Question from author to reader: Do you find it awkward when the woman is taller than the man in the relationship?

~~**VII**~~

Decisions

Lessil didn't bother leaving her room for the rest of the night. An elf had brought in supper for her and she dined alone.

Gandalf had come by earlier but Lessil did not feel like talking. She couldn't get out of her thoughts and his words with Elrond still swam in her head. The two of them had actually noticed her eavesdropping from afar and, while not looking accusingly at her, Gandalf did look rather reserved and worried. He'd wanted to speak with her, but she had denied him. Instead, she brooded.

She thought of Thorin. Erebor was his birthright, his home. He'd lost his home and his family in quick succession and did everything in his power to rebuild for his people. He was admired greatly by them from what Lessil could see from the rest of the company. He may be cold and rough around the edges, but he couldn't be a bad dwarf if he garnered such loyalty from his people. The way he held himself, strong and high despite the heavy burden on his shoulders. He'd fallen from the tip of the mountain, yet he still had the strength to carry on.

But the gold sickness still weighed on her mind. Gandalf had said that Erebor had been the richest kingdom in Middle-Earth and that such a hoard of gold had brought the dragon upon them. King Thror had lost his mind to it as well. Thorin had been born a wealthy dwarf prince and then exiled to but a lowly dwarf lord. He knew of loss and suffering. Perhaps that would help him see past any greed.

Thorin had pride, but there was also some humility to be seen in him. He did not carry himself in the same manner as the King of Nengalad did. Thorin had the respect of his fellow dwarves, but he did not hold himself above them as kings usually seemed to do. He was willing to collect firewood and hunt for their supper. He made carvings alongside Bifur as they made silent conversation with their hands - Bofur had explained to Lessil that it was a soundless language of the dwarves to be used while mining as sometimes it would be hard to hear in the midst of it - and sang at the camp fires with the others some nights. Despite his gruff exterior, he was a kind leader.

Lessil sat at the dining table, her finished tray of breakfast in front of her, and mused over her thoughts as she held her blade in her hands. She traced her finger over the leaf shape on the pommel and down the gold wiring on the hilt. The cross guard even had the wiring as well. The scabbard was made of a combination of mostly dark, polished wood with some hints of brass at the top and tip of it. The wood felt quite supple and strong underneath her fingers.

As a fairy, Mora had never held a weapon in her life. In fact, no fairy alive today knew how to fight. Fairies weren't immortal, like elves. On average, they lived about two thousand years. Mora had been over seven hundred when she'd married Dahn. They had a simple, quiet life. Dahn was more of a hunter than a warrior, wielding his bow to search for their dinner and occasionally for defense against wild animals. He had insisted that his girls keep a knife on their person when they left home just in case, but even that had unsettled Mora a bit. And when Wisty wanted to learn how to shoot a bow, Mora had protested. But Wisty insisted even without her mother's permission and eventually Mora begrudgingly accepted it. Dahn had eventually given Wisty a bow of her own and they would sometimes go on hunting trips together. Lessil remembered her sister's face, alight with pride and joy as she brought home her own catches.

And after their parents had died and Wisty began traveling on her own. The third time she came back, she'd had a man-made sword strapped to her belt. Lessil hadn't had the same reaction as Mora definitely would have given, but it was still surprising to see her sister wielding a weapon. It made Wisty look even more wild. Beautiful, but wild.

Now Lessil carried a weapon of her own. How her mother would be horrified. Lessil herself was not, but the blade did feel quite a bit foreign to her. Her hand surrounded the grip perfectly and the blade was smooth as she lifted it out of the sheath and pointed it in front of her, but she wasn't a warrior. She was a healer. She tended wounds, she didn't give them.

She pulled the sword fully out of the scabbard and looked up and down the blade. There was some inscription on the blade now that she looked closer. It was in the fairy language, which Lessil actually knew. "'The wind blows through the trees strong and biting, bringing with it the leaf that is swift and sharp'," she read in a murmur. Another reason why this blade would be of the Venrelas family. It sounded like them.

A gentle knock came at the door. It wasn't the pounding of a dwarf and nor was it from Gandalf as it would have sounded like the wood of his staff thumping against the door. "Come in," Lessil called, returning the sword to its sheath.

