaps my gaze back to the stone bridge, more creatures now descending upon me, while others run downstream to chase the barrel-riders. The orcs, alongside Legolas, rush closer to the bridge, and I brace my sword.

Howling, lunging, and swinging, the orcs begin their attack. I fight them off one-by-one as they come, some with a slash, others with a kick into the river.

"Behind you!"

I immediately turn, my sword leading with a slice, cutting though the chest of an orc who stumbles backwards into the river. I sigh in relief, wiping sweat from my brow as I look around at the carnage, bodies littering the stone and forest nearby.

The prince jumps up to the bridge, slowly approaching me with his bow in hand. He studies my face for a moment, as if expecting something.

"Not even a thank you?" he asks, smiling slightly as he starts to climb over the stone wall to chase the other orcs.

I huff and nod in his direction, picking up an orcish bow and some arrows from the floor before following him over the wall.

"You're lucky the orcs are a threat..." I mumble under my breath, grunting as I jump down from the bridge to the other side of the forest. The two of us run after the barrels, the specks of brown floating off in the distant whitewater.

The whizzing of arrows fills the air as Legolas and I begin shooting, synchronously, at the orcs ahead. I consider diving back into the river, but the rough current and jagged rocks keep my feet on solid ground, simply running after the company.

How many of these things are there...

For each orc that falls, it seems that another appears; the dwarves do their damage from the river, throwing swords and axes, dragging orcs to drown, and waving their fists in the air. Alongside them, Legolas and I defend from above, bounding parallel to the river.

I slay a final orc, pushing its body into the river as I look out, watching as Legolas kicks his opponent down, joining mine in the water below.

Steadying my breathing, I look out and watch as the barrels continue to float into the distance, towards the setting sun, a yellow light reflecting off the water. Beside me, Legolas' gaze falls upon Thorin, who glances back upon us, shaking water from his long hair.

The soft sound of a bow being drawn whips my attention backwards, lunging at a nearby orc whose arrow points straight at the prince.

"Wait!" Legolas yells in Sindarin, putting up a hand just as my longsword softly grazes its throat. "I want this one alive."

I grunt, pushing the orc forward towards the elf, sending it stumbling to the ground. Immediately, I rush towards the edge of the ground, intending to dive into the river after the dwarves.

A sudden pain shoots through my body, sending me tumbling to my knees and letting out a soft sound of anguish. I grab my leg, the source of the pain, looking down through teary eyes to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from the ankle of my boot.

Footsteps follow, the sound surrounding me as I glance up to see elves surrounding me, bows loaded in a silent threat.

They aren't going to let me go...?

I wipe my eyes and look back out at the river, the barrels now disappearing into the distance, a small pack of orcs following close behind on the land. I look over to Legolas, who has now grabbed the lone orc soldier by its neck, forcing it to its feet. His pale eyes meet mine, just for a fleeting moment before he turns away.

"I saved your life," I call out as he begins to walk away, back towards the kingdom. "I saved your life!"

My voice grows louder, filled with anger and disbelief, as I'm hoisted to my feet by two soldiers. They begin pushing me forward, sending me almost stumbling over the rock as I brace myself on my now-injured ankle.

I grit my teeth, bending down and breaking the shaft of the arrow closer to my leg, stopping the protrusion from extending as far. I know better than removing it right now. Another harsh grab of my arm nearly sends me over the edge.

"I can walk myself," I snap, tearing myself from their grasp with a huff.

The setting sun casts a soft orange light along the pale leaves of the Mirkwood trees, the projected shade of the tangling branches now growing longer and harsher. And together with them, the shadow of the prince mingles with that of the trees, his silhouette growing smaller as he trudges away.

He doesn't look back, with his long hair swaying behind him and his steps, almost as if determined to get away from the scene. But with each step, there is a hint of something more. Something more sorrowful.

Remorse.

Chapter Text

"Frankly, she has been a nuisance recently."

A soft sigh follows the whispered words, echoing through the silent night which sets upon the castle. Feet shuffle, fabric slides, and throats clear. My heart sinks deep into my chest, the marble pillar pressed against my back seeming colder than it was a minute ago.

"Galadhwen..." my father's voice carries a twinge of surprise as he huffs a half-hearted chuckle. "I haven't heard you speak in such a way in many years..."

"It's simply laziness, is what it is," my mother replies gruffly, followed by the squeaking of a chair.

I clench my jaw, trying to steady my breathing and remain as silent as possible. It's as though I can feel every nerve in my body, each muscle instinctively tensing on their own, reacting to the words.

"You're right, it was only some damned ship boy," my father sighs before continuing. "And she's letting the whole thing take over her life. It's like she barely leaves her room."

"Or she wanders around the beach, like she's waiting for him to come back. It's... pathetic."

Pathetic.

The word rings through my head, repeating over and over as it leaves her mouth, spat like a shard of glass. It's a stinging sensation, a new and unfamiliar wound at the trustful hands of my mother.

"I'm glad we sent him away, regardless," she finishes.

"We..." I whisper under my breath, my heart feeling constricted. I thought that she wasn't...

"Death is something she'll need to understand, and understand well," my father adds, clearing his throat again, audibly in the process of sipping wine. "It is inevitable and unforgiving. A much-needed lesson."

"She had better get over him soon... perhaps to Sellion's son like we had hoped?" my mother questions, concern in her voice, but for the wrong reasons. "It can't possibly be that serious, and yet she's grown lethargic."

"She will learn. And now that the boy is gone, she will learn faster, and now we have an opening. Two birds with one stone."

Their voices grow quieter as I pace down the hall, hot tears beginning to stream down my face, silently dripping onto the floor. My feet carry me wherever they'd like, through the dark halls of the castle and out the door.

Once outside, the sobbing is uncontrollable, and I find myself nearly collapsing on the beach as I feel the sand between my toes. The soft call of birds and occasional chirp of a cricket is all that breaks up the muffled sound of crying. The sea, that sea that took everything from me, continues as it always has. Arrogant, confident, unchanging; I hate it. I hate the way it makes me feel, a misdirected wrath brewing inside of me. The sea, my mother, this life.

I crumble to my knees, digging my hands into the sand, feeling the soft beads between my fingers. The moonlight feels colder than usual.

Could I have saved him?

The question plagues my mind, itching at each and every crevice of my skull until I'm numb. Numb and crying against the sand. He would be alive if he hadn't met me; I had killed him.

I believe the greatest curse on humanity is not death, but rather the soul baring its responsibility like a prison sentence, the soul who didn't fight to prevent it. I will never bear such a burden. Not again.

~

"Keep moving," the auburn-haired guard demands, nudging me forward again as I make the walk back into the confines of the Mirkwood kingdom. The other guard, flanking my right side, nods in agreement, his hand remaining on my upper arm.

"Tirrion," a voice calls through a tunnel ahead, another elf approaching us from inside the fortress. "You're requested in the barracks."

The elf to my right loosens his grip on my arm, nodding before turning to the other guard to my left.

"Can you take care of her?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah. It's only to the cells."

The elf nods again before fully releasing me from his grasp, swiftly turning to walk down an adjacent hallway. As he walks away, the other guard pushes me again, his palm making harsh contact with my shoulder blade. I grit my teeth, a sharp pain shooting up my leg from the arrowhead still lodged in my ankle.

A dim tunnel lies before us, the darkness of the night now beginning to seep into the kingdom, with only slight illumination from sparsely spread sconses. An eerie silence pervades the atmosphere, as if the sound of our footsteps are the only ones in the entire fortress.

"Dinnertime?" I ask, seemingly innocently. The elf huffs and nods, as if not interested in conversation, simply wanting to get me to my cell.

Bingo. We're alone.

Ahead, a small alcove in the hall veers off to the side, seemingly to a dark storage room. I hold my breath, waiting silently as we creep up to it, the guard still on my left – the same direction as the room – with his hand firmly resting on the handle of his sheathed sword.

The countdown begins with each step we take, closer and closer until...

I charge into him, my shoulder forcing itself against his body and sending us both falling off to the side, into the darkness of the alcove. He lets out a sound of surprise as he crashes to the ground, his hands instinctively moving to his sword, but I have the upper-hand. Now on top of him, I plant my knee on the sheath of the sword, the pressure preventing him from sliding the blade out. Simultaneously, I reach down to grab a knife on the other side of his utility belt, grasping it firmly and bringing it up to his face.

The elf, however, throws a swift punch to my face, sending me reeling backwards and toppling off him, knife still gripped within my white knuckles. The scuffle continues, but I am quicker to my feet, planting them firmly on the ground and lunging towards him, fighting through the immense pain in my ankle.

I swing around his back, wrapping one arm around his neck, dragging him downwards and placing the knife to his throat. He struggles for a moment, throwing an arm back as the other reaches for his sword.

"Don't be rash," I spit, pressing the blade gently into his throat to halt his persistent grappling. "Move, and you die. Scream, and you die. Try anything, and you die. Is that clear?"

He takes a moment to process, one of his hands now resting on my forearm which tightens around his neck.

"Yes, yes... I understand," he mutters through deep breaths, wincing as he tries to steady himself in his current position.

"Where do you keep confiscated items?" I hiss immediately, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"B-by the cells. Down the hall and to the left," the elf clears his throat, now moving both his hands in the air palms forward, as if to surrender.

"Come on," I demand, now walking forward into him, expecting him to follow suit.

I peek out of the alcove into the hallway: silence remains. Pushing the elf ahead, keeping the blade pressed against his neck, I walk us through the tunnel on high-alert. Not a soul seems to wander the halls, and after a long set of stairs, I find myself back at the prison.

"Where?" I whisper again, still holding onto the elf tight.

"There..." he moves on hand to point to a small door, lit on the outside by a torch. I walk us over to it, stopping right in front of the handle.

"Open it," I demand.

"I... It needs a key," the guard stammers. I huff in frustration, pressing the knife closer to his neck.

"And you didn't think to tell me that earlier? You're playing with your life," I growl into his ear.

"I might have it, in my pocket on a ring of keys. If you let me grab it..."

"Try anything funny, and I'll slice open your neck."

He nods, and I feel his Adam's apple bob as he swallows nervously. One of his hands reaches down slowly into his pocket, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a small keyring. I glance around to make sure the coast is still clear.

"Hurry up..."

The elf nearly drops the keys as he shuffles through them, placing each one on the lock and trying to insert it. Fail after fail, I feel my heartrate speed, the blood in my veins pumping so loudly that it consumes my hearing.

Click!

My eyes widen, looking down at the door as it quietly creaks, swinging open. Without wasting a second, I step inside.

It's a small room, filled and lined with weapons, clothes, and other items, thrown together in a haphazard manner. My eyes scan the dim room, praying that somehow I can find my sword and bow quickly.

"There..." I whisper to myself, pushing the guard forward towards my spotted treasures, waiting to be reclaimed.

After a long maneuver, attempting to safely retrieve my weapons without the elf turning on me, I manage to situate myself with my bow and longsword on my back: home safe.

"Which way is the quickest exit?" I mumble, regaining my previous position with the knife on his neck.

"T-The main exit, from the front. But there are guards-"

"Shut up," I quickly cut him off, already moving to get out of the room. "I've been trapped in this goddamn kingdom long enough..."

I push us out of the room, wasting no time to sneak around the hallways, out of sight with most of the elves consumed with dinner. Trying to avoid the open spaces of the cavern, we push against the walls and move through a series of tunnels.

Once we reach the grotto again, the large area around the throne room, I feel my body tense nervously, spotting movement up ahead. Remaining quietly in the shadows, I attempt to lurk out of sight, praying the pillars nearby will be enough to hide me.

Is that...?

"So will it always be..." The soft, deep voice of the king causes me to halt, dragging the guard behind one of the wooden pillars. I quickly place one hand over his mouth, silencing him as the tip of the dagger presses into his soft flesh.

"Scream and you're dead," I hiss quietly, neck craning around the pillar, watching the throne room from a distance, now within earshot. A fly on the wall.

"In time, all foul things come forth," Thranduil finishes, crossing his arms. Although my view is obstructed, I can vaguely make out the silhouette of the captured orc, on his knees before the king and the prince.

Damned prince is there too...

"You were tracking a company of 13 dwarves. Why?" Legolas' voice echoes through the cavern.

"Not 13. Not anymore..." the orc gargles, voice dripping in arrogance. "The young one, the black-haired archer... Stuck him with a Morgul shaft. The poison's in his blood, he'll be choking it on it soon," he finishes, beginning to laugh to himself.

Kili.

My stomach drops, head running through thousands of scenarios at once, but knowing one thing for certain: I must get back to them. I can treat him. I can save him.

"I do not care about one dead dwarf..." Thranduil sighs, clearly irritated. "Answer the question. You have nothing to fear. Tell us what you know, and I will set you free."

"You had orders to kill," Legolas urges, his tone more understanding than his father's. "Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?"

"The dwarf runt will never be king," the orc spits with contempt.

"King? There is no King Under the Mountain, nor will there ever be. None would dare enter Erebor whilst the dragon lives."

"You know nothing, your world will burn," the orc snarls, accentuating his final word. My breathing grows quicker, eyes shifting between the three figures in the distance, trying to see while remaining hidden.

"What are you talking about..." Legolas mumbles. "Speak!"

"Our time has come again," the orc begins, chuckling to himself as he speaks. "My Master serves the One. Do you understand now Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you..." his speech devolves into a harsh cackling, flooding every corner of the cavern.

But within a second, it is silent once again. My chest tightens and I close my eyes, trying to push the thoughts of war and death away and focus on what I can control. I need to make it back to the company.

"Why did you do that?" Legolas' voice draws my attention down towards the orc's body, which now lies limp on the floor, his now decapitated head still hanging by the hair bundled in Legolas' fist. "You promised to set him free."

"And I did," Thranduil announces with disinterest as Legolas drops the head. "I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders."

"There was more the orc could tell us."

"There was nothing more he could tell me," Thranduil mutters, sheathing his sword. The king turns, beginning to walk down the steps of the throne room.

I pull my head back behind the pillar, gripping harder onto the elf's mouth, my body almost shaking in nervousness.

"What did the orc mean, the flames of war?" Legolas calls out after his father.

"It means they intend to unleash a weapon so great it will destroy all before it..." he mumbles enigmatically, deep in thought, before changing his tone. "I want the watch on our borders doubled," he calls out, his voice thundering through the air. "All roads, all rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom, and no one leaves it."

No one leaves it... He's going to seal the gate.

"Move," I whisper harshly, pushing the elf forwards, down another hallway to hide us from the open space of the cavern. "Direct me to the gate, now."

"And what of the elf?" I vaguely hear Legolas' voice as I sneak back into the tunnel, chest tightening at the mention of my name.

"What about her?" Thranduil's words are the last I hear before the conversation becomes muffled behind stone walls. The guard directs me through fleeting whispers through the hallways, crisscrossing and turning through the kingdom. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, the pain from my ankle almost numbed as we continue.

The final bridge lies before us. Its sort length is deceptively straightforward; the open cavern stretches far behind and around it, making the scene observable to nearly anyone who may walk by. I take a deep breath, tightening my grip on the elf and glancing at the gate. Two guards stand on either side of the open doors, each one in thick, metal armor and baring a tall axe.

"Listen, I don't want to kill you. Help me get past these guards, and I'll let you free. We need to move fast," I whisper to the elf in my grasp, and he simply nods. I sigh, my heart now racing faster than before.

1... 2... 3... Now!

Not giving myself any time to second-guess, I push the elf forward, rounding the corner with him and rapidly approaching the gate on the bridge.

"Try anything and he dies," I call out assertively as we approach, the guards' heads whipping in our direction. They quickly turn their axes and adopt a fighting stance.

"Both of you, to that side," I nod to the right, pressing the knife closer into the elf's throat yet again. "Don't think I won't kill him."

The guards seem lost in thought, looking over at one another as if deciding what to do, their eyes scanning my face and the face of my hostage.

"You have 5 seconds – One... Two..." I begin to count down.

Without hesitation, the guards move to the side, allowing me access to the gate, but still standing at attention. I nod, accepting their movements and begin moving slowly towards the gate, not turning my body away from them.

As I walk through the doors, I feel the cool breeze of wind tickle the back of my neck, a refreshing and welcome sensation. I swallow thickly, continuing to hold the elf tight as we back up, leaving the threshold of the kingdom and across the small bridge outside, over the familiar waterfall. The guards move again, peering out from the gate and watching carefully.

"Go," I quickly whisper to the elf, removing the knife from his neck and shoving him forwards, hard. He nearly tumbles to the ground, stumbling to his knees as I begin to run. Anywhere but here.

"The prisoner! She has escaped!" I hear the urgent yells of the guards behind me, rumbling through the kingdom.

I can't go west... I need to go north... go around the kingdom to reach the lake to the east.

I pivot on my feet, running to the right, the direction I pray is north, recalling a poorly drawn map of Middle-earth once shown to me by Radagast.

Please... please... please...

The words circle in my head like a mantra as my legs carry me as fast as they can, the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs beneath my feet creating a constant rhythm, alongside my heavy breaths an an occasional wince of pain. Darkness begins to seep in as I run deeper into the forest, farther from the kingdom, and I can't help but wonder if I'll get lost for a second time.

After what feels like hours, in what I believe to be northeast, I stop to catch my breath, nearly collapsing on the forest floor from the throbbing in my ankle. It's almost pitch black, the nighttime quickly becoming unforgiving as only minimal moonlight seeps through the dense foliage of the trees.

"Fuck..." I mutter under my breath, looking down at the shaft still lodged into my ankle. I need to remove it soon, but not while I can't see.

Bracing myself against a tree, I groan softly as I force myself onto my foot yet again.

"Just a little further... then I'll stop for the night..."

Somehow, my whispers serve to marginally soothe the pain, keeping me focused as I stumble forward, leaning onto branches as I mentally push through the main. I try not to trip, almost falling a few times into the darkness. Knowing that I'm likely too far from the kingdom for the elves to chase me, I grow more content with the slower movement, attempting to take some of the pressure off my injury. I concentrate on each step, one foot in front of the other, slowly and steadily.

The dizziness is almost overwhelming. I can't tell how much blood I've lost, merely praying that I didn't leave a trail behind me. Cold and unforgiving, the night continues, sending shivers down my spine.

But then, just through a small clearing of trees, a small ray of white moonlight seeks through onto the grass and dirt below. My eyes widen, immediately looking up and stumbling quicker towards its source.

I take a deep breath as I step out into the fresh air, the heaviness of the forest immediately being relieved from my shoulders. Unable to help myself, a chuckle escapes from deep in my throat as I shake my head, almost in awe that I reached the edge of the forest.

My gaze is drawn upwards, straight ahead as I look out at the small, mountainous plains before me. Beyond it, a dark lake, glistening in the moonlight, sits peacefully and unmoving, the calmness somehow lightening my consciousness.

Rough bark tickles the palm of my hand as I slide down against a nearby tree, sitting against the trunk and leaning my head back. Slowly, my breathing begins to steady, the softness of the grass below paired with the cool breeze creating a final atmosphere of relaxation, contrasting the unease of the forest behind me. The exhaustion is setting in.

I take one more look at the lake, just as my eyelids grow heavy and begin to close.

I'm so close. So close...

Chapter Text

My eyes flutter open as the bright sun creeps over the horizon, the welcome warmth hitting my cheeks and turning them a soft peachy color. Slowly, my hazy mind begins to awaken, now scanning my surroundings with slight distress, my memory alluding me.

Blinking, I push myself from the dirt, likely having slipped down while I was asleep. I sigh as I sit back against a tree trunk, rubbing my tired eyes and looking back out at the orange sun, appreciating the fleeting glow of autumn.

I need to get to the mountain... Across the lake...

Returning to me, the thoughts race back through my head and I nod to myself, promptly pushing myself up from the tree.

I swiftly wince and fall back down, a pain – now sharper than before – shooting up my leg from my ankle. I look down, the penetration of the arrow now unchanging since last night.

Shit, I fell asleep without taking it out... I bet it's starting to heal around the arrowhead...

"This is gonna hurt..." I mumble to myself, pulling out the knife I stole from the guard the previous day. I study my ankle, the arrow stuck straight through the side of my leather boot.

Much to my distress, I realize that the only way I'll be able to get it out is to cut through the boot. Sighing, I begin sawing away at the leather of the top of my boot; the knife saws down further until finally the vertical cut merges with the slight hole made by the arrow.

After awkwardly wedging my boot off, sliding my ankle up to guide the shaft through the boot slat, I toss it aside. Without a second thought, I cut through my sock as well, finally able to pull it down below the wound.

With my now exposed ankle, the severity of my injury begins to hit me: deep into the flesh right above the bone, the arrowhead remains lodged, my ankle seemingly swallowing it more as it swells. The skin itself, red and puffy, is tender to the touch, stained with dried blood which trickled down to my foot, drenching my sock.

Even once I get it out, am I going to be able to walk?

I lightly touch the skin nearby, groaning as I realize just how badly this is going to hurt. Swallowing nervously, I rip off a thick piece of fabric from the bottom of my cloak, rolling it up into a thick wad, ready to clamp down on it with my teeth.

"Don't move."

My heads snap towards the forest, into the trees, as I hear the mumbled words. Gradually, the silhouette of Legolas emerges from the brush, bow drawn. He steps almost silently, gently walking forward until he is merely feet away.

"By order of the king, you are to return to Mirkwood at once," he demands, drawing his arrow even further back. My heartrate begins to pick up, pounding through my ribs as I realize the severity of my situation. I'm too injured to fight back.

"I do not serve your king," I grit my teeth, ankle still throbbing but not wanting to concede.

Legolas' gaze flickers between my face and down to my ankle, brows furrowed as if deep in thought. He purses his lips before his piercing eyes settle back onto mine.

"You are hurt quite badly," he states, quite obviously.

"I couldn't tell," I mumble sarcastically between clenched teeth. Instinctively, my leg shifts slightly and I wince again, hands now gripping tight into the grass below. "Unless you're prepared to carry me, I won't be able to go back." Legolas hums in acknowledgement, though begrudgingly.

"Toss your sword and bow to the side," he says, stepping closer.

I oblige, understanding the situation is out of my hands now. Gently, I shift the bow from being slung along my back and push the longsword beside me further away from the edge of the forest.

"Happy?"

Legolas nods before slowly releasing the tight grip on his bow, slinging it around his back. He then approaches me, crouching down and getting closer to where my ankle lies.

"Don't..." I quickly put a hand up, my leg naturally retreating closer to my body.

"It needs to be removed. You're going to get an infection."

"I am aware," I huff, grabbing the loose, torn fabric from earlier and continuing to roll it up.

"You're not going to be able to do it yourself," he insists, now on his knees and shifting closer.

"Yes, I will," I reply, rather aggressively.

Reaching down, I place my hand delicately around the shaft of the arrow, my fingers wrapping around it and gripping tight. But even the slightest shift of the arrow sends my body blistering in pain, my arm faintly shaking as I try to retain my grip. I try to steady my breathing, seeing black stars dancing in the corner of my vision, alongside tears which build in my eyes.

"Just let me do it," Legolas says, tone laced with clear annoyance as he reaches for the shaft. My hand meekly retreats and I reluctantly place the wad of fabric in my mouth, teeth clamping shut on it.

He doesn't wait for my response, his hand simply moving without speaking, confidently and quickly grabbing the shaft of the arrow.

"S-shit, stop... stop..." I grab his wrist, grip impossibly tight as I plea, my words muffled by the fabric.

"The quicker it gets out, the less it will hurt," he insists, now looking up to me and meeting my gaze.

"Wait, wait... please, wait..." I shut my eyes tight and squeeze him harder.

I feel so weak right now...

My mind is torn between frustration and shame, struggling to process the situation through the searing pain. Clenching one fist into the grass, I begin to tentatively release the other from his wrist, placing it onto my thigh.

"Okay... okay, fine. Just get it over with," I nod, taking a deep breath in and holding it.

Without another word, he yanks the arrow.

I can't even scream, the sound catching in my throat as I hear the ripping and squelching of muscle and flesh. The back of my head makes harsh contact with the bark of the tree as my neck snaps back, every muscle in my body seeming to contract at once.

"It's over," Legolas sighs, tossing the bloodied arrow into the grass and looking down at my now-bleeding wound.

My jaw is still tensed, teeth biting down hard against the fabric in my mouth as I try to steady my breathing, my heart pumping loudly in my ear like a drum. He reaches over, his touch surprisingly gentle as he places one hand around my jaw and the other along the bundled fabric.

"You need to relax," he says, essentially prying the fabric from my mouth and unrolling it.

"Don't tell me to relax," I gasp, trying to fight through the throbbing feeling as my face twists into a grimace. He reaches down, pulling up the leg of my pants slightly to the middle of my calf before wrapping the bleeding wound with the fabric. His movements are light, but the tension of the wrap quickly grows as more and more layers press on top of my ankle.

Without warning, he presses down on top of the wound with his palm, sending a pain shooting up my leg.

"W- What... Stop!" I shudder, hand moving up to his shoulder as he begins leaning over my leg and pressing further into my ankle. "Stop, stop, stop..." I continue to repeat the words through breaths.

"We need to stop the bleeding, stay still," he says firmly, looking straight down to my leg as he begins to use his other hand for more leverage. I bite my lip until I taste blood, squirming slightly as I grip onto his shoulder, almost leaning onto it now.

"It'll numb, give it a minute," he adds, somewhat reassuringly.

After what feels like hours, the pressure eases, and he removes his hands from the fabric. Sighing, he sits back on his palms in the grass beside me, gaze wandering to the sun-lit lake.

My breaths are still uneven as I situate myself better against the tree, hugging my knees and leaning my head into them. My ankle is still throbbing, though most of my nerves are numb, just as he said they would be. The lasting silence quickly becomes uncomfortable, and I find myself simply watching his chest as it rises and falls, his eyes still on the water.

"I'm not going back to Mirkwood," I eventually whisper, breaking the silence.

"I know," Legolas says, finally looking back at me.

"Then why help me?"

"I'm returning the favor," he replies. "You didn't have to save me from that last orc yesterday. In fact," he continues, now shifting to stand. "If you hadn't taken the time to save me, you would've made it into the water, and you'd be with those dwarves by now. And I don't necessarily agree with my father's decision to keep you as a... political prisoner."

I look down at the grass, my fingers mindlessly twirling the thin blades between them. A moment of silence passes by again, the soft breeze flowing through his hair as he remains standing, looking down at me.

"Is there really going to be a war?" I ask quietly, trying to change the topic away from something so personal.

"A war?"

"I heard you and Thranduil in the throne room, with the orc. He mentioned a war."

Legolas' shoulders tighten slightly, and he looks away, back to the trees of Mirkwood.

"I don't know," he eventually sighs, running a hand through his hair. "The presence of evil has been plaguing the forest for a long time now, and it only grows stronger. I fear that if the mountain is reclaimed..." his voice trails off.

"It'll open an opportunity," I nod, now deep in thought.

I need to travel fast, for both Kili's sake and the safety of the rest of the dwarves. If orcs manage to attack the mountain, it'll be an army against the fifteen of us. If only we could figure out where they were coming from, and how...

"Thranduil will do nothing? Regarding the orcs?" I ask, turning back to Legolas.

"No," he shakes his head. "Not unless there is a direct attack on the Kingdom."

"Will he not have bigger problems if they take over Erebor?"

He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly having already acknowledged that possibility. His eyes move to scan the horizon, seeing the Lonely Mountain in the distance.

"It isn't our fight," he eventually replies, turning back to the trees.

"Do you really believe that?" I ask, wincing as I begin to stand up against the tree. "Things like this need to be nipped in the bud. What is going to happen when darkness descends upon the rest of the continent? You think these orcs will simply leave your kingdom alone?"

He pauses, stopping in his tracks but shaking his head.

"The orc could have been lying," he says softly, turning back towards me.

"I wish I could believe that," I grimace again as I shift on my feet almost falling against the tree. He steps forward, grabbing my arm tightly.

"You're not fit to travel like this, on foot. You won't even make it to the lake," he says firmly.

"I will," I nod, snatching my arm from him. "I can walk on my own."

"You're so stubborn..." he grumbles, crossing his arms. "And what if you get ambushed? It'll take you over a day to reach the lake by foot, at your speed."

"I'll have to figure it out... what other choice do I have?" I huff, reaching down and retrieving my bow and longsword from the floor. I grab my half-torn boot, returning it to my foot, though the top now slips down.

His eyes trail over my form, clearly weighing his options. I nod, a simple and unspoken "thank you," before beginning to slowly walk along the grass, away from the forest.

"Wait," he sighs, almost as if he doesn't really want me to.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow as I turn back around gruffly.

"Let me take you to Lake-town," he replies. "You won't make it alone."

"I don't need to go to Lake-town, I need to get to the mountain. It's almost the final day of autumn," I insist.

"No," he shakes his head. "You need to treat your ankle first, or you'll never make it. Lake-town will have the resources. You can rejoin the rest of your company once you're healthy."

"Why do you care so much?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"Because if I leave you now, you're going to die," he replies, words firm. "Like I said, you helped me once before, now I'm returning the favor."

"I don't want your help..." I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

But maybe I do need it...

I bite my thumb, running through my options as I look out at the landscape. To accept his offer would mean putting aside my pride. But in return, Kili could be saved, and I would be more likely to make it back to the company in once piece. However, to owe a favor to an elf...

"Okay, fine. Take me to Lake-town," I purse my lips reluctantly and nod, looking back to him.

My eyes widen as I scan the edge of the forest, his presence already gone.

"Legolas...? Legolas, wait!" I call out reluctantly, already internally scolding myself for being so pitiful.

"I'm not leaving," he calls back, beginning to step back out into the clearing, holding a long rope tied to a horse. The pale horse huffs as it follows, hooves clicking against the dirt.

"A horse?" I ask, surprised he had kept it hidden.

"Did you think I was going to carry you?" he replies jokingly, though he does not smile.

"Touché," I reply, cracking a slight smile, relieved he isn't mocking me for my initial resistance.

"It shouldn't take too long to get there, we should make it by nightfall," he explains, walking the horse closer with the lead. "Do you need help getting on?"

"No, I think I'll be alright..." I say, putting my healthy foot in the stirrup and hoisting myself up by my hands, gripping the leather saddle. Carefully, I swing my leg over it, eventually scooting into position further down the horse's back.

Legolas wastes no time, hopping up himself after slinging his weapons across the side of the horse. Straddling the saddle in front of me, he begins situating the reigns. The front of my body presses against his back, and I quickly shift backwards to give him some more space; however, the slight upward curve at the back of the saddle sends me sliding back down again, until my hips are directly pressed against him.

"Ready?" he asks, head turning around slightly to see me, clearly not caring about our proximity.

"Yeah," I nod, clearing my throat.

"Hold on," he advises, giving the horse a light kick with the back of his heel. Slowly, I wrap my arms around his body, feeling his tunic and coat under my fingertips.

The ride begins steadily, the horse trotting through the short grass towards the lake, in the direction of the rising sun. Warm rays of light become more persistent as the morning progresses, the humming of bustling insects slowly pervading the environment.

It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the still-throbbing ankle.

Although the orc pack, chasing the company, could still be lurking around every hill or behind any lone tree, somehow I know I'll make it to Lake-town. It's something about the way a small pack of butterflies flutter their wings nearby, or the way a rabbit runs across the dirt path.

"Thank you..." I whisper, quietly and somewhat reluctantly, the peace of nature beckoning me to put aside my pride.

Legolas turns his head slightly, looking back at me sitting behind him, a small smile tugging at his lips. Without a word, he simply nods, moving back to face the path ahead.

I embrace the silence. 

Chapter Text

“The sun is setting,” I sigh quietly craning my neck to watch the warm light beginning to fade behind the horizon, causing a series of soft pastels to flush the sky.

“We’re close to the checkpoint,” Legolas replies, matter-of-factly.

“Checkpoint?”

“Lake-town is quite… regulated,” he explains as he rolls his shoulders back in a stretch, almost pressing against me. “The Master of the town does not like unexpected visitors.”

“Sounds familiar,” I mumble softly, raising an eyebrow as I adjust my grip around his body – the horse’s trotting begins to grow unsteady as the landscape shifts from grass to sand. He lets out a soft exhale from his nose; it’s not a chuckle, but perhaps the closest thing to one that I’ve heard from him.

“Yes… Though the Master’s unfriendly regulations focus heavily on trade, rather than… background,” he soon continues. “We shouldn’t have issues getting through the upcoming checkpoint. That is, as long as you keep quiet.”

“Keep quiet? I haven’t done anything-”

“Do not bring up the dwarves,” he cuts me off, voice stern but not malicious. “We know not if your company was welcomed in Lake-town, let alone if they even made it. You could jeopardize your opportunity to enter if you speak of it. Let me do the talking.”

“Fine, I understand,” I grumble slightly, sitting up to look at the upcoming lake over Legolas’ shoulder.

A thick cloud of fog rests atop the water, sheltering and shrouding the buildings like a dark veil. The setting sun shines partially through the mist, its rays muddled through not completely obscured, scattering its soft orange light which contrasts the moody blues which pervade the current atmosphere.

Stilts are the foundations of the town, buildings perched on wood and peeking out from the dark waters. The roofs are disordered, some peeking above others in an inconsistent fashion, as if cluttering the landscape haphazardly. But the lake itself, shades of midnight and sapphire intertwining as waves break softly on the shore, appeared to almost swallow the town, its vastness expanding into the horizon like a never-ending field. Although such a sight – water integrated within a civilization – should evoke a familiar warmth, a shiver runs down my spine. Somehow, in some way, it feels unnerving.

“It was the last day of autumn today, I think,” I comment quietly. Frost and ice line the tops of the buildings and the bottoms of the baseboards, the beginning of winter clearly upon the land.

“What of it?” Legolas replies, his head turning slightly over his shoulder to peer at me.

“It’s the only chance to enter the mountain,” I begin to explain, knowing that telling him now is too late to hinder any developments. “‘…the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the key-hole,’ is what the map said.”

“So Oakenshield has a key… One which he can only use this evening,” he hums, glancing out at the mountain. “I have my doubts about their journey. It is not likely they made it to the mountain in time, not without assistance from someone…”

“They have an interesting way of surprising you,” a fond smile tugs at my lips as I recall the dwarves.

“I’m not fond of such things,” Legolas mumbles, slowly pulling on the reigns to stop the horse. “We walk from here; the checkpoint is just ahead.”

I nod, looking out at the small beach before us, the lake’s waves slowly dampening more and more of the ground. He dismounts from the horse, extending a hand for me to grab.

“Let me help, you shouldn’t risk hurting your ankle further,” he insists.

“Alright,” I reply softly, taking his hand as I swing my leg over the horse. His free arm reaches around my waist, holding nearly all my weight as he sets me on the ground with gentle elegance.

“I need some of the damp sand,” I quickly utter, not letting him steady me further as I limp towards the water.

“Damp sand?” he questions, following me with the horse.

“For Kili. If he made it to Erebor, this will be one of my last opportunities to get some,” I explain, crouching down. I remove a small, glass jar from my tunic pocket, dumping out the stale herbal contents before picking up some of the grains. “I know a few poison remedies, one of which needs damp sand. Of course, ideally it would be damp with saltwater, but…” I mumble as I stand back up again, tightly closing the jar. “This will have to do.”

“If he is at the mountain now, you won’t make it in time to save him,” Legolas replies bluntly.

“You can’t know that for certain,” I grit my teeth, holding myself back from saying something unsavory. I start to limp down the beach again before continuing, “And he might have stayed behind to have his wound treated. Just like you said: Lake-town will have the resources to treat my ankle, so they might have treated him as well.”

“I doubt the citizens of Lake-town would disgrace themselves with such an association,” he huffs under his breath. I pause for a moment, pursing my lips and taking a deep breath.

It’s not worth it…

“Let’s just go. Once I’m through the checkpoint you can be on your way back to Mirkwood,” I reply sharply, walking through the sand, not waiting for his confirmation.

The walk across the beach is plagued by an uneasy silence, the mere ten minutes feeling like hours with the thick tension in the air. The checkpoint slowly begins to grow closer in the distance, the architecture paralleling that of the town itself: a dark brown wooden building with an angular roof, worn and tainted by malicious weather.

As we approach, I see a man standing beside the building with a few horses and a large wagon, filled with an assortment of oak boxes. The man, clearly some kind of farmer, wears an expression of frustration, brows furrowed and arms crossed.

“Seriously, you’ve raised the tariff again?”

The loud voices of the men become more audible as we approach, now intercepting the road which travels up to the checkpoint.

“Orders of the Master,” the man inside the building replies with a sigh, leaning onto the wooden half-wall with his elbows.

“It was already raised last month,” the other man continues with a scoff, running a hand through his thick brown hair.

My eyes widen, nearly stopping in my tracks as something on the floor catches my eye.

“Legolas…” I whisper softly as we approach the building, gesturing to the floor by the bridge.

Carnage.

The mangled remains of two men lay limp on the dirt before the bridge, their lifeless bodies covered in still-glistening blood. Behind them, the small gate is wide open, completely off its hinges, shards of cracked wood littering the grass and dirt.

“I understand your concern,” the man inside continues, putting on a small pair of spectacles and flipping through a nearby notebook. “However, either you pay the fee, or you leave,” he finishes, sliding the small book over to the brunette man.

“Could just go through, the guards aren’t even alive,” the farmer curses under his breath but logs his name in the book before digging through his pockets, finding a small, brown coin purse. He scoffs as he carelessly counts out a series of coins, practically tossing them on the counter before grabbing the reigns of his horse.

“Pleasure,” the man inside nods, face displaying no ounce of emotion as he waves the farmer through.

Does he not care?

I watch as the farmer leads his horses through the broken gate, unceremoniously stepping over the disfigured bodies before making his way across the wooden bridge and into the town.

“Act normal,” Legolas’ voice draws me from my trance, his hand tightly grabbing my arm as he pulls me towards the checkpoint.

A small, dusk breeze blows from the lake as we approach the building, only adding to the shiver running down my spine. The dead guards don’t look cut by a sword or pierced by an arrow, they look mangled by a warg.

“Good evening,” Legolas chimes as we approach the man, our horse trailing behind us. “From the Mirkwood kingdom, we request entry.”

“Were those guards killed by orcs?” I question, my words prompting a sharp stomp from Legolas, straight onto the top of my boot.

“It’ll cost you,” the man replies, completely ignoring my inquiry as I shoot Legolas a glare. “Fees are on the board.”

“Fees?” Legolas inquires. “We’re from the Woodland Realm. There shouldn’t be a fee.”

“New order from the Master. No coin, no entry,” the man sits back in his chair casually, crossing his arms. Legolas rolls his eyes subtly before moving back towards the horse, reaching around to the saddle pocket.

“Are there orcs here?” I ask again, leaning over the counter, voice almost pleading with the man.

“It’s safe,” the man insists, albeit clearly annoyed by the question. “They aren’t looking for elves.”

“Here,” Legolas interrupts, tossing a bag of coins to the man before leaning over to log the entry.

“Were they looking for dwarves?” I question, voice dripping in nervousness. The man raises an eyebrow curiously, moving his glasses further down the bridge of his nose as he looks up at me.

“Yes,” he mumbles. “When I heard them from in here – probably around forty of them – they questioned one of the guards about dwarves being in Lake-town. Must’ve had a knife to his throat, and then, silence,” the man recalls, seemingly apathetic about the ordeal. “Happens often enough, people killing the guards here, I mean.”

“And? Are there dwarves here?”

“Well, the orcs entered, didn’t they?” he replies rhetorically, ending the conversation. Legolas slides the book back across the surface, placing the quill beside it.

“Best to lay low until the orcs leave,” the man sighs, taking the book back and placing it on a nearby shelf. “Though I’m sure the Master’s guard will sort the issue soon enough.”

“Of course,” Legolas clears his throat, nodding towards me. He tugs the horse towards the gate, careful to avoid any particularly prominent pools of blood.

“We need to find them quickly,” I insist, already moving to get back onto the horse. “If they’re still here, that is.”

“We?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as I attempt to mount the horse with my injury. “I am not assisting with such things. I will take you to a healer, and I will return to Mirkwood, as I said.” He quickly jumps atop the horse, settling in to give me space behind.

“Don’t you understand?” I scoff. “The orcs being here – this is bigger than Thorin and the dwarves – this issue concerns all of us. The entirety of Middle-earth.”

Legolas remains silent, merely offering his hand to help me onto the saddle. He reaches closer, nearly grabbing my arm.

“I can handle myself,” I move his hand away, wincing slightly as I force my ankle to take the force of my body, swinging my other leg over the horse. He narrows his eyes in frustration but looks away, gaze wandering to the town ahead, just across the sprawling bridge. Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around him again, huffing silently to myself as he begins to lead the horse down the path.

The setting sun becomes almost undetectable below the horizon, the cold moon becoming the main source of light, though its dim rays are now hidden behind a cloud of dense fog. Continuing to trot along, the horses’ hooves knock against the oak bridge, the sound heightened by the homogenous plain of water flanking our sides.

A small wooden arch, lined with flickering orange lanterns, greets us as we reach the beginning of the town, the gray mist mixing with the wooden browns to create a dreary palette of winter melancholy. I shiver softly, my grip on the fabric of Legolas’ tunic tightening, almost instinctively.

“It’s too quiet…” I whisper to myself as I study the deserted and forked roads winding across the water.

Legolas grunts softly in acknowledgement, as if trying to remain quiet as well. A few minutes pass of us trotting down the tight roads, parallel to the many interconnecting buildings, before a shiver runs down my spine.

“Stop,” I whisper harshly, grabbing his arm. “Look…”

His gaze follows mine, through the dark and winding streets. An orc – a tall one at that – climbs up a wooden pillar and onto a roof of a nearby house. My stomach twists at the sight, eyes slowly wandering up, and up, and up…

Legolas inhales sharply, reacting to the same sight. They’re everywhere, orcs scattered across every roof, slowly stalking over the wooden tiles and ridge beams.

“Not my business,” he whispers quietly, directing the horse forward, continuing down the wooden street.

“It’s my business,” I snap, gaze not wavering from the roofs as I dismount, foot almost catching on the saddle as I stumble forward and clutch onto a nearby pole. Quickly, I grab my bow and longsword attached to the saddle, slinging them over my back.

“You can’t fight them all yourself,” Legolas hisses, waving me back onto the horse.

“The dwarves must be here somewhere, I just need to find them,” I reply firmly, determination unwavering.

“How have you survived this long…” Legolas scoffs in disbelief, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Have it your way then,” he sighs, directing the horse to turn around, to take him out of the city.

Just as he is about to leave, a tattered arrow flies towards us, lodging into the wooden pole beside my shoulder. Eyes widening, I quickly arm myself with my bow, ducking under the nearby overhang of a building to scope out the surrounding roofs.

