The next morning, Ferin woke when something soft hit her face. Pulling at the fabric in confusion, she squinted up at the ceiling in the morning sunlight. Vala was standing over her, having just thrown - Ferin looked down - a set of clothes over her.
"Right," her friend began firmly, crossing her arms with a small frown. "By the look on your face, and knowing what you're like, I shouldn't have left you on your own last night. You brood like the world is going to end the next day!"
Ferin couldn't think of anything to say, mind still sluggishly trying to comprehend what was happening. She was not a morning person like Vala, and never would be.
"I've gotten your effects from last night. You're going to get dressed and kitted up, and then I'm going to run you ragged until you get back into shape! I know you're probably still sore and tired, but we are limited in time. We only have two weeks to the moon, and I want my friend back, even if I have to pull the self-pity out of you one bit at a time."
The burly woman turned to grab a bundle of cloth and weaponry behind her on a stool that Ferin had forgotten when she'd left the others. She dropped them unceremoniously on top of Ferin's chest. They slid partway off the edge before Ferin reflexively grabbed it, her mind still trying to catch up.
When she still hadn't moved in several minutes, Vala casually slipped her axe out of her belt. Eyes wide, Ferin stood quickly to dress. Just as she threw on the last pieces before she would have to don her armour and weaponry, Ferin felt a sharp slap of the broadside of the axe on her backside.
"Move it!"
"Ouch! Don't strike me – Ah! That one hurt!"
"Tough, get moving!"
Ferin moved obediently, if a little exasperated by her friends enthusiasm, grabbing her bundle of weapons along the way out the door. Despite the orders, her friend's eyes were alight with mischief and laughter.
They had a light, quick breakfast with the others. Vala didn't allow her to get into any deep discussions, instead elbowing her to keep her focus on finishing her food before they had to train. The company were bemused at the display.
When breakfast was over, Vala lead her to a grassy area near their makeshift camp. It was surrounded by a narrow pathway, half hidden by winding trees and crafted stonework. There, they stretched and warmed up in preparation to see if Ferin was fit enough for travel in the time they had left. When they finished warming up, Ferin strapped her twin blades to her back over a chainmail vest, and a worn, dark blue coat to cover everything from the elements. The terrains, elements, and foes would vary, so dressing as she would have on the journey was more practical, should they need to make a hasty escape.
Ferin slipped a dagger into her boot, and then strapped one to her thigh. She wondered if she would be able to keep up with the others. She had been fit as a dog out of necessity and circumstance, but if the dotty brown Wizard did, in fact, change her to before she was that creature, she would be more out of shape than she thought.
The last fourteen years she had been living as a dog. The ten years before that were spent travelling with Vala on the woman's own journey across Arda. They spent the time working in various villages and cities, smithing, crafting, or working as private guards for whoever wished to pay them a decent price. In the few years leading up to Ferin's transformation, she'd steadily began to drink and gamble more, tiring of people's suspicions about her branded mark. It had happened over sixty years ago, yes, but even if the person who'd known the first hand story had passed on to the next world, most were still alive or had told it to others. This kept the story alive enough that Ferin couldn't walk in broad daylight with the mark exposed, lest she incur the wrath of those who knew what it was.
The drink had left her sluggish and bitter; unfit for their plans, entirely, but there was no choice now.
Vala slapped her on the backside with the flat of her axe to break her thoughts.
"Will you stop doing that?" Ferin huffed, standing straight and facing her friend.
"Pay attention," the larger woman warned, spinning her weapon in a practiced circle. "Go ahead of me. I'm not leaving you to slack behind."
Ferin sighed, grimacing at the thought of the exhaustive battle she had ahead of her. Rolling her shoulders, she blew out a preparatory breath, and took off at a steady pace. Her joints ached every time they hit the ground, she worked up a sweat fifteen minutes in, and by the time they'd looped back to camp her lungs were burning to keep up with her racing heart. They stopped for a breather. Ferin bowed forward, heaving at the exertion of the short trip up the steps.
At her pathetic wheeze, Bofur inquired, "Are you alright?"
Ferin couldn't catch her breath enough to answer, so she waved at him in reassurance without looking up.
"Have a drink," Vala said from her right, amusement clear in her tone.
Ferin nodded eagerly, straightening to head for the nearest mug of ale on a small table by Balin. She froze at the solid thunk of her friends axe burying itself in the wood just in front of it.
"Not. Ale."
Ferin swallowed, straightening carefully to face her friend's bitter countenance. She retracted her hand to her side, keeping her expression neutral. Vala had left the glass of wine with the meal by her bath yesterday, but she had consciously refused it. Vala obviously had thought that a good sign. Now she had ruined her friends assurances by reaching out in bad habit.
Vala shook her head in confusion. "Do you not remember anything from the first three days?"
Ferin searched her memory. "Fragments."
Vala sighed. "I was hoping you would remember all of it, eventually. You were in withdrawal, Ferin. We had to nurse you through it. You swore, in your delirium, that you would never touch another drop of that stuff again, as long as you survived your recovery."
Ferin could feel eyes on her. Half the company were not here, the younger lads and Bilbo having gone off on their own presumably, but the rest were keeping each other company. "We?"
"Myself, Gandalf, and the Elven healers."
Ferin winced. Vala had been there. Had she seen all of it? She sighed and reached for a decanter of water. Pouring a good measure into a goblet, she took a few deep breaths. "If it helps, I remember feeling like the backside of a horse. I thought it was just the spell until Gandalf told me otherwise." She gulped the water, keeping her gaze at the bottom of the cup.
"No, Gandalf helped with the severe side of that once we had you settled. Your body was still healing from it when you went into withdrawal."
A sudden, burning need to escape this conversation made Ferin's legs tense. She replaced the goblet on the table. Ignoring everyone, she nodded to her friend. "Shall we continue?"
Vala nodded gently. "Of course."
After the first day, they decided to take the same route around Imladris for a morning run, keeping close to Lord Elrond's House where they had set up camp. Every evening, Ferin took advantage of the baths before joining the others, hoping that the two weeks would be enough to form some bonds to get her through the journey ahead.
Once they had established Ferin's identity on the first day, the others found a new courage to enquire about her life. She spent many hours with Ori, telling him tales of her adventures with the Races of the world, and she still sat with Bilbo so as she could listened to his stories of home.
After several days, Ferin's routine was rise early, have breakfast, train, lunch, train, bathe, and then an evening meal. By nightfall, they camped with the Dwarves and shared stories, battle wounds, and songs (mostly on Vala's side), and bonding slowly through snippets of shared pieces of themselves to establish enough trust to endure their journey.
Over a week, Ferin's lungs started to cope, her legs became stronger, and her endurance increased. Her body hadn't forgotten how to work, and Vala knew how to push her to her limits and then just a bit further. After their runs, they sparred, Ferin slowly relearning how to use her swords as extensions of her arms, thrusting, parrying, and twisting until it was almost second nature once more.
She was by no means back to her old self before… well, before, but she was getting there. Sometimes, Balin sparred with her while Vala tackled Dwalin, Ferin enjoying seeing her friend happy for a change with a partner other than herself. Sometimes the younger lads joined them, and the others would take bets on how long each party would last.
One day, in the late evening, Ferin and Vala decided to forgo their usual sparring, instead using fists, legs, and body to take the other down. Ferin used her speed over Vala's brute strength, even though she was naturally stronger. Their armour and weaponry were put to one side, the women simply willing to enjoy the game.
Vala, pleased at having her friend returned to her over the last week, managed to get Ferin in a headlock to give her a vigorous knuckle rub along her skull.
"Oh you horrid – stop that! Ow! Get off!"
Vala laughed before yelping when Ferin pinched the inside of her thigh. She let go and they called it a truce, laughing as they worked flexed sore muscles and bruised limbs.
Vala's smiled dropped to a curious smirk when her eyes wandered over Ferin's shoulder. Ferin frowned, ceasing her stretch. "What is it?"
"I think you have a new competitor," Vala said lowly, nodding her head in the direction she was looking.
Ferin turned to find Thorin watching them. He was leaning against the entrance of a passageway wall that ran along one side of the grassy area, arms folded. It had been a bit of a warm day, as evidenced by his style of dress. Adorned in leggings, boots, a tunic, and a belt with his Elvish sword, Ocrist strapped to his side, he was the personification of relaxed. Well, it would be, if it wasn't for his dark expression.
Vala left her with a light squeeze to her shoulder, passing Thorin with a nod.
Ferin and Thorin eyed each other for a several minutes. When he didn't move or speak, Ferin took a determined breath and bent to retrieve one of her pair of swords, sliding the blade out of its scabbard. Flexing and turning her weapon with a loose wrist, she kept her face carefully still.
