Revised on December 29, 2014
I stood, shocked, and stared at the elderly wizard as if I expected him to laugh and tell me he was jesting. I had no such luck. "The king… the King Under the… the Mountain…" I muttered, dazed. I held a hand to my head to keep it from spinning. It had been centuries since I heard that title, and it sounded foreign on my tongue although the words were once as natural to me as the sun in the sky and the grass on the ground.
"I know it may come as a shock to you to hear of this after so long," the old man said kindly, "but it is time. The King must reclaim his home."
The prophecy—for I now am certain of what it was—echoed in my mind. 'The lord of silver fountains…'
"Mithrandir," I managed, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. My head began to ache. "How can this be? Surely the line of Durin ended long before we met today."
"And so many have been led to believe. However, you know the truth, Princess," he said, a gleam in his eye. "You saw the prince escape the mountain that day."
A memory flashed in my mind, brief—but so real it was as if I were living it again.
"I stare at my father in shock, unable to move. How could anyone be so cowardly as to doom an entire race to this fate? Anger fills my veins, and before my mind registers my actions, I am yelling at the king, something I would never have done if I were in my right mind.
'How can you be so cowardly?' I scream. 'These people have done nothing to you; they have been nothing but gracious to you! How can you sit back and do nothing?!'
He does not respond but instead turns his stag from the mountain, leading the army away. "Coward!" I scream, tears and smoke stinging my eyes. I can hear the shouts of the young dwarf prince below, calling for help.
Smoke fills the air, and I gag on the stench of burned flesh that fills the air. I turn towards Erebor and try to ride down to the aid of the dwarves, but a strong pair of arms grabs me and lifts me off my horse and onto another before I can start the descent into the ravine.
I shriek in panic and try to break free, but the arms hold me fast. I yell and struggle against the strong hold of the elf warrior, and for a moment, the despairing blue eyes of the young prince meet mine. I open my mouth, grieving for his people, and a tear falls down my cheek at the sight of such a strong warrior brought so low. "I'm so sorry," I whisper, staring into his eyes. Forgive me.
He stares at me, hurt and anguish evident in his gaze. As I watch, his grief turns to hate, and it is directed at me. I know with freezing certainty that he won't forget my face, and I shudder, knowing that he will blame me should we meet again."
"You want me to help the grandson of Thror reclaim his throne," I clarified slowly, processing the information. How can this be? I felt as though the Valar were offering me a second chance, but at the same time a death sentence.
"Yes," the wizard said, watching me carefully. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. "And I believe that you are the only elf he would allow to help him do so."
"And why is that, Mithrandir?" I asked wearily, stroking the mane of my horse as he rubbed his muzzle against my arm. I pressed my forehead against his cheek, closing my eyes. Surely this could not be happening…
"Because you are the one elf in Middle Earth who tried to help him," the man replied. I remained silent. There was no guarantee that the prince would remember me, and even if he did, he would not likely trust me simply because of my lineage. Who would ask for or want the aid of their enemy's child?
"I was not the only one, Mithrandir," I said softly, opening my eyes. "I heard in Rivendell that others came to his aid after I was pulled from the mountain. Is that true?"
He sighed, suddenly looking much older. "Yes. But no one has heard from them since. Some believe to have seen them at the battle of Azanulbizar. I believe this, and I also believe that they perished there, fighting with and for the dwarves they sacrificed so much for. Thorin may know of this."
"Can you guarantee that he will remember me, wizard?" I asked, looking up at him again. My gaze was hard and cold as I retreated within myself. If Thorin had forgotten me, or if he refused my help... "That he will accept my help?"
"No," he said. "I cannot. However, my presence in the room may be enough to convince him that you are on his side. That is, if you can keep that temper of yours in check."
"I do not have a temper!" I barked irritably. He raised his eyebrows at me but said nothing, and I flushed, glaring at the lake nearby.
"As I said," Mithrandir said, sounding amused, "Keep your temper in check, and we may be able to convince our prince to bring you along."
"And if we cannot convince him?" I pushed, curious as to how the wizard would convince a dwarf to allow an elf on his quest. I felt that he would be more likely to give up on the quest altogether than to invite me along.
He peered at me from under his hat, his mouth quirked in a smile. "Then you will come anyway," he said, as if the answer were blatantly obvious.
"Mithrandir…" I did not know what to say. Refusing would get me nowhere, I knew, but accepting…
"Where were you these last few decades?" the wizard asked suddenly. I glared up at him, suddenly angry. The day turned cold, at least to me, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to attack him. The wizard noticed and straightened, looking down at me solemnly.
"I will not force you to come on this venture," he informed me stiffly. "However, I would strongly advise you to at least attend the meeting tonight." He plowed on before I could say a word in response. "It will be held at a lovely place by the name of Bag End, and our host goes by the name of Bilbo Baggins. My mark lies on the door, you cannot possibly miss it. I will see you tonight, I hope."
He turned and grabbed his horse's reins. Without another word he strode away, whistling, leaving me stunned. 'Tonight? I have to make a life altering decision by tonight?!'
Grumbling, I turned and mounted Gwairoch, who began trotting towards what appeared to be the center of the Shire. The Shire began blurring together; all hobbit holes and meadows appeared to be the same. By the time I reached the main square, I was in a worse mood than ever. How did I plan on winning over a dwarf; even the hobbits seemed to be avoiding me!
I dismounted and led Gwairoch to a hitching post, looping his reins once loosely around it. He nickered softly and nudged his velvety nose against my hand. He truly was a magnificent animal; his liquid eyes looked into mine with the same intensity of the wizard's. I sighed, stroking his neck. Why me?
I kissed his nose and went inside the nearest building, a quaint place by the name of The Green Dragon. It was not brightly lit, being the middle of the afternoon, but I could tell by the amount of chairs that the place must be quite popular. A female hobbit came up to me, smiling shyly. Despite my being short for an elf, I still stood at least a half a foot taller than the largest Halfling, and this one was no exception.
"Hello," she said softly, brown eyes glinting in the half-light. Her voice was kind, and I could tell that she was nervous. She looked to be quite young, probably still in her tweens. "Welcome to The Green Dragon. Is there anything I could get for you, Miss…?"
"Aeyera," I said automatically, lowering my voice so as to not overpower that of the hobbit. I pushed my hood back off my head, letting my brown curls spill over my shoulders. "And you are?"
She blushed happily. "I am called Lilliana," she said. "My family owns this inn."
I bowed my head respectfully, much to Lilliana's delight. "Might I stay here for a while?" I asked, eyeing her curiously. "I have to be somewhere tonight, but until then I have nowhere to go."
She nodded eagerly. "Oh, of course, Miss Aeyera!" She rushed around, setting up a table in the brightest corner for me. She looked up, her brown eyes turning gold as a ray of sunlight hit them. "Would you like something to drink?"
I moved to sit at the table she provided, moving to the chair facing the door. "Yes, please," I told her, smiling. "If you have any food, that would be welcome as well; I have travelled a long way."
She nodded, positively giddy with delight. I wondered if I was the first person she ever had served. She appeared a moment later, balancing a tray on one arm and carrying a pitcher of water in the opposite hand. I stood to help her, but she shook her head. "I've got it," she assured me, beaming. I nodded, sitting back, and let her fill my flagon with fresh water. The tray held fresh bread, fruit, and vegetables. I smiled at her, leaning back.
"Would you stay?" I asked. Her eyes lit up. "I haven't had much company lately," I explained vaguely. "I would like a chance to talk to someone."
She grinned, her red curls bouncing as she came forward and sat across from me. "I would love to," she said happily. I took a bite of the bread. "Are you an elf?" she asked solemnly. I nodded, swallowing. "Wow," she breathed, eyes as big as saucers. "I've always wanted to meet one!" she blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to gawk at you, I've just always wanted to meet an elf; I have so many questions!"
I laughed, genuinely pleased to see that she was so awestruck by what I was: most would run away. "Like what?" I asked, smiling. "I will answer all that I can."
"Really?" she squealed. I nodded, taking a sip of water. "Alright, well, do you really live in trees?"
I sat back, relaxing. "Many of us do," I told her. "Others live in houses of stone."
"Which do you live in?" she asked eagerly. I felt my smile slip for a moment but quickly brought it back, hoping she didn't notice.
"I live under the stars," I responded thoughtfully. "With no roof but the sky and branches of trees."
"Do you live alone?" she asked. She was frowning slightly, her brown eyes large and innocent. I wondered if she was even in her tweens yet; teens would probably be a more accurate assumption.
"I didn't use to," I replied. "But right now I am." 'If tonight goes well, I won't be alone anymore,' I thought.
"Why? Don't you have a family?"
"I do," I answered, feeling a great sadness grow within my heart. "But I have not seen them in many years."
"Why not?" Her enormous brown eyes were sad, and she looked confused. Her lip trembled.
'Because they do not want me.' Instead, I laughed, hoping it sounded real. Lilliana perked up slightly. "Do not worry, Lilliana," I replied lightly, ignoring the way my heart ached. "I have lived so long; it does not seem like any time has passed at all."
"How old are you?" she asked, sadness forgotten.
The afternoon passed quickly in this way. The young hobbit asked many questions, some I answered quickly, some I could not answer at all. Many I could answer only because of what I had learned in my first few decades in Middle Earth; others I guessed. When The Green Dragon began to fill, I looked to Lilliana, who looked both exhausted and content.
"I am afraid I must go," I told her, handing her several coins, which she took carefully. "I have a meeting I cannot miss."
She jumped to her feet, exhaustion forgotten. Her mother, a plump, delightful hobbit who was elated to have finally met an elf, had whisked my plate away some hours ago. Lilliana grabbed my head and led me through the growing crowd to the door. We walked outside into the warm, fresh air. I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the cool breeze that blew, ruffling my hair. I opened my eyes as Lilliana appeared, leading Gwairoch forward. She looked nervous around the horse, but patted his nose all the same. The sun was nearly gone; streaks of pink and gold clouds raced across the sky. The first few stars were beginning to appear, the sky darkening in the East.
"Lilliana," I said, bending down a bit to look her in the eye. "It had truly been a pleasure to have met you." She beamed at me. "I must ask a favor of you."
She smiled. "Anything, Miss Aeyera!"
"Can you tell me where Master Bilbo Baggins lives?" I asked.
She giggled. "In Bag End, of course," she said, still smiling. "Four hills that way! My brother and I painted his door green for him last week!" She pointed, telling me to avoid the house with the brown door and to definitely be polite to poor Master Baggins, since he was so very fond of his garden. She told me quite seriously not to pick any of his flowers; even if I am an elf, he wouldn't like it. She hugged me, told me to come back whenever I wanted, and stepped aside, waving to me as I mounted Gwairoch and headed up the road.
I followed Lilliana's directions until I came to a green door. By then, the sun had fully set, and the stars had come out in earnest, winking down at me from their heavenly perches. I dismounted from Gwairoch and led him around to stand in Master Baggins's garden. "Do not eat his flowers," I whispered to him. I began to feel very nervous. I was about to meet the one dwarf who I knew with barely a shadow of a doubt would hate me more than anyone else.
I walked until I stood outside Master Baggins's door. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, doing my best to calm my nerves. I rang the bell handing beside it, all the while staring down at Mithrandir's mark upon the door. It glowed blue, beckoning to me. I released the breath I had been holding.
I stepped back as very disgruntled hobbit answered the door, looking startled to see me. I bowed, bringing my cloak around behind me. "Aeyera of the Greenwood," I said, straightening and brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face, "You must be Master Baggins."
The shocked hobbit bowed back, taking in my pointed ears and bright eyes as he did so. "I am," he said. "Are you… are you an elf?"
"I am… is Mithrandir here?" I asked, my voice strong.
He frowned. "Who?"
"Gandalf," I replied hurriedly, remembering that the Hobbits had another name for him than most other races. "Is Gandalf here?"
Master Baggins nodded, the irritated look returning. "May I come in and see him?" I questioned, my voice softening. The hobbit nodded, his posture becoming less tense, and moved out of my way so I could enter his home. He shut the door behind me, although I could barely hear it over my pounding heart. I could barely take in the hobbit hole, I was so nervous. Nearly as nervous as the halfling, I decided, who looked as though he might pass out.
A feast seemed to be going on in the next room, and I took a step towards it, wondering if I should interrupt. The Grey Wizard appeared in one of the doorways as soon as the thought crossed my mind, beaming. "Ah, Aeyera," he said, his voice low as of to not alert the others I was here. "I'm glad you could make it."
Bilbo was muttering under his breath, looking furious. Not, though, at me.
"My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" the wizard asked, smiling knowingly and winking at me. I leaned against the curved wall of the hallway, watching the pair speak.
"What's the matter?" the stunned hobbit repeated angrily. I looked around, doing my best to ignore their conversation, having no wish to intrude. The hobbit continued to rant at the wizard for some time before concluding, "I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"
I turned my head to stare at the old magician before bending to look behind him at the room hidden behind his back. "Who else is here, Mithrandir?" I asked, looking back at the wizard. "I thought it was you and I and the prince, as well as Master Baggins."
"Not exactly," the wizard began, straightening as much as he could.
"S'cuse me—" a young voice came from behind Gandalf.
The wizard grabbed my hood and yanked it up, covering my head before turning to the dwarf behind him. Dwarf. 'Of course,' I realized, on the verge of panic. 'Thorin would not be making his journey alone.' The exasperated hobbit turned to face him as well, and I shrunk back into the shadows.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the young dwarf said politely, holding out his plate carefully, "But what should I do with my plate?"
A golden-haired dwarf strode in from a side hall. I jumped at his sudden appearance, shrinking back against the stone. It took a moment for me to realize that he and I stood at the same height. I was afraid, I realized. I was alone, outnumbered, and terrified. "Here you go, Ori, give it to me," he said, taking the plate from the shorter dwarf. Without a second's delay, he threw the plate, causing the wizard to scramble out of the way to avoid it.