“Get under!” I urge Legolas under the roof, just as another arrow is shot near the hoof of his horse.

Within a second, he is off the horse and beside me, bow drawn. I fire an arrow as something moves on the roof beside us, and in a flash of gray, a body tumbles and rolls off, crashing into the lake. Legolas steps in front of me to shoot another orc, the stamping on the roofs growing more distant.

“They’re going that way, come on,” I gesture down a winding wooden street, tugging at his tunic.

“This isn’t-”

“Yes, it is your fight,” I give him no room to protest as I practically drag him forwards. “It became your fight the second they shot at us.”

“I’m not risking my life to protect a band of thieves,” he protests, though doesn’t physically resist.

We crouch along the winding roads and deserted streets, jumping over small benches and ropes lining the wooden planks. My ankle begins to throb in pain, but I push it aside, knowing I can give it time to heal later. The fog starts to set even lower, the haze covering the tops of buildings and obscuring the view. My eyes widen as I spot movement across the waterway.

“Bofur!” I gesture, calling out to the dwarf as he runs across a bridge, herbs in hand.

His eyes meet mine just a moment before an orc leaps onto the bridge beside him, slashing a knife at him. Bofur stumbles backwards, collapsing onto the floor across the bridge.

As I draw my bow, Legolas shoots another arrow straight towards the orc, the head landing deep into the monster’s skull. It stumbles forward for a moment, grumbling and gurgling a slur of misconstrued words before collapsing to the floor.

“The others!” Bofur yells, gesturing up the stairs of a nearby building. I glance to the side, watching as a horde of orcs encircles the home, some of them already breaking through the roof. Without a second thought, I sprint towards the building, running up the half-broken stairs and bursting into the room.

The screams of two young girls draws my attention to the right as I unsheathe my longsword, tugging it from my back and gripping it tight. I lunge at a nearby orc, my blade slicing through its armor and flesh, impaling it completely as dark, thick blood begins to pour out.

One… two… three…

A cleaver flies towards me, quickly interrupting my counting of dwarves in the house. I swiftly twist to the side, sword already beginning to swing at the perpetrator, as if on instinct.

The fight persists, the air filled with screams and grunts, along with the occasional cracking of bones or spurting of blood.

“Legolas!” I yell, watching as the other elf drops down from the collapsed roof, already slashing at an orc with his bow. I reach into my boot, grabbing a small knife and throwing it straight at an orc whose weapon was raised behind his head.

He gives me a soft nod, just as a yelling catches my attention across the room.

Kili.

An orc had grabbed his leg, hoisting him from the bed on which he laid and tossing him to the floor. I swap to my bow, swiftly sending an arrow into the side of the orc’s head, its limp form nearly collapsing atop the dwarf. It’s an onslaught. Orc after orc, they continue to invade the house, the air feeling heavier with every breath.

After minutes of thick tension and bloodshed, the bombardment of orcs begins to falter.

A harsh yell calls from outside, the Orcish boom seemingly shaking the foundation of the house. Scurrying, yelping, and the clanging of metal follows, with even the nearby orcs fleeing from the area.

“They’re…. retreating,” I mumble under my breath, watching as the last orc in sight disappears down the nearby stairs.

Gasping softly, I look around at the massacre of the room and finally focus on the aftermath of the situation. Bodies litter the floor, blood seeping out onto the rugs and tainting the wood. I swallow, the pain in my ankle now becoming a harsh reality as I try to keep my attention on the event at hand.

Fili… Kili… Oin… the two girls from earlier… a teenage boy…

My head swivels at the sound of more Orcish yelling, the footsteps now growing more muffled. Peering out of a foggy window, I see the dark figures traveling further away, down the wooden roads and back to the bridge.

“You killed them all…” the young boy mutters to himself, eyes trailing slowly across the fallen orcs on the floor.

“There are others,” Legolas clarifies, already moving out of the house. “They’re falling back.”

“Where is the rest of the company?” I search the faces of the dwarves in concern.

“Thorin and the rest of them left this morning for the mountain,” Fili explains. “We had to stay behind for Kili,” he winces softly, the words coming out in a painful whisper.

“We’re losing him,” interjects Oin, who clutches Kili on the floor. My eyes widen as I study the younger dwarf, his face as pale as a ghost and breaths growing shallower as he grumbles in pain.

“We can’t let the orcs escape, they’ll get reinforcements,” I whisper, though already beginning to crouch next to Kili to treat him. My eyes look up towards Legolas, who remained by the door, his hand clutching the frame. I swallow thickly, nothing but worry in my eyes. “Please,” I beg softly to him, my mind a blur of thoughts and worries and hopes.

He huffs to himself, crossing his arms as his eyes diverting from my gaze and stare off at the wall, clearly deep in consideration.

“They might travel back through Mirkwood,” I add, attempting to seem persuading.

“I was going to do it anyway,” Legolas grumbles in return, waving his hand dismissively before turning to leave, back into the cold of the night. I sigh in blissful relief and nod at him gratefully, eyes locking on his for a moment before he disappears, jumping from the ledge outside the house.

“Bofur!” Oin calls, watching as the other dwarf finally comes to join us in the home. “Did you get the Kingsfoil?” Bofur catches his breath as he walks in, concerned gaze already wandering to Kili on the floor, who continues to groan in agony.

“Kingsfoil,” I mumble quietly to myself, my eyes widening as I realize the true nature of the herb.

Athelas.

“Here,” Bofur hands over a wad of it to Oin, crouching beside us.

“Help me get him on the table,” the older dwarf gestures, grabbing Kili from under his arms. The three of them hoist him onto the bed, Kili now beginning to toss and turn in pain.

“Do you have a plan,” I quietly inquire, leaning closer to Oin. He looks up at me with worry, biting the inside of his cheek and tilting his head.

That would be a no…

“Do what you can to help him for now, I might be able to save him,” I place a reassuring hand on the dwarf’s shoulder before turning to the three humans, who had been watching the scene unfold in silence.

“Is this your house? I need a pestle and mortar,” I demand urgently, already snatching the athelas for myself. Without a word, they begin to search the torn apart kitchen for the tool.

I remove the small bottle of sand from my tunic, popping it open and placing it on a nearby table with the herb. The sounds of Kili’s grunts and yells fill the room, tension growing as the poison runs further through his body.

“Quick!” I wave one of the young girls over, who promptly drops the pestle and mortar aside the ingredients. Without wasting another minute, I begin to grind the athelas and sand together, the water from the lake allowing the mixture to create a homogenous paste.

“Hold him down,” I nod to Kili, Bofur, and Oin, who all tightly grip one of Kili’s appendages.

Please, let this work…

I bite my lip nervously as I smear the paste onto Kili’s injured leg. He lets out a harsh yelp, pain searing up his spine as he squirms under the grasp of the other dwarves.

Just like I learned in the castle…

Taking a deep breath, I continue to add more of the mixture to his wound, slowly chanting a healing mantra, one which was taught to the royal court back home. In theory, it would heal him; in practice, I had never used it before.

I channel all my energy to my hands, closing my eyes and focusing on the words and the feeling of my fingertips, the noise of the chaos surrounding me slowly fading away.

Please.

Please.

Chapter Text

“He’s stablizing.”

Oin’s words evoke a deep sigh to escape my lips, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Looking over Kili’s face, I watch as his breathing returns to normal, the slight tint of pink returning to his sickly cheeks.

It worked…

“He’s alive,” Fili whispers, the words hoarse and hushed, filled to the brim with emotional disbelief as he studies his brother on the table. He takes a deep breath before looking up at me, his appreciation conveyed with a mere glance.

I smile softly to myself, resting my hand on Kili’s arm for a moment before giving it a quick squeeze.

“We need to make sure the orcs don’t return,” I glance back to the dwarves, expression growing more serious. “He’s in no state to defend himself; his vulnerability could be a weakness for all of us.”

“Of course,” Fili nods, clearing his throat and gesturing to Bofur. “We should watch the entrances.” The two dwarves quickly situate themselves near the doors, though Fili’s gaze continues to return to his brother.

Legolas.

My eyes widen, almost having forgotten about the way he had gone after the orcs. My grip tightens around the edge of the table, and I turn to Oin.

“I need to go after the prince,” I explain, already stepping away. “It’s only been about ten minutes; he could still be in combat.”

“What if he wakes up?” Oin inquires nervously as he places a hand on Kili’s shoulder, a silent plea for me to stay.

“He’ll be alright,” I reassure the older dwarf, grabbing my weapons from nearby. “I trust your methods.” He nods solemnly, though his face reveals his inner turmoil.

“Wait,” Fili calls my name, stepping in front of the door. “The elf can handle himself. We need you here.”

“Fili,” I shake my head, voice soft with understanding. “Your brother will be alright. Legolas is out there, chasing and fighting orcs for nothing other than the sake of having our backs. He was right when he said it wasn’t his fight. It’s time for us to have his back as well.”

Fili stiffens slightly, conflicted by his worry for Kili and the understanding of honor. Eventually, he mumbles softly and steps aside. I flash him a reassuring smile before rushing back out into the night, turning down the set of wooden stairs and onto the streets.

Immediately, I run through the roads in the direction of the bridge; surely, if the orcs were retreating, they would make their way there: only one way in, only one way out.

“Legolas!” I call out, the cold night wind swallowing my words before they can even echo through the streets. The fog makes it hard to identify any movement in the distance, and I find myself solely reliant on my sense of sound.

The bridge slowly comes into view, the soft orange lighting of torches illuminating enough of the scene to distinguish a pack of figures, rushing back towards solid land. I squint, eventually identifying them, the running of quadrupedal animals: wargs. They are retreating.

I swallow nervously, my mind immediately jumping to negative conclusions about why Legolas hasn’t answered my calls.

“Legolas!” I yell again, this time louder and more desperate.

“Mhm,” I hear a grunt from a nearby building. “I’m fine,” he grumbles, rather unconvincingly.

My eyes widen and I dash to the sound, gasping as I see him, expression dazed as he wipes a trail of blood from his nose. His pupils are dilated, too dilated.

“Did you hit your head-”

“They are…” his mumbling interrupts me. “They are getting away,” he continues, waving me away as he stumbles forward.

“You’re hurt,” I insist, stepping in front of him.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, gently pushing me aside. “We need the horse.”

He shifts away from me, moving around the corner of a building without waiting for me to follow. I swallow nervously, quickly running after him.

“We are going after him, the leader,” Legolas asserts, already getting settled on the horse as he gestures haphazardly ahead. “We can catch up.”

“Legolas,” I reply apprehensively, though mount the horse behind him. “Are you sure?”

Without another word, he instantly tugs at the reigns, sending the horse running forwards. I tighten my grip around him, the frisk night air hitting my face like a blizzard as we weave through the buildings straight towards the bridge.

“Prepare your bow!” Legolas yells back at me, tugging on the reigns further.

I bite my lip nervously, keeping one arm firmly around him, hand clutching the fabric of his clothes as I attempt to steady myself. As soon as I hear the transition of wooden roadways to the hallow galloping of the bridge below, I reach back for my bow.

We’re traveling faster now, the warg who carries its master grows closer in the distance. The sheer speed of the wind creates a blurring sensation in my mind, the air thinning around us as I struggle to position my bow with a single hand.

“What are you waiting for?” he snaps again, turning his head to look at me from the corners of his eyes.

“If I let go of you, I’ll fall,” I call back, leaning in closer to his ear.

He grunts softly, his top lip twitching into a momentary sneer before turning back around. Releasing one hand from the reigns, he reaches back without looking, grabbing a bundle of fabric from my tunic in his palm and tightening his fingers around it, the action tugging me forward.

“Shoot.”

His command is cold and calculated, the sharp words cutting through the harsh whirling of the wind. Reluctantly, I take a slow breath in, steadying the bow in my hand as I shift my other to grab an arrow.

Leaning slightly to the side, I clutch the bow with fervor, my legs clenching around the horse below in a feeble attempt to steady my body. Legolas’ grip tightens on my shirt, as we continue to billow down the bridge, now in steady pace with the warg ahead.

Without wasting another moment, I release the arrow, the shaft whirling through the wind and striking the beast on its back leg. The crashing sound of tumbling bodies echoes from the stilled water of the lake as the orc falls alongside its carrier, the wood providing a harsh point of contact. Within a second, Legolas brings the horse to a stop before the scene, the orc now upon the bridge, having tumbled rather unceremoniously from the warg.

Legolas releases me from his grasp, immediately dismounting from the horse. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles, putting his arms out as if to keep balance.

I reach him just in time, his body going momentarily limp as he catches himself on me. He reacts almost instantly, grunting and pushing himself back up away from my arms as he jerks his head to the side.

“I am fine,” he grunts, as if reading my thoughts, but his eyes struggle to focus.

“You’re not fine,” I snap back, eyes darting to the orc who begins to move towards us with a snarled grin. “Back up.”

“I can handle myself,” he scoffs, pushing some stray hairs from his face with his forearm, his hands tightening along the handle of his swords.

You’re a liability.

I bite my lip nervously, mind running though situations in which this fight ends in our favor, none coming back successfully. He’s too injured; I’m not only fighting alone, but with someone to protect. It’s too late to run.

The neighing of the horse briefly draws my attention behind us, where our white stallion rushes back down the bridge towards the center of town, away from the soon-to-be-battleground.

“We shouldn't have chased,” I mumble to myself before charging forward towards the orc, trying to put some distance between the creature and Legolas.

The orc approaches with a roar, a confident smile plastered on his mangled and scarred face. His jaw was set, mismatched eyes baring deep into my soul with a fire, a disdain ascending all comprehension, a true and sinister corruption. It was though I could feel my heart drop, the realization setting in, the realization that I was challenging pure evil.

His mace strikes my blade in an instant, sending me stumbling backwards from the sheer force. I narrowly avoid a second swing, the mace just missing the back of my head as it smashes into the dock below, breaking some of the planks and sending chips of wood down into the lake.

A strong force on my shoulder sends me soaring to the side, Legolas having joined the fight to shove me away from another strike with the mace.

The altercation continues for what felt like a lifetime, the clashing of metal ringing through the otherwise silent night as Legolas and I bombard the orc with our attacks. I can tell something is wrong; his swings are stiff, body taught, and head seemingly dazed.

“Legolas,” I call out as my sword clashes against the mace again. “Stand down!”

He doesn’t reply, simply continuing his efforts against the other side of the orc, who quickly spins around to face him.

Shit.