She had been waiting for this. He had been watching her all week, and it had only been a matter of time, really, before he challenged her for her slights.
He clearly thought he knew something about her. Ferin could see it in his face, his posture, his eyes… they were like every other person she had encountered that knew about her past.
Thorin moved, stepping away from the wall, and unsheathed Ocrist. Ferin backed up until he crossed from the stone path to the grass. They circled each other until he had taken Vala's previous place as her opponent. He waited. When nothing was forthcoming, Ferin took the initiative, twisting her blade to bear down across his chest, but at half the speed she would give a real enemy. He blocked it with the same speed and they began a slow spar; counter, attack, step, parry, counter, step, attack. It went on for some time until something changed between them. Ferin was unsure who increased the pace. The strikes became harder, the attacks became swifter, and it continued to build until the were fighting at full strength.
He struck quickly, turning his wrist and guiding the blade in a sharp arch that would have sliced across her neck had she not reared back. Ferin felt the shift in the air. She swallowed. He had meant to follow through. The blows became heavier, stronger, more rapid. They dodged and parried, the metal echoing out across the space.
"This is your best effort?" he asked, his breathing a little laboured, but nowhere near enough to temper his strokes. A particularly strong downward blow forced Ferin to block awkwardly. She had to turn to one side, exposing her back for the briefest of moments, before spinning away from his next thrust. Another awkward block drove the tip of his blade away from her stomach. She was not fighting to win here. She was fighting to survive. Killing him would just be detrimental to their journey.
"No," she gasped in response, lunging to drive him away from her, allowing space for her to collect herself. "My best would surely kill you. Wouldn't want that."
He stepped away and to the side to try another angle. "I will not allow you to travel with my company."
Ferin watched him hawkishly, stepping forward and curving her blade up. He could easily see where she was going, and she meant for it. Resigned to his answer, Ferin intoned, "And why is that, Prince?"
He bared his teeth and countered her attack. "I cannot have a self-pitying drunk endangering our Quest. I have no trust in your skills, nor a need for them."
That threw Ferin entirely. "I - what?" She had expected him to say something else. Her guard dropped and he took advantage, causing her to jerk in surprise at his attack and back away.
"You are weak, and quick to temptation. It is bad enough the Hobbit travels with us; I do not need a mutt as well. You will only be a liability."
She shouted an expletive in her mother's tongue when his next swipe came too close to her thigh. He didn't relent, and Ferin could only stare at him as he pushed her backward with a few well place strikes.
"I have no sympathy for you. Your stories may sway my kin, but your tales only tell me of your foolishness."
Ferin frowned. "You know nothing of me." He couldn't possibly. He was reacting from what she had already told them of her, not the things she thought he might be condoning her for.
His regard was dark, and determined. "I know more than you think. I have heard of the woman warrior who wields twin blades. One who bears a scar like yours. A traitor who knows no honour."
And there it was.
Her arm went slack. Nearly twenty years of never hearing the accusation, and it still hurt; like a fresh wound pressed upon, until it bled black and thick down her face. Thorin disarmed her, her blade flicked to one side to land with a thump in the grass.
The sun had nearly vanished behind the surrounding cliffs. Lamps in the nearby passageways were the only added glow aside from the sliver of moonlight creeping across the expanse of Imladris' sky. Ferin stared at him mutely.
"You did not think I would find out about whom I travel with?" he asked seriously, stepping back and lowering his sword. "I have travelled far, and learned many things in my lifetime. Whispered truths, and fearful stories. I know you were foolish enough to allow your feelings to interfere with protecting your faction of soldiers, and you betrayed them, leaving them to die. How do I know you will not do the same again?"
Ferin could only stand there, throat constricted. That's not true! she thought. Lies. All of it. All of it!
Thorin resheathed Ocrist, and frowned at her. He turned away, and headed to the passageway to join the others. "I should never have listened to Gandalf."
Ferin clenched her hands, squeezing until the skin bleached white. For a brief moment, she imagined responding to him like she would have loved to do to everyone else who accused her of such things. She imagined running after him, howling her rage, and attacking with everything she had. He would fight back of course. It would be violent, but she would feel retribution. Relief, perhaps.
Instead, she clenched her jaw, squeezed until her palms bared the imprint of her nails, and shoved it down, until the shaking stopped, and she was dizzy. With a hiss of released breath, Ferin opened her eyes to find herself alone.
Skin clammy, and eyes burning, she collected her things and left for her room in silence.