It was Lord Elrond.

Lessil rose from her chair and gave a light bow.

He inclined his head in return. "How is your wound?" he asked. He had a small wooden box in his hands that he set on the table. It wasn't medicinal supplies as he didn't open it.

"It's healing well, thank you," Lessil said as she sat back down, placing the sword in her lap.

Lord Elrond noticed it as well. "It is Hathelas, the Leaf-Blade," he told her. "It belonged to Iolanthe Venrelas in the First Age."

Lessil stared at the blade. Iolanthe Venrelas had been the wife of Nemiros Ringali. So in a way, the blade was something like her inheritance. Neither the king or queen of Nengalad and Laerormen would have any use for it other than the barest of sentimentality. "Did you know her?" she asked.

"We met," he answered. "I was quite young at the time, but I remember her to be quite fierce. Very different from the gentle soul of Nemiros. But there must have been something gentle in her if he chose her as his mate."

Growing up in the world of Men, the opposite was true. Men were the fighters and women were gentle. An odd switch if that was true of Nemiros and Iolanthe. But in Negalad, Nemiros was always hailed as a wise, compassionate king. His power was said to be legend to all families and that he was highly respected, even sightly more than Iolanthe. Perhaps skill with a blade was not the only thing that made a hero and a legend.

"This was also hers," Elrond continued, opening the small box he brought with him. "Nemiros had it made for her. It is called Nemmírë, the Jewel of Pure Waters." He held out a necklace on the most delicate silver chain that almost shined white. The charm had a jewel more than twice the size of Lessil's thumb that made a slight point at the bottom. It was encased in silver strands that surrounded it. "It was given to me for safe-keeping after their war broke out. It is yours if you want it."

Lessil held the charm in her hand and actually felt the waters held within the stone. From the outside, it looked like a cut stone, but when she looked deep into it, she could see the gentle movement of the water inside. It filled her with warmth. She turned it around and clasped it behind her neck. "Thank you."

Elrond gave a slight nod of his head for an answer and sat down in the chair opposite her. He didn't seem to mind that Lessil was propped in the other two chairs in a more crass manner. She leaned back in her own and extended her feet to the other one, the shift she wore riding up to her knees.

"I hear from Gandalf that you did not want to speak with him," Elrond said, "and that you haven't spent much time with your dwarf companions."

"And to think I worried about them yesterday," Lessil murmured. "It's like half of them don't even like me. But then again, half the people in Bree never really liked me."

"What of Nengalad?" Elrond inquired.

"I'm only half-fairy," Lessil answered. "I come from a different world than them. I used to think myself as soft when I compared myself to my sister, but I'm fierce indeed compared to them."

"They have their reasons for being more placid," Elrond commented.

Lessil nodded. She couldn't help but think that the elven lord wanted to speak with her about what he and Gandalf spoke of. They had both seen her listening. And no doubt Elrond would want to stop them. Perhaps she could find out what he thought, on a more personal level. "I hear that it is unwise to seek the counsel of elves, for they answer both yes and no," Lessil started lightly, "but then their answers are never so simple and maybe they will help me make light of my own thoughts." She turned to Lord Elrond then and saw that he looked quite bemused at her first statement. For a moment she thought that maybe she had offended him, but the corner of his mouth twitched up before he took on a more considering expression.

"My initial advice," he began slowly, "would be against such a quest. The dwarves lost their homeland, yes. They have been forced into poverty that which they have never known and had to rebuild elsewhere. But they have rebuilt well enough since the last few decades to be comfortable again.

"The dragon, Smaug, has been sleeping for sixty years," he went on. "That may be nothing but a blink in its long life, but that isn't nothing to those who still live near the mountain. The longer the dragon remains asleep, the less casualties Esgaroth would have to endure."

Lessil listened patiently. "But that's not all you're worried about."

Lord Elrond shook his head. "No. The last time I saw Thror, there was a strange look in his eye that unsettled me. Erebor was indeed very prosperous, but there is an evil to gold. The amount there was the size of mountains. A dragon's treasure would be enough for it to brood within and even blanket it. Know that dragons are large. Its claw could take the entire floor in this room."