I manage to redirect the orc’s attention, leaving Legolas still stumbling softly nearby, praying our foe won’t catch on quickly enough. Grunts and scoffs fill the air as I continue to go blade-to-blade with the creature, shifting positions to lead the orc away from Legolas, focusing on the other elf’s gaze.

A blunt force crashes into my chest, sending me reeling backwards suddenly, having been distracted by Legolas. My eyes widen as the orc charges towards him, mace brandished between his two calloused hands.

“Run!”

Time seems to slow as my feet move on their own, dashing towards Legolas, who readies his blades. He’s too dazed for this fight.

Without thinking, I reach him first, dropping my blade and pushing him away with enough force to send him tumbling off the side of the bridge, crashing into the lake below. Unfortunately for me, the mace strikes downwards, catching the edge of my cloak and snapping me to the floor, the shock traveling though my entire body as I lose my breath. A large hand grabs my shoulder, throwing me across the air and into a nearby arch along the bridge, my back smashing against the pole.

I cough up a small trail of blood, my fingers clutching the floor beneath me as I attempt to force my lungs to work again. My eyelashes obstruct my vision as I look up to the approaching orc, stomping closer to where I landed. I’m out of options.

I desperately crawl to the ledge, rolling my body off the bridge and into the water.

The icy temperature of the lake feels like daggers to my skin, encapsulating my body as I submerge deeper, the liquid seeping through my clothes in an instant. Holding my breath, I kick my legs, drawing myself away from the bridge beneath the still surface of the lake, begging that my blood continues to flow though my frozen limbs.

Resurfacing with a gasp, I quickly ready myself for more combat, eyes immediately traveling back up to the bridge. Movement in the corner of my eyes draws my attention down the bridge, towards the shore. The orc already rushes down the trail, the limping warg beneath it seemingly struggling to maintain such a speed with my arrow remaining in its leg.

He ran…

My mind reels, trying to understand why he didn’t simply finish us off as easy targets in the water. We were defenseless, weapons remaining on the bridge. We were confused, dazed from trauma. We were almost finished, we were almost dead. And then it hits:

We were not important.

My stomach sinks further as I blink myself back into reality.

We.

Legolas.

As if overtaken by some kind of divine spirit, my gaze is immediately directed to the water, desperately search the surface of the lake for any sign of the other elf, watching as the dark, stilled waves continue to ripple, peacefully undisturbed. He should have surfaced by now.

After taking the deepest breath of my life, I dove. The dark water consumed everything around me, only the faint trickle of moonlight illuminating a couple feet below the surface. I frantically pushed further, fueled by a growing desperation and hopelessness. He was a Sindar who likely sustained a destructive deal of head trauma, and I pushed him into a body of water.

I killed him.

The silence was heavy, the sound of my heartbeat pounding louder as I swam further. For a moment, it felt as though I could hear the call of the sea, the whispers lost after traveling away from Alqualondë. There was a time when it felt as though the water could whisper songs and poems alike, when swimming amongst the waves of the sea, basking in its sunlight. Yet, as much as I prayed for noise, the world remained silent, for a lake is merely a lake, and nothing like the sea.

Hope was almost gone, completely whittled to its core, just as I saw a band of light drifting in the distance. My eyes widened, catching glimpse of the reflective surface of metal, a buckle glinting though the clouded haze.

My arms burned with the weight of the water as I pushed forward with urgency, managing to grab the strap of his quiver, pulling his body towards mine. My lungs screamed in desperation as I ascended, the burdens of masses pushing against me in every direction, drawing black stars to the corners of my vision.

I gasp, the first breath of air feeling like life reentering my body. The cold breeze is harsh, but no worse than the painful numbing of my senses under the freezing water.

“Legolas,” I cough softly, turning and trying to jostle him as I tread water. “Legolas!” He doesn’t move, his limp body still lying over me, the weight continuing to take a toll on my body alongside the water.

I frantically search for a way back onto the bridge. Alone, I may have been able to hoist myself back up, the wood perched only a foot above the surface, but with another body it would be impossible.

As if by fate, I spot a wooden safety ladder a few strokes to the left, leading up to the surface of the bridge. The solid touch of timber underneath my fingers sends a wave of relief through my body, my hand grasping the edge of the ladder as my other continues to hold Legolas afloat.

I hoist his body onto the wood, every muscle in my body screaming at the sheer force, begging to give out. My breath catches in my throat as I stumble onto the bridge beside him, watching as his chest lies still.

“Legolas!” I gasp again, now gently hitting his face though his expression remains still.

“Legolas… Legolas,” my worlds fall in pleas as his name tumbles from my lips, my hands grabbing his shoulders and shaking aggressively.

Wake up…

My silent prayers go unnoticed as I swear I see the color begin to fade from his cheeks. Something about it jolts me, and within a moment I had my hands pressed against his chest, already prepared to revive him.

“Please,” I whisper softly, closing my eyes and beginning to press my palms into his sternum. The motions become rhythmic, each compression growing more desperate as I heave over his body.

One, two, three, four…

My counting continues, the mantra of numbers being the only thing keeping me going as my vision grows hazy.

“Legolas, wake up,” I continue to beg, whispering as I push through the burning sensation traveling through my body, the cold wind feeling like fire to my tattered nerves.

It’s all my fault.

If I didn’t accept his offer to take me here; if I didn’t insist that he stayed; if I didn’t urge him to go after the orcs; if I didn’t let him get on that horse when he was dazed; if I didn’t push him into the water, he would still…

If I didn’t…

“Wake up,” I mumble one final time, taking a deep breath in as I remove my hands from his chest. I lean down, placing my fingers along the sides of his nostrils to close them, my other hand gently pulling down his chin.

I close my eyes, finally leaning down, prepared for any last-ditch effort, anything to breathe life back into him.

With our mouths merely centimeters apart, a small sound draws my eyes open. Instantly, Legolas takes a harsh breath in, the water filling his lungs apparent though the thick gurgle as the air travels into his body. His body jerks in response, a harsh coughing following the breath as he instinctively lurches to the side, water sputtering from his mouth.

I take a deep breath in relief, heart still racing in my chest as I watch him struggle to regain consciousness.

“S-shit you’re… alive,” I sigh, placing a hand on his shoulder in concern has he continues to cough up the remaining water. A warm, peachy pink begins to return to his cheeks, and his pupils constrict erratically.

I glance around, finally conceptualizing the reality of the situation; we are vulnerable if there are any lingering orcs. As his heaving grows soft, I begin to pat his shoulder gently, still scanning the horizon on either side of the bridge.

“We’re safe,” I reassure him again, my words carrying a strong tone of contentment. “Just breathe.”

He mumbles softly, taking another deep breath before pushing himself up with a singular arm. His eyes remain unfocused as they scan my face and the environment around us.

“Lie back down, you need the blood to flow back to your brain,” I insist, almost pushing him back down against the wood.

“I am fine,” he insists, his voice gravelly as he swats my hand away and tries to sit up. “I’m awake again.”

“No, just-” I scoff, now holding him down by his shoulders. “That’s exactly what you said before you-”

“I am fine!” he interrupts, raising his voice as he struggles beneath my grasp. “I don’t need your help.”

“Stop struggling!” I desperately yell. “You could’ve died! I- no, you did die!”

“And for what? I shouldn’t have helped you and those idiotic dwarves,” he spits, voice sharp with anger as he continues to push against my grasp.

His words sting, feeling as though a wound that closed when he awoke had been reopened yet again. He was right.

I glance out at the lake, attempting to look at anything that avoids meeting his gaze. Slowly, I release his shoulders, tentatively sitting back on my knees. Remaining quiet, I glance back down to my hands, stretching and clenching my fingers, feeling the sensations of my muscles contracting and appreciating the physical reminder of life.

Legolas sighs, shaking his head as he begins to sit up, resting on the palms of his hands. We sit in silence for a while, processing and fostering our appreciation for life.

“I’m sorry.”

My whispered words are heavy with emotion. I mean it, more deeply than he could know. The world was cruel, to put someone at risk who had nothing to gain, and yet it was I who arbitrated such a notion, all for selfishness.

“I am as well.”

My brow furrows as I look up at him, finally meeting his piercing eyes which settle on mine.

We rest in another uncomfortable silence, both unsure of what to say, how to put anything into words. Alongside our battered bodies, something of this nature should be the least of our concerns.

I swallow nervously, squeezing out a stream of water from my drenched cloak before widening my eyes, suddenly connecting some long-forgotten dots. I dig through the pocket for a moment, grabbing a damp wad of soddened paper and removing it with haste.

“Lairondren.”

The late elf's name slips from my lips quietly as I unravel the letter. It nearly crumbles under my touch, ripping and tearing along the neat folds as it begins to disintegrate in my hands.

I knew deep down I couldn’t carry it with me forever, that one day time would steal any tangible evidence of his existence, and all that would remain would be a memory. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. Especially not after just reading it to a friend a few weeks earlier.

“Is that a letter?” Legolas asks, now leaning forward with worry.

“It’s not important,” I swallow, clutching the decaying paper into a destroyed bundle, a small stream of water pouring from the sides of my fingers. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“For the best?” he repeats another question, another which I can’t entertain.

Without hesitation, I toss the bundle of paper into the lake beside us, watching as it hits the water with a fleeting splash. It sinks quickly, the soft caramel color of the worn wad swiftly swallowed by the ebony liquid.

Memories are a cruel thing. Perhaps that’s why I held onto it for so long, the physical manifestation of love, the only thing I had except my memories. I always thought my memory of him would fade quicker than the paper, that one day I’d search for his face in my brain and be left with a blur, a figment which would be tied only to that page. But fate is not always so kind.

“Not even the roughest storm or the deepest sea can keep us apart, my love.”

At least the words will always be with me.

A distant rumble draws my attention back to the situation at hand, the frisk wind now drawing a shiver from my bones. Shaking my head, I try to stand up, muscles and lungs still sore from the previously sustained injuries and ordeal in the lake, two sensations neglected due to the rapidly growing cold, consuming every inch of my body from the wet clothes plastered to my skin.

“We should get back into the town,” I eventually speak, clearing my throat as I settle on my feet. “We’re both cold, and you definitely need to recover.”

My words are more of a demand than a suggestion, leaving little room to protest. He opens his mouth to speak but quickly decides against it, unbeknownst to me if he would have referred to the letter or my order. I hold out my hand, a gentle but insistent aid. He takes it gladly, clear through the fervor of his grip rather than any visual or verbal indication; his face remains unchanged, brows furrowed in curiosity or concern, but with an overwhelming sense of neutrality.

“I’m… glad you’re alive,” I eventually whisper, attempting to tug a smile onto my sealed lips. His own quirk upwards, alongside the raise of a singular eyebrow, a lighthearted acknowledgement of my words.

“I am glad I’m alive as well,” he replies, expression unwavering as he slightly adjusts his tunic.

“I hope I won’t have to carry you back,” I joke softly, looking back to Laketown, around a hundred meters down the bridge.

“I can assure you,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “I will survive without your assistance.” His smile is genuine now, something I rarely elicited from him before.

Interrupting the moment, the rumbling from before occurs again, now growing louder and sending a soft shudder through the wood below our feet. I clear my throat, now growing more concerned by the incoming sound. Whipping around to face its origins, I find myself staring away from the town, towards Erebor.

“Legolas…” I choke under my breath, the words caught deep in my throat as I stare up at the sky.

I’m frozen in place, every sense fading except for that of sight, tunnel visioned onto something alongside the moon. Black stars dance at the corners of my vision, and I struggle to blink them away, eyes trained on the movement of a flying figure, coming closer and closer from the North. I had intended to tug his tunic, but the moment my fingers found the fabric, they were petrified in fear, my hand now grabbing his arm in silent desperation.

His gaze follows mine, up to the sky and to the oncoming beast, the oncoming storm. I feel the muscles of his arm tighten under my grasp, his own reaction to the sight sending another shiver down my spine. His voice is as hushed as mine, gaze unwavering.

“The dragon… has left the mountain.”

Chapter Text

“The dwarves,” I whisper breathlessly, already beginning to pace back down the bridge. “I need to get them out of the town.”

Before I can proceed any further, Legolas’ hand reaches for my arm, firmly holding me in place and drawing my attention back to him.

“The dragon, Smaug, will destroy everything,” he explains urgently. “You would be a fool to return; the entire town will be turned to ash in mere minutes.”

“I have to try,” I frown softly, slipping from his grasp. The soft thundering of wings grows louder as the dragon flies closer, mixed with a soft commotion already flooding in from the town – the men gaining awareness of their fate.

“Thank you.”

The words escape my lips before I’m even aware of it, sincere and firm through all the sacrifices. Mere days ago, we were two strangers – enemies, even – and now, bound by the constant repayment of debts, we owe each other our lives. “Thank you for everything.”

Legolas’ jaw clenches slightly, his mind clearly overwhelmed by the current situation. His eyes flicker to the oncoming beast, then to the town, and then to me. His hand reaches for his chin, stroking his jawline with a sigh before turning to walk down the bridge, away from the town.

I swallow in acceptance, nodding as I look back to the town. A series of lights begin to flicker from the houses, a wave of candles lighting as the men become aware of their fate.

I don’t have much time.

As my feet begin to carry me back to the dwarves, a mumbled string of words stops me yet again.

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

They’re barely audible, the words almost stolen by the oncoming wind. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, and without a reply, I continue down the bridge, pace quickening hastily. The smell of smoke fills the air of the town, mixed with the putrid bitterness of rotting fish. Navigating back through the town, you pass the familiar turns and bends of the wooden roads, pushing past the townspeople surveying the sky.

A dark shadow travels swiftly across the landscape, paired with a deep rumble as the dragon flies overhead tauntingly. Screams and shouts fill the streets, the small boats lining the canals already beginning to be loaded up with personal belongings.

“Kili!” I call out, spotting the dwarf at the top of the staircase to the house.

His eyes light up he spots me, smiling as he calls out my name back to me. I rush up the stairs, clutching the railing as the floor shakes with the rush of wind from the dragon’s wings. Fili’s smile soon fades as he looks up at the beast, now beginning to circle the night sky above us.

“We need to leave, now,” I huff, nearly out of breath as I gesture past him inside. “The whole town will be on fire soon.” I rush through the door, eyes searching the dimly lit room and spotting Kili, now sitting on an armchair by Oin.

“Everyone, get up,” I urgently call out through the house as I enter, startling them slightly. “You all as well, take only what you need,” I look over to the children, pointing at them before making my way towards Kili to help him up.

“Come on,” Fili attempts to pull Kili from the chair, placing his arm around his brother.

“I’m fine,” Kili huffs in return, recoiling from Fili’s grasp. “I can walk.”

“I didn’t save you only for you to resist help,” I huff firmly at the injured dwarf, though there is no aggression in my tone. “Load him into a boat,” I nod to Fili and Bofur. Kili’s brown eyes find mine as his brow furrows – from annoyance or pain, I cannot tell – but he eventually nods, allowing the other dwarves to support him towards the backdoor of the house.

“Thank you,” Kili mutters softly as he passes me. I offer him an apologetic smile in return, a silent apology for snapping. My attention turns to the two girls, watching as the older one places a coat on the shoulders of the youngest, stunned and unmoving. I sigh softly and lean down, resting a gentle hand on young girl’s arm.

“It’ll be alright, we just need to be fast,” I say, trying to be reassuring.

“We aren’t leaving; not without our father.” My gaze travels up to a young boy, the third human and likely the brother of the other two. He approaches promptly, eyes wide and naïve as if surfacing confidence he himself was unaware he possessed. I sigh gently, letting go of the young girl and allowing her sister to wrap a scarf around her neck.

“Your father will need to find his own way out,” I reply, empathetic yet steadfast, understanding that these children are likely those of the man who helped the dwarves seek shelter; I owe them something. “I’m sorry, but we need to leave.”

“We need to stay,” he repeats, stepping in front of his sisters with determination. I hold my tongue, swallowing the inkling of annoyance as my eyes flicker over to the dwarves who are already descending the back staircase.

“You will all die if you stay here,” I state bluntly, looking down at the children with a stern look, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. “Dragons do not take prisoners.”

I step aside, beginning to follow the others out the backdoor, not able to afford any more time on the stubborn kids. Stomps echo down the small staircase as we trail out of the building, onto the lower floor which docks a small rowboat.

“Quickly,” Oin urges Bofur and Fili into the boat, the two dwarves helping Kili across with them.

I look up to the sky, the shadow of the dragon crossing over the moonlight once again, the wind blowing more aggressively as if the beast is flying even closer to the rooftops. Swallowing nervously, I take Bofur’s hand and step into the boat myself, eyes sweeping the nearby canals for the quickest route out.

“Wait!” a call draws my attention back to the staircase, where the three humans rush back out and towards the boat. “Wait, please,” the eldest calls again, sighing as she reaches the boat and lifts her sister into it.

I smile softly, nodding as I take the child and place her gently in a new row. Her sister climbs in after her, sitting beside her and wrapping a blanket tightly around her shoulders. I nod at the son as he reluctantly boards, taking a seat in the row beside his sisters.

“Let’s go, now,” I urge the dwarves to grab oars as I shift to the front of the boat, again searching the waters for a suitable exit. I begin to untie the raft from the dock, swinging the heavy rope back onto shore, just as I hear another set of boots rushing down the staircase.

“Legolas,” my breath catches in my throat as I see him, paused in front of the boat with a neutral expression. He nods, his eyes trailing carefully over the boat, studying the faces before him before moving to board. Clearing his throat, he leans off the dock, watching either side of the canal with precision, as if considering a plan.

The dwarves blink in shock, their postures clenching as if considering an interjection, but they soon decide against it.

“You came back,” I comment, raising an eyebrow curiously, a slight smile on my lips. He huffs somewhat pridefully as he climbs into the boat, making his way to the rear.

"Head north, up this canal,” he urges, ignoring my comment. “There will be an intersection, and the west canal will take us to the route closest to the shore.”

“Seriously,” Fili questions with a harsh tone, head whipping around to turn to Legolas. “We’re trusting this elf?”

“You’ve trusted an elf before,” I remind him playfully, pushing the boat off the edge of the dock with a grunt. “He knows what he’s doing.” I place a reassuring hand on Fili’s shoulder as I climb to the back of the boat with Legolas.

Instinctively, I load my bow with an arrow, perching at the back and observing the landscape. Chaos ensues on the nearby docks; babies cry as they’re loaded haphazardly onto boats alongside their toddler counterparts, men and women alike run down the roads desperately to escape, and loose dogs bark at the creature in the sky.

“Keep your heads down,” Oin calls as the rest of the dwarves begin to row.

“We need protection,” I quickly decide, leaning forward protectively as I watch. “We can’t let anyone else on this boat…”

“I’ll direct us,” Legolas announces, gesturing forward. “And keep an eye on the sky.”

With roles established, we begin to float down the canal, carefully and intently, yet with an underlying sense of urgency. Soft winces occasionally escape from Kili, whose eyes tighten with pain as his body shifts with each row. The situation quickly reminds me of my own deterioration, my leg still swollen with pain and bones bruised from the earlier fight with the orc leader. I swallow thickly, trying to remain focused on making it out of the town alive rather than the throbbing sensations prickling along my muscles.

“Get down!”

The call from Legolas hits my ears, my body immediately reacting and dropping into a squat as I bury my head in my knees. A wave of pure and unadulterated heat whips along my spine, and for a moment I question if my hair was burned off my head. The harsh rise and fall of my chest presses hard against my knees as I hold the position, eyes closed impossibly tight.

“It’s gone,” Legolas calls out, voice soft behind the nearby screams now flooding the streets. I blink softly, eyes adjusting to the newfound orange lights beaming from the buildings.

Fire.

A vast blaze has overtaken the town, the buildings on either side of the canal already beginning to collapse into ash under the relentless inferno. Wooden pillars crumble into the lake, the flammable docks and streets providing a highway for the fires to spread up and down the town.

“Row, row!” Bofur urges, the seriousness of the situation quickly setting in as the dwarves pick up the oars again. The young girl in front of me stifles a sob, clutching the blanket around her as her sister whispers softly in her ear, their brother attempting to shield them with his body.

“Look out!” the boy’s eyes widen as he points in front of us, the canal intersection blocked by a large, slow-moving boat, filled to the brim with gems and gold. My eyes widen, knowing a collision is inbound.

“Hold on!” I yell, attempting to plant my feet and hold onto the children in front of me. The boats collide, the sheer size of the other one nearly causing ours to capsize, tilting aggressively to the right until the water just barely grazed the rim, trickling slightly onto the deck.

Oin and Bofur struggled with the paddles, attempting to push into the water and force the boat right-side up, while Fili and Kili’s oars press against the larger vessel to push us away. The men on the larger boat yell, watching some of their treasures tumble and dive into the lake, a few spare coins chiming as they land within our boat.

I gasp as my foot slips on the newly dampened wood, trying to grab the plank of the nearby seat as I feel my weight falling backwards. My fingers just barely miss it, the momentum of the fall picking up while I struggle to regain my footing. Closing my eyes and holding my breath, I accept my fate, prepared to hit the water below for a second time that night.

At the eleventh hour, a hand reaches for mine, catching my wrist and tugging me back up against gravity. The moment passes in a blur, with only the faint smell of fir grounding me as I open my eyes once more, my body now pressed against another. The rocking of the boat ceases, the sides now upright again as a series of relieved mumbles pass over the group.

“Are you alright?” Legolas asks, looking down at me with concern, his hand still gripping my wrist. Catching my breath, I look up into his eyes, giving a firm nod before stepping back to put some distance between us.

“Yeah,” I clear my throat, tugging my hand away from his and running it through my still-damp hair. “I’m fine.”

I turn before he can see my cheeks flush in embarrassment, quickly looking forwards to our destination: we have a bigger problem on our hands. The large boat travels off into the distance down the main canal, rippling soft waves which reflect the bright fires above. Smoke begins to fill the air as Smaug sweeps down again, breathing its fire onto another strip of the town, the air ringing with screams.

“This way,” Fili points, a path ahead twisting under a series of buildings – potential protection from the beast.

We continue to carefully but quickly navigate the landscape, ducking under scaffoldings and pausing at intersections, finally nearing the western edge of the floating town.

“Da!” the young boy’s yells snap my attention upwards to a high belltower in the distance.

“Da,” the eldest sister repeats, covering her mouth in shock as her eyes too train on the tower.

Amongst the flames stands a bearded man with a bow, his long and curly hair swept by the wind. In his hand is a bow, loaded with a thinly shafted arrow, pointed upwards at the sky.

“Is he…” my mumbled words are barely audible as I question his intentions. Surely, he cannot be trying to kill the dragon with such a measly weapon, something that would take a hundred shots to even dent its hide.

The man lets the arrow fly, just as the dragon sweeps down amongst the buildings again. It meets his mark, clashing with a scale on its chest before recoiling and tumbling into the water.

“He hit it!” Kili calls, watching the exchange. “He hit the dragon, he did!”

I watch with wide eyes as the dragon continues its plight, blowing another desecrating wave of fire into the buildings before retreating to the smog settled above the town.

“He hit his mark, I saw!” Kili insists, pushing the hair from his face intently.

“His arrows cannot pierce its hide,” Legolas calls back, almost indignantly. “Nothing will; it is a lost cause.”

An eerie silence falls over the group as the flames persist around us. Slowly, it becomes harder to breathe, the dense smoke and ash growing thicker as the fires are fueled and spread by the oncoming wind.

Without a warning, the young boy stands, grabbing a hanging hook from the air. He hoists himself up, starting to swing off the boat as he shifts his body.

“Bain!” Bofur calls, immediately reaching to grab the young boy, who skillfully evades his grasp.

Shit.

“Bain!” his two sisters call synchronously, watching as he swings himself to shore, landing on the dock without looking back.

“Come back!” the youngest calls meekly, tears already beginning to form in her wide eyes.

“Leave him,” I urge the dwarves, insistent that they keep rowing. I watch as the boy rushes along the docks, already moving further from the canal. “We don’t have the time.”

The sisters exchange an agonized glance, clearly torn by the war between love and survival; they choose not to speak.

After a few more bends in the canal, along the sides of buildings, we reach the edge of the city. The scenery around is illuminated by a mixture of the moon and the flames, the dark water’s ripples traveling out back to shore. A cluster of boats is already moving that way, a couple of paces down and running parallel to the bridge, which had already been burned partially down.

“If we go now, we’ll be a big target,” I murmur, turning back to Legolas. He looks up at the sky, the dragon already beginning to descend upon the buildings again.

“We have no other choice,” he says stoically, brow furrowing. “If we stay here, we won’t survive. We rely on the darkness and Smaug’s preoccupation with the town.”

“We should stay,” Kili interjects firmly, twisting around in the seat to face Legolas. “We lay low on the outskirts where we won’t be crushed by fallout and make our move after he tires.”

“I agree,” Fili nods. “We’re sitting ducks if we travel along the bridge; if Smaug is out for destruction, he’ll target the escaping boats quickly.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Legolas snaps in annoyance, voice raising slightly. “He won’t tire. He is going to flatten everything until the town is completely underwater.”

“And we’ll be underwater too if we try to leave now,” Kili stands.

“Dwarves,” scoffs Legolas under his breath, eyes darting to the collapsing bridge.

“What was that?” Kili’s face twists with anger as he steps closer, his brother now standing as well.

“Hey now, let’s all calm down,” Bofur stumbles to his feet, placing a hand on Kili’s shoulder.

“Yes,” I agree, shooting Legolas a disapproving glare. “We can all be civil about this.” As the words leave my mouth, Smaug unleashes another roar of fire, sending a shocking heatwave blowing through the town and almost burning our skin. The air grows even heavier, the blazes of the fire only growing.

“We can,” Fili retorts, gesturing to Legolas. “Clearly the elf cannot.”

“I am not going to die simply because of your poor decision-making,” Legolas’ eyes bare into the dwarves.

“Yeah?” Kili taunts, nodding his head. “You’re not in Mirkwood anymore; no more army to command, no more daddy to spoon-feed you-”

“Kili,” I interrupt, stepping in front of the dwarf. “Infighting isn’t going to get us anywhere. Dare I remind you of the situation we’re in,” I gesture to the buildings as I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead.

“I could kill you in an instant, dwarf,” Legolas taunts stoically from behind me, the words ice cold and spoken through a smirk. “Do not forget that.”

“I say we toss him,” Fili suggests with crossed arms. “Call it reparations for the wood elves’ involvement in our unjust kidnapping.” Bofur and Oin exchange a series of worried murmurs as Legolas reaches back, hand trained on the handle of a shortsword. The two girls exchange a worried glance, looking back up to me, the only thing standing between Legolas and the dwarves.

“I would like to see you try,” Legolas challenges, eyes flashing with provocation.

“All of you!” I yell, holding out my hands to separate the opposing parties. “We have bigger issues to be dealing with than-”

“Look!”

The scream escaped the mouth of the youngest girl, shrieking and pointing upwards to the sky. My eyes snap to follow her finger, eyes catching immediately on the dragon, snagging slightly along the tops of a series of buildings before it struggles to bring itself back up in the air.

Its belly grows orange, the beast growling and seemingly gasping for air as it haphazardly flaps itself higher in the air. Twisting and turning with pain, the air rings with its death call, its figure growing smaller as it gains altitude, all before freezing midair.

And then, its body limp from stolen life, it falls. It’s as if the moment is in slow motion, the body dragging on the air and descending back to earth. My eyes widen as I watch it, the rest of the group just as frozen with shock, as it tumbles down, our view blocked by a few of the taller buildings. A large and crashing sound echoes through the night, a finalization of its fall.

The dragon is dead.

“What,” Bofur gasps softly, the first to break the silence.

“It died,” Kili mumbles, gaze fixated on some meaningless point in the horizon. “Something killed it.”

“Surely not,” I murmur under my breath, almost refusing to believe the evidence right before my eyes. Another wave of hushed silence passes over the boat, the only sounds being the distant yells of humans and constant flickering of the nearby flames.

My eyes meet Legolas’, who mirrors my expression back to me: distress and disbelief. He purses his lips, eventually accepting the situation and turning his attention to shore.

“Let’s get to land,” Legolas clears his throat, moving to grab an oar. “I’m sick of this lake,” he adds under his breath, flashing me a knowing glance. I force a smile back, grabbing an oar myself as I nod.

It takes a moment for the others to recover, begrudgingly returning to their seats to support the venture. The girls huddle together, murmuring something about their brother and father before settling down again. The rest of the journey proceeds in an atmosphere of charged silence, broken only by the waves beside us. A shiver runs down my spine as we grow further from the fires, the wind’s touch on my damp clothes creating an icy and compressive feeling on my body. I reach my hand into the water momentarily, feeling the cool liquid pass across my skin, soothing my nerves.

It wasn’t a replacement for the sea, but it was something. Something familiar. Something of home.

Chapter Text

The sun had begun to rise again as we reached the shore, the light filtering in through the dense clouds above, a mix of natural evaporation and the dark greys of smoke. It was as the adrenaline wore off that I could feel my eyelids growing heavy, unable to remember the last time I got a full night of sleep.

I touch the rocks and pebbles with my hands, feeling the differing rough and smooth textures beneath my fingertips. The shore is loud and bustling, overwhelmed with humans and boats and debris, all which fade into a constant hum in the depths of my mind. My eyes struggle to focus on anything, my blank stare trained on something nonexistent in the horizon, consciousness dazed and muddied.

The distant call of my name distracts me for a moment, my conscience drifting slightly towards the sound but unable to commit completely. My breathing is slow and consistent, and I gain acute awareness of the cold air traveling through my nostrils, and down my throat, and finally to my lungs. And the cycle continues.

“Are you alright?”

A firm hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my trance, my body jerking softly at the sudden touch. Air fills my lungs again as my body forces itself to take a deep breath, my eyes finally blinking themselves awake and looking upwards.

“Fili,” I swallow, pursing my lips as I try to retain focus.

“You don’t look so great,” Fili replies, crouching down next to me. His face moves closer to mine, his eyes searching around my features for some explanation.

“I’m just… very tired,” I decide, shaking my head and forcing a smile. “It’ll be nice to have some real sleep soon.” He nods in agreement, though an apprehensive expression passes over his features.

“Yeah, let’s get to the mountain as soon as possible,” he says, standing up and offering me a hand. I gladly take it, using him as leverage to force my tired body to its feet. I stumble slightly, resting my other hand on his shoulder as I ground myself.

“Thanks,” I mumble, almost annoyed at myself for being in such a state.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, now looking up at me. “Maybe I could grab you some food and water; it might be that you haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Yeah,” I nod, slowly patting his shoulder in agreement. “That would be great.”

The sound of a throat clearing sounds from next to us, and I quickly turn to see Legolas.

How long has he been there?

I smile softly at Fili, releasing his hand and watching as he walks towards the other dwarves, huddled by the rowboat.

“You look tired,” Legolas notes as he steps closer, his voice tinged with disapproval, and something else I can’t put my finger on.

“It’s been a while since I’ve slept,” I nod, stretching my shoulders. “Or eaten.”

“And you won’t be able to rest for a while yet,” he comments, rather bluntly. I raise an eyebrow at his change in demeanor, my mind finally putting the pieces together.

“You’re mad at the dwarves,” I note confidently, but he shakes his head.

“I would not dwell on such foolish words, spoken from the mouths of those I do not respect,” he quickly corrects, crossing his arms.

“What’s wrong, then?” I question. “You’re not difficult to read, you know.” He waves his hand dismissively before changing the subject.

“The orc we fought in Lake-town, I know who he is.”

“You do?” my eyes widen curiously, quickly forgetting about his previous attitude.

“Bolg, spawn of Azog the Defiler,” he states.

“Azog the Defiler,” I repeat back as a murmur, suddenly recalling the familiarity of the name. “Azog, he has been chasing our company since before Rivendell.” Legolas hums in acknowledgement, gaze staring off to Erebor.

“Bolg will know of Smaug’s death,” he explains. “The orcs with him, they bore a mark I have not seen for a long time. The mark of Gundabad.”

“Gundabad?”

“An orc stronghold in the far north of the Misty Mountains,” he hums.

“So, you think there will be more of them?” I ask, though I know the answer. “Bolg is retreating to tell the armies that-”

“The dragon has fallen, the mountain is free,” he interrupts, finishing my thoughts. “Erebor’s position and wealth makes it something worth many lives. Many, many lives.”

“The orcs will attack,” I swallow nervously, gaze shifting to the dwarves convening by the boat.

“We can’t know for certain,” he corrects, running a hand through his hair. “And we don’t know how soon it will come. But I am sure they will want to attack before the dwarves of the Iron Mountains travel west to join their kin. They want an easy fight.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“To know for certain, we’d need to travel to Gundabad.”

“We?” I ask curiously.

“We,” he nods. “An entire army traveling from Gundabad to Erebor concerns my kingdom as well; it concerns the entirety of Middle-earth.”

I bite the inside of my cheek in contemplation. He isn’t wrong; the rest of the company will be in danger if the orcs decide to attack from the north, especially without an army to counter. Without the knowledge of what lies in Gundabad, everyone could die.

But, I’m so tired…

The turmoil between ceding to exhaustion and pushing forth brews in my mind. There is no time to regroup at Erebor before making a decision, it lies solely in my hands.

“Okay,” I eventually nod. “We’ll go.”

Legolas lets out a content sigh, uncrossing his arms and immediately turning to walk further away from the shore.

“We leave now,” he commands, gaze growing serious.

“Wait,” I shake my head, causing him to pause. “I need to tell the dwarves.” He quirks a brow but says nothing, eventually nodding.

As I walk to the boat, I shiver slightly, the winter wind only growing colder by the hour. I cross my arms to conserve warmth and smile as I walk over to them.

“I found you some food,” Fili says, reaching into his bag and grabbing a small and rather dirty loaf of bread. A smile tugs at my lips as I take it from him, nodding in thanks.

“We’re getting ready to go,” Kili comments, gesturing to the boat. “Are you ready?”

“About that,” I clear my throat, looking over my shoulder at Legolas. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” Bofur chimes in concern.

I explain in detail what I overheard in the Mirkwood kingdom between the orc and Thranduil, as well as everything Legolas informed me about the orc pack in Lake-town.

“Therefore,” I sigh softly. “I’m going to Gundabad.”

“You can’t,” Kili immediately shakes his head. “It’s far too dangerous; let’s just get to the mountain and speak with Thorin.”

“Kili, there’s no time,” I give him a sympathetic look. “Everyone is looking to the mountain now, and if the orcs plan to attack soon, we don’t have much time before their armies come forth from the stronghold.”

“I’ll go with you,” Fili suddenly interjects.

“No, Fili,” I shake my head. “It’s important that you reach the mountain, to be with your kin.”

“And it’s important that you reach the mountain too,” Fili replies quickly.

“Have some faith in the lass,” Oin hums, now voicing his own opinion. He places a reassuring hand on Fili’s shoulder and smile. I sigh softly and give him a thankful look.

“I’ll be alright,” I state confidently, trying to convince the dwarves as such. “It’s important that you tell the others of the threat, and make sure Thorin knows about the seriousness of the situation.”

“We will,” Kili nods, looking to Bofur who agrees.

Begrudgingly, we say our goodbyes. I reach over and give the dwarves hugs, wishing them the best on their journey to the mountain.

“You’ll tell Bilbo I miss him?” I ask Kili as I release him from a hug. A smile tugs at the edges of his lips and he nods, giving a playful salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” he jokes softly and walks off towards the boat. He doesn’t look back, and deep in my chest I know why.

“You’re sure about this?” Fili asks again, his expression twisted in worry.

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” I give him a longer hug before patting him on the back.

“I guess you aren’t budging on this,” he sighs with a soft smile before pulling away.

“I am not,” I return his smile, pausing before digging through the pocket of my cloak. “Wait, one moment.”

He pauses intently, watching as I pull out two small objects from different pockets: the small, wooden dog from our first night watch together, and the spherical stone we tossed to each other in the goblin prison. I grin, watching his reaction.

“You keep one, I keep the other,” I explain, holding the two objects out for him to choose. “I think that’s only fair.” He chuckles softly as his gaze flickers between the two keepsakes.

“This had better not be one of those ‘remember-me-when-I’m-gone’ gifts,” he huffs as a joke, but with a slight undertone of seriousness. He reaches out, taking the carved dog and placing it in his own coat pocket.

“We will see each other again, Fili,” I say firmly, leaving no room for argument. I wrap him up in another quick embrace. “You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he mumbles, pulling back with a warm smile.

“Fili, come on!” Kili calls from the boat. “We’re gonna leave without you,” he jests.

“Coming!” Fili replies, sighing softly and giving me one last look before running off to the boat, his shoes trudging through the water before hopping into the vessel. The dwarves pause their rowing to give me one final wave, before picking up again. I swallow nervously as I watch them float away, a sinking feeling in my chest knowing I won’t see them again for a while yet.

I sigh, fingering the smooth stone in my hand before placing it back into my tunic, a wave of nostalgia and melancholy passing through me. After a moment lost in thought, I turn around. Legolas’ arms are crossed, eyes trained on me with a somewhat disapproving expression.

“What?” I question, stepping towards him to indicate I’m ready to leave.

“The blonde dwarf,” he starts, gaze wandering back to the boat before returning to me. He pauses for a moment before continuing. “Do you have feelings for him?” he asks bluntly. I raise an eyebrow, my hands now resting on my hips.

“What’s it to you?” I ask in slight annoyance, just as he sighs in frustration.

“He is a dwarf.”

“So?”

“So,” he hums.

“It’s not like that,” I clarify, already beginning to walk across the rocky beach. “But even if it was, there wouldn’t be a problem with it.” He grunts softly, dropping the subject but clearly still unconvinced. Begrudgingly, he follows behind me, trailing further from the shoreline.

“Wait,” he pauses, placing a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “There’s one last thing we must do.”

“What is it?” I clear my throat, my annoyance with the previous conversation beginning to fade.

“We need to warn the men,” he states firmly, waving me back over to the other side of the beach.

“Warn them?”

“If they seek refuge near the mountain,” he begins, gesturing across the lake. “They will be caught in the crossfire, if anything were to happen.”

I nod in understanding, a small smile making its way onto my features. It was unexpected, really, that he would care to enlighten them, something I hadn’t even considered myself. Perhaps I passed some judgements on him too quickly.

“Take only what you need – we have a long journey ahead!” a voice rings out, echoing through the beach. Legolas and I weave through the jostled refugees, all trying to scavenge what they can from the wreckage.

We find the source of the voice, my eyes widening in surprise as I see the man from the belltower, his hand on the shoulder of the young girl we helped save from the town. Her eyes meet mine, and I offer her a reassuring smile.

“You two,” the man says, approaching us with a serious expression. “You were with my daughters during the attack, with the dwarves.”

“Not associated with the dwarves,” Legolas grumbles softly.

“Yes,” I shoot him a look before turning back to the man. “You must be their father.”

“Bard,” he says, holding out his hand. We share our names, just before a short, weaselly man approaches us.

“Where will you go?” asks Legolas suddenly, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“There is only one place,” Bard hums, gaze wandering out to the mountain.

“The mountain,” the other man mumbles, eyebrows raising. “You are a genius, sire; we can take refuge inside the mountain. It might smell a bit of dragon – but the women can clean up. And it will be safe and warm and dry, and full of stores, bedding, clothing…” he pauses, mouth twisting into a cheeky smirk. “The odd bit of gold.”

“What gold is in that mountain is cursed,” Bard replies firmly, not even looking down at the other man. “We will take only what was promised to us. Only what we need to rebuild our lives.”

“News of the death of Smaug will have spread through the lands,” Legolas interjects, just as Bard begins walking along the rocks.

“Aye,” nods the man in return.

“Others will now look to the mountain, for it’s wealth and it’s position,” Legolas’ voice trails off as he gives Bard a serious glance.

“What is it you know?” he questions, gaze flickering between the both of us.

“We don’t know anything for certain,” I quickly clarify, putting a hand up reassuringly. “But there was an orc pack chasing our company to the mountain.”

“I am aware,” he grumbles softly in return, a scornful expression passing over him.

“We are going to investigate,” I add. “But it would be wise to prepare for the worst.”

“Indeed,” Legolas hums in agreement. “Your priority should lie with making it through winter, but obtaining weapons would be wise.” Bard nods solemnly, looking back out at the mountain curiously.

“Thank you,” he eventually speaks, bowing his head appreciatively before beginning to assist a nearby woman with some scavenged lumber. Legolas lets out a deep sigh before turning inland, not bothering to look back to see if I follow.

“Well then, we need to make haste,” he states factually as I catch up. “Obtaining a horse should be our first priority…” he pauses as I smile and nudge him on the shoulder.

“Look,” I dig through a pocket, pulling out a handful of shiny, gold coins. “Remember when our boat collided with the big one?”

“You stole some of it?” he interjects, in slight disbelief.

“No,” I shake my head, returning them to my pocket. “They just happened to fall out of the other boat and into ours… and I just happened to pick them up when we got to shore,” I explain with a gleaming grin. He scoffs softly, though it comes out as more of a chuckle.

Before he can speak again, the sound of distant galloping catches our attention, a steed coming inland from the bundle of trees up ahead. The rider – a slim elf with long, auburn hair – turns the corner and halts before us, eyes meeting Legolas’.

“My Lord Legolas, I bring word from your father,” he begins in Sindarin, gaze wandering towards me momentarily before returning to the prince. “You are to return to him immediately.”

“You can inform my father that I will return once proper investigations have taken place,” Legolas replies firmly. “He’ll understand what that means.”

“Are you sure, my Lord?” the elf questions, brow furrowed.

“Yes,” Legolas nods, gesturing to the steed. “And we will have the horse.”

“The horse?”

“Yes,” he mumbles again, walking closer. The elf’s eyebrows shoot up as he quickly dismounts the horse, standing beside it and still holding onto the reigns.

“My lord,” he clears his throat, looking towards me again – a silent question.

“She is traveling with me,” Legolas quickly dismisses, waving his hand softly before mounting the horse. “Are you going to be able to make it back to Mirkwood?”

“Yes,” the elf replies reluctantly, swallowing as he watches Legolas, who holds his hand out to me. I take it, using the stirrup to pull myself onto the horse behind him. “My Lord, are you certain-”

“As I said, inform my father I have business elsewhere,” he cuts the other elf off, kicking his heel softly. “Gundabad.”

Without another word, the horse springs into a gallop down the winding road, whisking us away from the lakeside. I tighten my grip around him, unsure if the gesture is to prevent myself from falling or to stay warm, the winter wind now shockingly cold against my skin. We ride quickly for a couple minutes, until we’re about a kilometer away from the shoreline.

The steed slows to a gentle trot, neighing softly as it shakes its head. I take a deep breath, slowly relaxing my grasp on him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, twisting his head back slightly. “I wanted to get away before he asked any more questions,” he explains sympathetically.

“Don’t worry about it,” I nod in understanding, though still feel a slight shiver traveling through my body. He pauses for a moment, slowing the horse down further.

“You’re cold?” he asks, though it comes out more as a statement.

“A little,” I admit, rolling my shoulders and tugging my cloak further onto me. “Think I’m still chilled from our… ‘swim’ earlier.”

“Hm,” he hums and nods, soon tapping my hand as if to ask me to release him. I oblige curiously, leaning back and watching as he takes off the top layer of his tunic, a coat-like fabric.

“Oh, no it’s fine, really,” I insist, putting my hands out, but he quickly scoffs.

“You are cold; I am not.” His words leave little room for argument as he hands the article of clothing back to me. I take it, begrudgingly slipping my arms through the sleeves underneath my cloak.

“You didn’t need to,” I grumble, returning my arms to around his waist.

“Too late,” he replies promptly, and it’s as though I can hear the tinge of a smile on his lips as he speaks. Without another word, he pulls on the reigns, the horse now speeding up down the dirt road, weaving between the lightly peppered forest of trees. Neither of us speak, simply enjoying the brief serenity that surrounds us.

The faint scent of pine and warmth of the insulating layer surrounds me, offering a welcome protection from the wind. My eyes slowly begin to close, the sounds of chirping birds and insects acting as a soundtrack to the moment of peace. A final, earned moment of peace hidden within the perilous journey.

Chapter Text

“Ardhoniel?”

The name leaves my lips as a whisper, unspoken for many months, not since leaving Rivendell. It was her. I am sure it was her.

My legs carry me forward, bare feet hitting the cold marble floor as the desperate chase begins. Alabaster walls and pillars are scattered across the landscape – the haphazard creation of an intricate maze. I hastily navigate my way through, running after the figure who just barely slipped through my fingers.

Where am I? What is this? How did I get here?

Questions swim in my head, clouded by the overwhelming feeling of chasing urgency. I continue to run, swinging around the pillars and twisting around corners, feet catching on the long, white dress which drapes over my body. The fabric is sheer and flowing, reminiscent of Alqualondian traditional dress which I haven’t worn in years.

“Ardhoniel!” I speak her name again, only this time louder. It echoes against every glossy, marble surface, the noise only traveling back to me, seemingly going nowhere.

No matter where I turn, there’s more of it; marble upon marble, pillar upon pillar, wall upon wall, all drowning in the thick porcelain light cast by a full moon.

Pain shoots through my skull, my arm shooting out to catch myself against a nearby surface. I stumble forward, coughing the aching away as my vision begins to double. Marble upon marble upon marble, pillar upon pillar upon pillar, wall upon-

My head hits the floor and I draw in a sharp gasp, floundering onto my back. Darkness and light mingle in my vision, the stars and moon above me contrasting the emptiness of the void surrounding them.

It isn’t for a few minutes that I can focus again, eyes training on a single star in attempts to settle my rattled head, to ground myself. Once the spinning slows, and the stars all settle as individuals into their respective conditions, I relax. My shoulders slump onto the ground, and my eyes close, the palms of my hands now pressed against the cold, stone floor.

It takes another few moments for my eyes to open again, and drawing in a deep breath, I look back up to the stars. I blink a few times in shock, eyes squinting as I study the night sky before me.

“It can’t be,” I mumble to myself, now sitting up while craning my neck to see. “They’re missing…”

My words trail off as my eyes helplessly search the sky for the forgotten stars. Complete constellations are gone, nearly the entire portfolio absent, replaced with nothing but darkness and void.

It was her that created them, Varda the star-kindler, with each constellation designed to promote the elves’ awakening in the first age. And now, without an explanation, they had disappeared without a trace.

All, but one.

Wilwarin, the butterfly, was the only remaining constellation, perched in the eastern sky just as it always has been, blissfully unaware of its brethren’s departures. But why?

I swallow down a mouthful of bile rising in my throat, my body already shivering at the realization. Forcing myself up, I stumble onto my feet, steadying my breathing as I continue to wander through the marble maze: the only way to go is forward.

“Ardhoniel?” I call her name again, this time with weakened fervor.

She’s dead. I know she’s dead. So why…

A scurrying sound draws my attention across the maze, the sticky footsteps of another person generating a jarring echo.

I chase again, only this time with renewed desperation, clawing at the walls as I navigate the twists and turns, straining to catch up. After turning a final corner, my legs come to a firm halt, body now swaying into a nearby pillar.

The figure – a tall, slim woman – is faced away from me and towards a delicately-placed, flowing fountain in the middle of a glistening courtyard. Her hair sparkles alongside the water in the moonlight, the dark color almost indistinguishable from the sky above. Her dress is like mine, only tainted and tattered with some unknown, ink-like liquid, seeping through the layers of the sheer garment.

I approach cautiously, slowly and quietly traversing the courtyard like a leaf blowing in the wind. It isn’t until I’m a few feet away that my eyes catch on her dress once more.

Blood.

The trickling, dried substance speckled along her figure is blood.

“Ardhoniel, is that you?” the whisper falls from my mouth as I slowly reach out my arm. I don’t need to see her face to recognize her, the memory from a hundred years ago still as fresh as ice in my mind. The adventurer from Rivendell. The origin of who I am.

A faint voice calls my name in the distance, but I choose to ignore it, my hand traveling closer. I contact her arm, the sheer fabric smooth under my fingertips as she flinches slightly, as if surprised by my touch.

I swallow nervously, the distant voice calling my name only growing louder. Blocking it out again, I narrow my eyes, focused on the woman before me, the blackness of her hair and its shine in the moonlight.

She begins to turn, slowly exposing the side of her profile to me.

The voice rages on, the ringing of my name now sounding over the maze like a loud drum. My eyes widen, as I see her face, those cobalt eyes finding mine for a second as her neutral expression softens.

Ardhoniel.

~

I jolt awake, the feeling of hands on my shoulders drawing me back into reality quickly as I sit up from the grass, whiplashed from the transition.

“You’re alright,” Legolas speaks quietly, releasing one of his hands from my arm as he repeats himself. “You’re alright.”

My eyes begin to focus once again, labored breathing now in time with the twinkling of the stars above. Stomach twisting with anxiety, I focus again on the scene above, swallowing my nerves to quell the uneasy sensation in my chest.

Without a word, my gaze flickers across the night sky, ensuring each star is accounted for: Remmirath, Anarríma, Menelmacar, Soronúmë, Valacirca, Telumendil, and… Wilwarin.

“Hey,” Legolas’ voice draws me back to reality, hand now tapping me somewhat awkwardly. “You are awake; whatever it was, it is gone.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, jaw tensing as I attempt to pull my gaze away from the sky. “Yeah.”

Finally – with a single, heaving sigh – I feel my body relax, muscles loosening as my hand finds my mouth, mindlessly rubbing against my lips. It’s as though I just ran a marathon, a deep pit of pure exhaustion weighing down my heart.

“Nightmare?” he asks with concern, searching my face for an answer he already knows. I reply with a slow and dazed nod, finally meeting his eyes.

“Was it really just a dream,” I whisper, hand moving to touch the rest of my face. “It was so… real.”

“You were tossing and turning, like a fish out of water,” he explains, hand pulling away from my shoulder. “I thought it’d be best if I pulled you from it.”

“Sorry if I woke you,” I mumble in return, now running an anxious hand through my hair.

“You didn’t,” he insists softly, now sitting back into the grass beside me. “I could not sleep.”

We sit together in silence for a moment, the sound of the wind gliding up the valley before us whistling a tune. The lake is still within view, the men on the beach no more than sleeping ants or specks of dust along the landscape. Behind us lies the forest, the northeastern edge of Mirkwood perched upon a risen plateau of land, enough to provide us with an ample viewpoint. And Erebor too, strong and solid in the distance, stands silent against the landscape of the night.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he eventually asks, albeit reluctantly, as if the mere words draw blood from his tongue with the sharpness of concern, something he wouldn’t want to admit.

“It was… strange,” I whisper after a moment, now hugging my knees against my chest. “I saw someone from my past. Someone very important to me.”

“A family member?”

“No,” I shake my head. “She was… Well, I didn’t know her much, really. But she changed my life.” He shifts against the grass, body now twisting to face me with interest.

“She was an elf from Rivendell that I met when I was a child, over a hundred years ago,” I explain. “Meeting her was the beginning to everything in my life. She is the reason I wanted so badly to leave Alqualondë, to see what more the world had to offer than Aman.”

“When I passed through Rivendell with the company, I discovered…” I clear my throat, biting my lip momentarily. “I discovered she went on a mission and never returned.”

“I see,” he comments, nodding in focus.

“In my dream, she was there before me,” I finally look back to him, expression twisted with confusion. “She was there, covered in blood, running away. And the night sky… from it, every constellation was missing, all but Wilwarin.” I bite my lip again, now deep in thought. “Does it mean something, Legolas? I feel as though it must; I can feel it deep in my chest.”

The final words linger in the air for a moment, Legolas ruminating on the statement as a thoughtful hum escapes his lips.

“It could be your subconscious telling you something,” he suggests quietly, brow furrowed. “Or it could be the culmination of many sleepless nights, or perhaps – with a low likelihood – it’s something magical. Or,” he pauses again, voice trailing off before tilting his head to the side curiously. “It could mean nothing at all,” he smiles, almost playfully.

“Perhaps,” I repeat, my countenance mirroring his own as I begin to relax again.

“It is not worth concerning yourself with such things until something else happens,” he continues, now more sincerely. “You need to sleep.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?”

“You should sleep as well,” I insist.

“I cannot,” he looks down to the grass, now beginning to fidget with a blade between his fingertips. “It is best that I keep watch.”

“The orcs are gone, preoccupied with regrouping their legions; we don’t need to keep watch,” I reply, sympathetic though persistent. “Trust me.”

“It’s not that,” he exhales, attempting to chuckle as he shakes his head. He swallows through clenched teeth, now leaning back on his hands to look up at the sky.

“My mother died in Gundabad,” he whispers quietly, a slight strain in his voice. He says nothing more, though the tightening of his muscles and shifting of his body indicates an internal struggle.

Instinctively, I freeze up, not knowing what to say. The sinking feeling in my chest returns as my mind struggles to find the words to express my condolences, especially for someone who I know little about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I mirror his words in a considerate whisper, hoping his reception is more positive than anything else.

“No,” he answers, almost instantly. “There is nothing more to say.”

I nod solemnly, accepting his silence on the matter. The wind begins to pick up from the valley, the cold air from the lake sending a shiver down my unsuspecting spine. Pulling the blanket further up my body, I adjust in the grass, pressing my legs further to my chest. Legolas, however, seems unphased. His body remains rigid, coiled with a culminating tension only released by the continued fidgeting of his hands; I have never seen him in such a state.

“She was…” he breaks the chilled stillness, voice wavering and forcing him to pause yet again. “She was a great woman,” he eventually manages to squeak, clearing his throat and flushing slightly, as if embarrassed by his own emotions.

“Tell me about her,” I return, tone understanding but insistent, knowing it’ll help him process. He chews the inside of his cheek, eyes flickering mindlessly across the landscape in front of us. After a few minutes pass, I turn away, content with sitting in comfortable silence, until his voice draws me back.

“I remember her voice the most,” he inhales sharply, narrowing his eyes. “It was soft and kind, even when her words were not,” he smiles ever-so-slightly to himself. “She was strict; even more so than my father, but I am grateful for it.”

“My fondest memory arose when I was still a boy.” He turns to face me, now using his hands to gesture. “It was on the night of my birthday, after a large feast. I remember it being loud, with people dancing and laughing as the wine flowed. I was never an… outgoing child, and my mother knew that. She had carried me away from the event, and, perched on her shoulders, taken me up to the highest balcony of the kingdom, with a view far above any of the forest’s trees. She talked to me for what felt like hours, telling me about her journeys outside the walls of the kingdom, naming stars in the sky, swaying to the tune of the muffled harps from the celebration below.”

“My father had always treated me like a prince, but my mother treated me like her son.”

The final sentence lingers in my thoughts, tugging on a familiar string of my heart.

“When I first began exploring the forest, alongside the group of scouts, I remember being young and reckless,” he smiles fondly, gaze still unfocused. “I was overconfident, and far too bold. One specific fight left me in a rough state, with broken bones and gashes all along my body. I had almost bled out – they had to carry me back to the kingdom – and I was in the infirmary for weeks, the whole time being but a blur in my mind now. By the time I had regained full consciousness, I remember my mother at my bedside, her hand resting atop mine, thumb moving back and forth across my skin. I shot her a smile, making some half-hearted joke about how I had made it out alive, but it was like she had seen a living ghost. I had never seen her in such a state of distress, the worry having drained the pink from her cheeks and the sapphire from her eyes. It was at that moment that I made her a promise. I promised I would always come back home. From that moment on, I was vigilant and cautious, and I kept my promise until she was no longer there to come home to.”

“She used to tell me ‘Legolas, you are like the leaves: forever growing and changing, and forever responsible to return to the tree, to the kingdom,’” his expression shifts now, face tightening almost imperceptibly. “I remember it being one of the last things she told me before left, and it wasn’t until after she was gone that I realized that she was wrong; the kingdom was not my tree, she was.”

“Things have not been the same since then,” he adds, almost reluctantly. “As if the kingdom lost its light, and the forest grew darker. It was as if I could not see colors for a while after.”

As his final words are whisked away by the wind, I find myself swallowing against the aching in my throat and the threat of tears welling up in my eyes. Unable to tell whether the feeling is due to the longing in my soul for familial love or rather the idea that a woman who meant so much to him is gone, I bite my lip, holding my own emotions in.

“She loved you,” is all I can manage to say, a statement which is almost useless to say due to its unmistakable truth.

“And I loved her,” he finishes, now taking a deep breath. His face, previously wavering between saddened pain and reminiscent warmth, has now steadied into solemn contentment. His eyes still find the sky, and for a moment I swear he is blinking away tears.

A dim, navy light begins to peek over the horizon, the signs of morning already beginning to creep upon the waning night. Soon, the stars and moon will vanish, replaced by the small, winter sun.

“Thank you,” Legolas whispers softly, as if trying to seem indifferent, though his words carry a hidden sincerity. I smile gently to myself, now resting my cheek upon my kneecap as I watch a flock of birds begin to travel eastward amongst the gray clouds above.

“Thank you, too.”