Another dwarf, dark, taller than most others I'd seen in my life, caught it and threw it behind him. A moment later, he caught another pottery projectile, sending it on its way without a second thought. I couldn't help but take a second glance at this dwarf. His dark hair was partially pulled back, but loose strands framed his young face. He didn't have a long beard like most dwarves; rather, he had a short, scruffy beard that was rather attractive.
I froze, mortified, as my cheeks began to burn. What in the world…? I turned to speak to the wizard, only to find that he had gone. I began to panic and search though the house as the dwarves began singing, stomping their feet in time to the music. I continued my search, avoiding the majority of the dwarves.
I finally found the wizard at a table in a cramped room with the majority of the dwarves, where plates still flew through the air. I moved to stand beside the laughing wizard, a slight smile forming on my face as well. None of the dwarves seemed to have noticed me, which I found rather odd.
"… That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" They laughed jovially at Bilbo as he burst into the room. His bewildered expression upon seeing the pile of clean and whole dishes on the table made my frightened shell disappear, and I began to laugh with the rest. Gandalf sat down, still chuckling, but the smiles on every face disappeared at the sound of a fist banging against the hobbit's door. Once, twice, three times it sounded, and then there was silence.
Mithrandir turned to the dwarves, who stood frozen in place as if under an enchantment. "He is here," he whispered hoarsely. A chill came over me. The young prince—would he remember me? I could not decide whether I wanted him to remember my face or not.
The wizard and the other dwarves moved to open the door behind which Thorin stood. I moved with them but stood in the back where I was least likely to be noticed. Thorin looked up as the door swung open, his face expressionless except for a small smile on his lips. "Gandalf," he commented nonchalantly.
I felt as though I had been punched in the gut, and I had to lean against a wall to keep from collapsing. Thorin looked almost exactly how I remembered him, but his eyes carried such regret and anger that I recoiled at the sight. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find," he said, stepping inside. "I lost my way, twice." I met Gandalf's eye from under the hood, and he shook his head minutely at me, warning me not to go anywhere. "I wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for that mark on the door," he continued, taking of his cloak.
"Mark? There's no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!" claimed Mr. Baggins worriedly, hurrying to inspect his door as Gandalf pushed it shut.
"There is a mark," the wizard corrected, turning so his back was against the door, preventing the frazzled hobbit from opening it. "I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."
"So," Thorin said, stepping closer to Bilbo with an amused smirk on his face. "This is the hobbit. Tell me Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" The prince circled the confused hobbit, looking him up and down.
"Pardon me?" he asked, frowning.
"How's your sword?" the dwarf asked gruffly, coming to a halt and crossing his arms. "What's your weapon of choice?"
"Well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know," the hobbit said proudly, putting his hands on his hips. I wanted to melt into the stone out of embarrassment for him. A confused expression crossed his face as he backtracked. "But I fail to see how that's relevant."
"Thought as much," the prince said, turning his head to face the young, dark haired dwarf I had noticed earlier. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."
The other dwarves chuckled, and I frowned. I had never appreciated when jokes were made at another's expense; this was not an exception.
"Shall we make to the dining room?" An elderly dwarf with a long, white beard asked. "You must be hungry after such a long journey."
Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but Gandalf stepped up before he could speak. My stomach twisted. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "Before you go," he said, glancing discretely at me, "There is one other member of your company I would like you to meet." Several pairs of curious eyes travelled to my hooded form, and my heart began to pound against my chest. "Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said, striding over to my frozen form and casting off my hood. "I would like you to meet Aeyera Greenleaf, Princess of the Greenwood."
I stared, completely immobilized, at the dwarf prince who looked back at me, just as stunned as I. He overcame his surprise quickly, however, and it quickly changed to anger.
I bowed, my hands shaking. "It has been a long time, prince," I said as I rose to face him. "You have changed little."
His icy blue eyes narrowed, and I became acutely aware of the fourteen other pairs of eyes watching me. "Should that name mean something to me?" he asked angrily. "Your name I do not know, but I do know your face. You are the coward who ran away from the mountain instead of helping my people. Tell me, Gandalf," he said, turning to the wizard. I could see him shaking with suppressed anger, his fists clenched. "Why is this elf here?"
"Has it been so long that you do not recognize my face?" I asked, forcing my voice not to tremble. "Has it been so long since I visited your halls that you do not know me?"
A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "You are the daughter of Thranduil," he said slowly, recalling a memory long forgotten. "The one who addressed me directly." His blue eyes hardened once again as he raised them to glare into my green ones. "The one whose father scolded for not holding her tongue in the presence of the Kings of the West." My own eyes narrowed as waves of resentment washed over me. I had lost everything for him, how dare he— "I see you still have not learned your lesson," he added. The dam holding back my anger creaked and groaned, seconds from bursting. Thorin was saved by Gandalf, who swooped in and led him away, glancing at my pityingly. He left me to stand, shaking with anger and disbelief, in the midst of twelve dwarves who—if they were anything like their leader—wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