Lessil felt her brows rise. That was a lot of gold. And she was offered a fourteenth of it? That could fill this room maybe three or four times over. What would she do with riches like that? What would anyone do with riches like that?

"King Thror gained a jealous love over this gold," Elrond continued. "He would walk among the miners and craftsman to simply look at the pieces that continued to fill his hoard. He would enter the treasury alone, letting only a very precious few other in, and admire the wealth. He began to mention his vast wealth in every conversation. He reveled in the beauty of the Arkenstone above his throne. Gold sickness is a disease that festers in the mind and poisons everything around it."

Lessil shook her head. "I don't see Thorin acting in such a way. Yes, he knew of these riches, but he's lived so long without it. He's rough around the edges, though most dwarves seem to be, but he has a good heart. Despite losing everything, he's done so much for his people that there are some who would even brave facing a dragon for him. This isn't about some gold. This is about their home. If you lost Rivendell, would you allow it to stay that way if you had the chance to save it?"

"We elves have lost many of our homes as well. Gondolin, Doriath, and the Havens of Sirion to name a few," Elrond told her. "So have fairies and men, as well as dwarves. It is hard indeed to lose your home. A piece of it will always remain in your heart, causing you to grieve over what you have lost. A tree falls, but underneath is a sapling what can take its place. It is difficult, and may take a long time, but one can move on."

His words did make sense. But Lessil felt like he was giving up too easy. "What if the tree hasn't fallen yet?" she asked. "What if its roots still dig deep?"

Elrond paused before answering, and when he did, it wasn't to answer her question. "What of you? You want to help dwarves whom you know very little reclaim their home? That seems quite hasty and ill prepared."

Lessil chewed on her lip. "Well," she started slowly, "when I see someone injured, I don't think. I just do. I heal. Yes, that may be hasty, but if I didn't act quickly it may be too late.

"And I know that I'm a fairy and we don't like conflict," she rambled on. "But I'm also of Men." She thought of the blade in her lap and how, while she'd balked at it initially, she still held it. Her mother hardly even liked looking at her husband's bow. "I like to think that I'm stronger than others think. At least, I can be."

Lord Elrond looked at her the way her father used to when she was young. He smiled without showing any teeth with a slight twinkle in his eye, but he had a brow quirked up and he did look slightly amused. "What?" she asked, feeling like a child.

"You are just like him," he answered. "Nemiros. Despite being a healer, deep in his heart there was the strength of a warrior."

Lessil smiled. Gentle and fierce. Perhaps there could be room for both traits in her.

Elrond rose from his chair. "May you find strength wherever you deem to travel." He placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder. "You are more than welcome to stay here should you wish it." With that, he left.

As the door closed, Lessil felt her brow knot. So it was true. Elves answered both yes and no.

Thorin didn't return to their rooms with Balin and Fili. He needed his own space to think upon what the map said. They needed to reach the mountain before Durin's Day. It was Midsummer's Eve yesterday and Durin's Day was still months away. But they had no ponies, which would slow their travels considerably. They needed to leave tomorrow, and hopefully the elves wouldn't try to keep them here. Maybe if they left before first light.

Then there was Miss Ringali. Her wound was surprisingly well healed being but two days old. But she couldn't be slowing them down. If she wasn't ready to leave, then they'd leave her here. Less trouble for him to worry about.

"Thorin?"

He turned to see her walking toward him. She still wore the soft robe and was even barefoot with her hair falling free. Again, Thorin thought she looked too delicate. He thought of his sister, Dis, who was a princess and even she could hold her own in the wild. Miss Ringali knew nothing of it. The scar on her shoulder would hinder her considerably. Not only that, but the delicate way she still held her blade would do her little good. There were goblins in the mountains and at first sight, she would probably run scared. "You should stay here," he told her.

Her brow knotted. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, facing her fully. "We need to get to the Lonely Mountain by a specified time now and you will only slow us down."

She shook her head in disbelief. Why was Thorin being so difficult? "Why do you not like me?" she asked him.

He looked up at her, annoyed. "You would not survive the trek up the mountains, let alone cross them," he answered. "We have need of your gift, but it means nothing if you cannot make it to the mountain alive. It has nothing to do with liking you, but how you do not belong with us."

That set a glare between her brow. "I'm a child of two worlds, and I belong in neither," she said bitterly. "You don't have to tell me where I don't belong, I know it well enough. But don't tell me what I can and can't do."

"Telling yourself that you can cross the Misty Mountains will not make it so," Thorin snapped.

"And you tell yourself that you will reclaim a mountain from a dragon," she shot back. "Will this venture not be the death of you?"

Thorin didn't answer her. Instead, he moved past her, making his way back to his room.

"Honor, loyalty, and a willing heart."

Thorin stopped and turned to her. She held her head high while still tilting it down to look at him. She's willing to look you in the eye, at least, Kili had said.

"That was what you said at my table," she continued. "I ran out my door when I barely knew any of you. I still don't. I'm taking a lot on faith here. I'm making my way in the wild, I stared down trolls, I'm learning to use a sword - which for a fairy healer is saying a lot -, I saved Bofur's life, and as much as I ignore it now, I'm going to face a dragon for you. I'm showing you that I have a willing heart, but now I'm asking you to see it."

He remembered those words that he'd spoken to his dwarves as they all surrounded him. Those few had come. Those few were willing to follow him into the wild, on a quest that might be the end of them all. They stood by him because that was what it meant to be a dwarf. To never back down. To fight for those you love. To look at your fear and run straight at it. And right now, she still looked him straight in the eye.

"Be ready to leave before first light tomorrow," he told her. "If you are not ready by then, we will leave you here."

Lessil was surprised to find the clothing on the bed when she returned to her room. There was four tunics in various shades of blue that were far thicker than the dresses she wore, but they were still butter soft. A few pairs of dark colored trousers were there as well and even a new pair of boots.

At first, she had only just stared at them. She couldn't believe that Lord Elrond would give his consent for them to go. He didn't want them to go. Though Lessil never heard him say it.

Then she saw the note. It was placed at her pillow in elegant script. The tree with a golden heart is one that can weather any storm.

She was folding her new clothing in her bag when she heard a knock at the door. It wasn't an elf or dwarf this time. "Come in."

Gandalf entered the room, slightly surprised that she was dressed and packing. "I was beginning to think you were not joining us."

Lessil wore her new clothing. Since they were to be leaving before first light, she might as well be dressed when she awoke just in case she was late in doing so. They fit her perfectly and felt surprisingly light in the summer air. The boots were amazing. Fur-lined, they cushioned her feet in a way that she could hike for hours and not get a single blister. There was even some small padding for her to wear on top of her wounds so she could shoulder her pack without much pain. They would be nothing but scars in about a week or five days at the least.

She looked to the wizard. "As I told Thorin, I'm taking a lot on faith here."

Gandalf nodded. "We all are. But faith and hope is something that can bring you a long way. To hold on when another would fall. To see light when others see darkness. To look at someone and say there is still life in them instead of giving them up for dead. You, my dear, have more faith than anyone I have ever met."

Lessil smiled. It was true in a way. Lord Elrond thought that Thorin would fall to gold sickness, but she still saw his heart. A wounded, but good heart.

"I've come to tell you that I have some small business to tend to here," Gandalf continued. "Continue into the mountains and I will reach you as soon as I can. And don't worry, I can move swiftly when I need to."

Lessil was slightly worried that Gandalf wouldn't be accompanying them for a short while, but then he did have a way of showing up in the nick of time. Just like with the trolls. She had faith in the wizard too.

And the next morning, when the fourteen of them climbed the craggy cliffs away from Rivendell. Lessil took one look back at the homely house. There had been something so magical about the place. Different from what she felt in Nengalad. Not only peaceful, but energizing.

Just a single look and Lessil turned around to face the wild.

I've noticed a pattern in four of my fics...I like necklaces. Elaniel has one, Kaya has one, Winter has one, and now Lessil is getting one. I would call this a problem, but I don't see it as a problem. It just find it very amusing. But at least they have something of a purpose for later on in these stories.

Anyway, if you want to see what Lessil's necklace looks like, here's a link (use no horizontal dashes or spaces): https: -/ -/ -www -. -pinterest -. -com -/ -pin -/ -470063279833140264 -/