It was three days they traveled before they reached lighter air, which Gandalf assured them meant their time in the mines was coming to an end. The walking was not difficult, they had no problem walking for hours – for shadows danced when they sat still, and it struck fear in their hearts. The nights were the worst, when the light was dim and they could barely see – their minds tricked them into thinking things were standing over them preparing to kill them. Nothing was, but in the dark their minds told them all sorts of lies.

Erytheia was the only one who did not tremble with fear; why would she, she could see well enough in the dark to know nothing was near. She could feel that nothing was around them – though the black thing was laying in wait, somewhere far from them, that is the only thing that made her afraid.

She lay by Legolas at night, though that was his choice – if she had it her way she would slept away from him. Now she could literally feel him beside her, and it made it hard to relax. She tried to think of something to say, but she couldn't find anything.

He couldn't either, and he had hoped she might speak first. It wasn't until the second night, laying so close to her they were almost touching, that he realized she would not speak first. She hadn't been one for words, and she had done nothing that required her to be the first to talk. It would have to be him. And so he wracked his mind for what to say, and decided to stick with something easy – something safe.

"Can you see in the dark?" he asked, after turning to her almost seeing her eyes were glowing.

She looked over him, brows furrowed and eyes wide; it was the first thing he'd actually said to her. "Yes," she answered in a whisper. "Can you not?" she asked, not entirely sure what exactly elves were capable of – they were almost as strange and magical as she was.

"No," he said, almost laughing at the idea though he wouldn't mind the ability now. "My eyes are only used to the sun."

She looked at his face, knowing he couldn't really see hers. But they were so close she could see almost every detail, he really was very handsome – almost beautiful. And she could feel the uneasiness coming from him, could hear it in his voice. "You do not like the dark," she mused as she turned away from him, staring at the blackness of the ceiling high above them.

He strained to see her, wanting to see her lovely face. He had passed the age where he was supposed to take up an elleth, to find interest in at least one – he had fancied his bow and arrows, and his swords, more than any female. And so he did not understand his interest in the dragon woman – who couldn't have more different from an elf than a human was from a dragon – he did not understand what it was he was trying to see. "No I do not," he told her softly. "Evil dwells in the dark."

All ease she had felt fled then, for he did not understand what he had just said to her. "As a dragon I like to sleep in caves, where no light can find me."

"You are not evil," he said before she could finish, it not being a conscious thought to think of her as such.

She looked at him, seeing he was looking ahead of him, wondering how he could sound so sure. "How do you know?" she asked, not as certain as he seemed to be.

And there it was, the sadness that had lasted a few centuries – he had often wondered if he'd imagined it. "I can feel it," he told her gently, now realizing she did not believe she was good. Why would she? Everyone feared her, hated her, for what she was; what she could not control. And then he knew what to say to her. "I should have released you myself."

She was shocked, she had not thought he would say that – that he would admit he was wrong not to have. And by saying that he not only showed her his regret, he showed her that he truly did believe she was good. "I was not yours to release," she said reminding him his father had taken her prisoner, trying to show him she did not blame him for her capture.

He smiled at that and looked over at her, meeting her strange eyes that he could see. "You had no place in our cells, something my father learned too late. For all of you."

He turned away from her and she stared at the side of his face. He was apologizing for Thorin, for Fili and Kili; he was taking the blame for his father's mistakes. She might have been able to save them if she had not been imprisoned, if he had only let her go like he had thought of.

She couldn't think of anything to do, and so she did something without thinking. She inched her hand along the ground until she brushed against Legolas' fingers, hearing him draw a breath – it was as though lightening was coursing through their veins. Legolas grabbed her hand, feeling her warm skin scorching him the tighter he held her. Their fingers wound together, binding them and they shared a dream; lying in a field, the sun shining blindingly, birds chirping, wind blowing, their hands entwined. It was a pity that dawn came and they were forced awake.

…

Early on the third day they reached a large staircase, broken from age and destruction. And once they climbed it, which the hobbits literally had to climb from their small size, they came to three passageways; the left passage went down while the right passage went up and the middle passage appeared to run smooth.

Gandalf looked hard at each passage, trying to draw something to mind. "I have no memory of this place," he said at last.

Pippin was the first to sit, glad to rest his aching feet. Erytheia sat beside him, comforting him with her everpresent warmth. Legolas stood at her side, leaning against the wall, her shoulder against his leg.

Gimli liked Erytheia, and he liked her even more when she spoke kindly of his father. He did not like the elf, as was natural for a dwarf – especially a dwarf who's father had been held prisoner by the elf's father – but he had heard Legolas Erytheia's hushed voices the night before.

Aragorn had too, and now he knew how the two had met – surprised at how fond they were of each other. He expected Erytheia to hate the elf, for she had been a prisoner, only she did not. In fact, she seemed to treasure him; that much he had seen as they traveled together for years, before he had known it to be Legolas who held such a place in her heart.

"Ah," Gandalf explained suddenly hours later, "it's that way."

"He's remembered," Merry said happily as they all stood.

"No," Gandalf informed him, "but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

Erytheia looked after Gandalf with her brows knitted irritably. If that was how he was going to choose the way then he could have asked for her nose a lot sooner, she thought as she followed after.

They went down the left passageway leading with the Wizard, Frodo, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Erytheia, Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn. When they came to the bottom of the stairs they were in a great room where they could not see the walls nor the ceiling in.

"Behold," Gandalf said, "the great realm and the dwarf city, Dwarrowdelf." Gandalf gave them more light and they found that they were in a large hall lined with pillars, it was beautiful in the soft light.

They walked a great distance through the hall, which was even larger than it had appeared, when Gimli saw a room and ran towards it in much haste, forcing them to run after him. They entered the room, hearing Gimli's moans of sorrow, to see a light shining on a tomb.

Erytheia stood at the back of the room knowing exactly who it was, feeling her heart grow heavy as she thought of the first dwarf in Thorin's Company to show her kindness.

Gandalf moved closer to the tomb and read aloud the markings. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria."