"Kili!" I yelled, parrying a blow from an orc sword. The dwarves' shouts grew louder as the orcs began firing arrows at their barrels. The dwarf prince's chest moved rapidly as he moaned, struggling to sit up. "Get out of here!" Even as I said it, I knew there was nowhere to go. A scream tore at my throat as the rusted edge of an orc sword tore through my left bicep. An arrowhead appeared between the orc's eyes a moment later, and it fell into the frothing water to join the barrels.

Turning, my sword arm shaking badly, I saw my brother tearing through the ranks toward me, fire burning in his eyes. Using his presence to my advantage, I crouched down beside Kili and began pushing him towards the edge of the bridge. "Come on," I panted, pushing him towards the ledge. "Fili!" I cried, giving him one last shove. "Catch!" Kili fell into an empty barrel, crying out as the shaft of the arrow caught on the steel edge, wrenching the point through his flesh as it snapped. I stood and instantly was knocked back to the ground as the butt of an axe slammed into my temple. 'Move,' my mind urged. 'Move now, or you will die.' With a cry, I leapt off the bridge, landing in the foaming water just as the gate swung open. A hand grasped the hood of my cloak as the barrels were swept away, carrying me with them.

The only thing to do was to hang on. Breathing was a chore, and seeing was impossible. My ribs ached with every laborious breath I took, and the welts covering my back burned. Freezing water slammed into my face as currents tore at my legs; the only thing keeping my head above water was the hand still clutching my cloak, dragging me above the river. I wished desperately to protect them. I hated that I could do nothing to help, but I knew that even if I had my own barrel, my shaking arms could no more hold a bow than they could my sword. After an eternity, the barrels slowed. The only thing I was aware of was the cold. My body shook like a leaf in a storm, the late autumn wind threatening to turn the water on my face and hair to ice.

Thorin's voice came from above me, and I struggled to move as my toes scraped against the loose stones of the riverbed. "Anything behind us?"

Balin answered, "Not that I can see." I forced my eyes open, blinking crystals off my eyelashes. For some reason, none of the dwarves seemed nearly as effected as the cold as I was; I was freezing.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Thorin murmured. I managed to move my head a fraction of an inch, and his expression turned grave.

"I think we've outrun the Orcs," Bofur announced hopefully, splashing around childishly in an attempt to straighten the barrel.

"Not for long," Thorin growled in frustration. He tried to lift me into the barrel but stopped when it tipped over, nearly spilling the dwarf king into the river and dunking my head under the water again. When he came up, sputtering, he raised his voice. "We've lost the current!"

"We're half drowned!" exclaimed Dwalin harshly. "And Aeyera is nearly frozen!"

Thorin glanced down at me as I began pulling weakly at his hands, trying to make him release me. "Make for the shore!"

"Aye," Dwalin agreed, paddling over to the rocks.

"Come on, let's go!"

The company followed Thorin to shore. Thorin, upon reaching the pebbled beach, carefully lifted me from the water, carrying me out of the river and laying me on solid ground. I curled there, shivering, as the king began scanning the rest of the company. My gaze immediately fell on his youngest nephew, and I struggled to stand as he fell to his knees upon exiting the barrel. Pulling himself up so that his back was pressed against the stone, he pressed the hem of his shirt against the wound and hissed in pain. He caught me staring and turned his face away, his gaze darkening. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"Kili!" Fili rushed to his brother's side, trying to make him uncover the wound.

"On your feet," Thorin commanded, his gaze flickering between Kili and I.

"K-Kili's wounded, his leg n-needs binding," I stammered, making it to his side and collapsing.

"As are you, Princess," Balin said to me, pushing me back to sit against a rock. "She's half frozen and nearly bleeding to death," he added to Thorin. My head throbbed, and I pressed the heel of my palm against it, wincing. "None of that, lass," the old dwarf said, pulling my hand away gently. "Let me take a look." Alarmed, I let my hand fall, starting at the amount of blood that covered it. My blood.

"There's an Orc pack at our tail. We keep moving," Thorin urged angrily.

A whisper of a warning flitted to the forefront of my mind, its message one I had heard a handful of times but never took heed of. Dragon sickness. Could it be possible that the mere thought of the dragon's hoard would prevent the king from saving his own kin?

"To where?" Balin asked irritably, swatting my hand away from my temple as he bound the oozing wound. "Would you hold still?" he scolded. "It's just a scratch."

"It's not that," I whispered. "My back—"

"To the mountain," Bilbo spoke up wistfully. "We're so close."

Balin spoke again, trying off the fabric at my head and moving on to the cut on my arm. "A lake lies between us and that mountain, we have no way of crossing it."

"So then we go around," Bilbo suggested.

"The Orcs will run us down as sure as daylight," Dwalin countered. "We've no weapons to defend ourselves."

Thorin, reluctantly admitting partial defeat, turned to his nephews. "Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes."

A yelp escaped me as Balin scrubbed at the nasty looking cut on my arm with a scrap of cloth, and I grit my teeth angrily. 'I've been tortured, stabbed, whipped, beaten, battered, drowned, and have been dragged to death's doorstep and back; why am I crying about a measly scratch?'

"There," Balin said kindly, trying off the cloth a moment later. "All finished." He turned and caught sight of the back of my tunic, which was soaked in blood, and his face went ashen. A horrible thought entered my head, and my hand shot out and grabbed the old dwarf's wrist before he could speak.

My mouth had gone completely dry. "B-Balin," I stammered, more from fear than from the cold or even the pain. "Is it p-possible that I—" I stopped for a moment, lowering my voice so the others could not hear. "That an elf could lose their ability to heal? Quickly, I mean."

The dwarf looked at me in surprise, shock emanating from him. "I have never heard of such a thing," he said, watching me curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"My back," I spoke softly, so that the dwarf had to sit next to me to hear my words. "He would beat me every day, and last night he had me… he had me flogged." I shuddered, wincing at the pain. "I don't want to slow you down," I thought aloud, watching as Ori tipped over his boot, pouring all the water contained in it back into the river. "If it does not heal soon."

An almost silent creak of a drawn bow sent me to my feet, my bow in my hands a moment later. Dwalin leaped in front of Ori, holding a thick branch, and a gasp escaped from my mouth as an arrow buried itself in the wood. I leapt to my feet, catching the arrow aimed at me as it whizzed past my head. Kili jumped up and reared back, preparing to hurl a stone at the bowman, but it was shot from his hand before he could blink. The bowman's arrows was fitted to both my bow and the man's as the rest of the company leapt to their feet, and I moved to stand between the bowman and the dwarves, my left arm shaking.

"Do it again," the man warned, dark eyes boring into mine as the head of his arrow travelled to point at Kili, "and you're dead."

My lips curled back into a snarl as I glared at the man, recognizing a strong resemblance between him and someone I had once known but could not currently remember.

"Excuse me, but um... you're from Lake-town, if I'm not mistaken?" The man nodded, eyes flitting to Balin. I lowered my bow, afraid that my grip might slip. "That barge over there—" the man glanced over at it. "It wouldn't be available for hire by any chance?"

The man relaxed his hold on the bow and turned, striding towards his ship without another word. The rest of the company rose to follow in his wake. I rushed to help Fili take care of Kili, but he brushed me off.

Hurt and angry, I turned away and stormed over to where Balin now stood across from the bargeman, making sure my pack was still swung over my shoulders. "What makes you think I would help you?"

Balin, who had taken upon the role of the company's representative, answered, "Those boots have seen better days, as has that coat." Bard made no answer but instead began pulling the company's barrels towards the barge, hoisting them onto the deck. "No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed," persisted Balin. "How many bairns?" Balin's dimpled cheeks glowed as he smiled at the man, who looked over at him, face softening.

"A boy and two girls," he grunted, straightening up. He looked much nicer when he smiled, I noted. More like a father.

Balin continued. "And your wife, I imagine, she's a beauty?"

The man hesitated for a moment, running his fingertips along the rough edges of the barrel before him. "Aye," he answered softly, a lost, longing look entering his eyes. "She was."

Balin's face fell as he realized what he had said. I felt my heart go out to the man before us—despite the fact that he had just tried to kill me—and the feeling that I had met him before strengthened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Dwalin interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on, come on. Enough with the niceties."

"Dwalin!" I snapped, glowering at the dwarf. He glared back angrily, tension growing.

The man glanced up, looking between the two of us. "What's your hurry?

"What's it to you?" Dwalin shot back. I sighed. Dwarves would never understand the ways of men.

The dark haired man raised his eyebrows and stood tall, staring down the old warrior. "I would like to know who you are, and what you are doing in these lands."

Balin cut his younger brother off, looking innocently at the man with his wide brown eyes. "We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills."

The man looked on with some amusement. "Simple merchants, you say? Then why do you travel with an elf?"

The dwarves looked to me for an answer, and I stepped forward, holding out the man's arrow. "I am their guide," I told him, aware of how my hands still shook with cold and pain. He took the arrow from my outstretched hand with a nod of gratitude. "I was given orders by my—" I nearly choked on the word, and forced myself to spit it out though clenched teeth, "gracious king to guide these dwarves through the Greenwood."

The man, who had noticed the strain involved with speaking the word 'king,' opened his mouth to speak. Undoubtedly he wondered about the bandages covering my body and the blood that even now dripped from my clothing to the dock. Before he could, though, Thorin cut him off. "We need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?"

The bowman ignored him, instead tracing the chipped rings around the barrels' edges where the orcs' arrows had bit into them. "I know where these barrels came from."

"What of it?" Thorin answered defensively.

"I don't know what business you had with the elves," the woodman said, glancing at me with a nod. "But I don't think it ended well. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

As he spoke, the man hopped into his barge and began to cast off, tossing the rope to Balin. Thorin motioned for someone to persuade the man to help, and I stepped forward.

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," I called, sensing the desperation level of the company beginning to rise. I imagined it would only be a matter of moments before they jumped the bargeman and threw him into the lake.

The man nodded in agreement. "Aye. But for that you would need a smuggler."

Balin, ever the negotiator, picked up where I left off. "For which we would pay—double."

This clearly peaked the man's interest, for he paused in his preparations and looked carefully at Balin and I. "Very well," he agreed. "I will speak to you," he nodded to Balin. "And see if we cannot come to an agreement."

The two of them crossed to stand a ways away, speaking low enough that none but I could hear.

"Kili, you were shot; you're clearly not alright."

I turned to see Fili fussing over his younger brother, whose gaze met my own for a moment before he looked away. "I'm fine, Fili," he snapped. "Alright?"

I crossed to stand before him, arms crossed. "What is going on?" I questioned irritably.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"No, it's not nothing," I told him angrily. "You're hurt, apparently in more ways than one." I knelt before him, taking his hand in both of mine. "Please tell me," I whispered.

"Did you think before you left?" he asked, finally meeting my gaze.

I blinked, completely confused. 'Before I left? Left where? Mirkwood? Erebor? The Greenwood?'

He noticed my confusion. "When you left the prison," he clarified softly. "Did you even think about me—" he caught himself. "Us—when you ran away from your brother?"

The meaning of his words became clear, and I blinked as my eyes began to sting, hurt at his implications. "Oh, Kili—" I stopped, searching his face. "Of course I did—I waited for you at the bridge—I would never leave you—any of you! Why would you think that?"

"You ran off," he whispered.

"My father asked for me," I replied, shuddering at the feeling of panic and fear that flooded through my body at the thought of being handed over to him. "My brother allowed me to escape."

"Your father asked…" Kili trailed off, eyes wide. For the first time he took in the bloodied clothing I wore and the bruises around my eyes. "Aeyera, I—"

"Aeyera," Balin called. "Come here a moment, please."

With one last look at Kili, I stood and made my way over to Balin and the bargeman. "Now," Balin said pleasantly, holding out his hand to help me onto the rock they stood on—I took it—and moving aside to give me room, "I was telling Master Bard here about our unfortunate set of circumstances; first the disappearing path, then the giant spiders that chased us to the Elvenking's palace. Perhaps you would like to tell him what your king said to you?"

'Besides disowning me, calling me a traitor, torturing me, and trying to kill me?' "My king asked me to escort this band of dwarves to Esgaroth," I said, making my voice as high-and-mighty as possible and standing up as tall as I could—which, to be honest, was not that great a height: the man towered over me. "We were ambushed and were forced to ride the barrels down the river; walking would have been too slow."

"What of the arrows and chips in the wood?" Bard asked,

"That would be our trouble," I said stiffly, glaring up at the man. "A pack of orcs attacked us at the bridge, at which point we were forced to enter the barrels."

"You're an elf, though," the bowman replied, glancing me up and down. "Surely you can fight off a few orcs."

"Not on my own," I snapped. "And not wounded. In case you did not notice, I am neither one of the eldest elves in Mirkwood, nor the most skilled."

"Are elves not all immortal?" Bard asked.

"Unless we perish in combat," I answered, ignoring my own plight. "Or from a wound. Or from grief," I acknowledged sadly. "Old age is not reason for us to die. We are born at different times though, just as all creatures are."

"What is your age, then?" he asked curiously.

"I was twenty-six years of age when Erebor fell," I responded sadly. "I watched it burn." Balin looked away.

Bard's eyes widened considerably. "Why would your king send someone so young with a people he is well known to hate?"

"I would not see them wander through Mirkwood alone," I said softly. "And so I became their guide. Besides," I added. "He does not care much for me."

"Alright," he said, nodding. "I believe you. One last request: your name."

"Aeyera," I replied, "Daughter of Aeyleria."

Bard bowed his head, pressing his fist to his chest for a moment. "And I am Bard, son of Girion II."

"Girion?" I repeated, stunned. 'It cannot be.' "Lord of Dale?"

"Aye," he replied, looking at me sharply. "Though not many remember that name with fondness."

"I knew him, once," I said softly. "He and his son were very kind to me."

"His son Bain," Bard clarified, his voice quiet. I nodded. "That is my family, but Laketown remembers with bitterness the names of our lords, for Girion was unable to kill the dragon the day it first came. He perished in the flames."

I nodded, looking down. I had thought as much, but my heart still ached with the memory of the kind Lord and his son.

"Are you satisfied with her account?" Balin asked, eying Bard closely.

He nodded. "Double?"

"Double," Balin agreed.

"Perhaps you should be the official negotiator," Fili joked, rubbing my shoulders in an attempt to warm me up. I flinched away as the fabric chafed against my wounds, and he stopped. This whole day had turned sour; the pinnacle by far was the boat deciding to buck suddenly as I tried to step on board, sending me into the river a third time. Bard had given me a blanket, and I now sat, shivering, with the rest of the company. "And swimmer."

"S-stop taking," I muttered, teeth chattering. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and tucked my knees to my chest, shaking. A tower of stone and ice rose suddenly from the mist, directly ahead of us. "Watch out!"

Bard maneuvered smoothly around the obstacle, ignoring me.

Thorin turned and glared at the bowman. "What are you trying to do? Drown us?"

"I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf," Bard said calmly, looking down at the dwarf king. "If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here."

Dwalin growled and turned to the rest of us, his arms crossed. "Oh, I've had enough of this lippy lake-man. I say we throw him over the side and be done with him."

Bilbo huffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, Bard. He's name's Bard."

Dwalin frowned and looked over at the hobbit distrustfully. "How do you know?"

"Uh... I asked him," Bilbo responded matter-of-factly.

"I don't care what he calls himself, I don't like him," the old warrior barked, sitting down beside his brother.

"Are you sure you're alright, Princess?" Kili asked, settling in beside me. He and his brother were perched on either side of me, the warmth of their bodies driving away the river's chill. I noticed that he still would not meet my eye, and I worried.

I smiled softly, surprised at how easily it came for him. "I am sure, Kili. I am safe." Before I could ask him about his wound, though, Fili cut in.

"Are we, though?" Fili asked under his breath, looking up at Bard. "How do we know he won't betray us?"

I sighed, shifting on the rough wood of the barge. "We don't."

"I'm sorry, Princess," Kili said, staring down at his hands. "I should not have assumed that you would leave us behind. I am sincerely sorry."

Smiling, I carefully bumped his shoulder with mine. "You are forgiven, Prince," I told him softly. A gleam from behind me caught my eye, and I turned my head. My heart leapt into my throat. Without thinking, I stood slowly, afraid that if I moved too quickly I might faint from shock or pain.

The Lonely Mountain rose from the mist, glowing in the golden sunlight. The rest of the dwarves had risen to their feet, gazing longingly to the mountain kingdom of Erebor.

"Bless my beard," Gloin whispered.

"There it is," I whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of my eyes. "Erebor."

Bilbo suddenly cleared his throat warningly, alerting the company to Bard's presence. I tore my gaze away from the mountain to observe the bargeman, who looked afraid. "The money, quick. Give it to me."

"We will pay you when we get our provisions, but not before," Thorin said, crossing his arms.

Bard's panicked look was enough to make me nervous. "If you value your freedom, you'll do as I say. There are guards ahead."

"What must we do?" I asked, glancing at the barely discernable forms of the guards ahead. The mist prevented them from seeing us, but it would not be long before they noticed the extra fifteen persons aboard the ship.

"You, Aeyera, stay here with me," he said. "You can be of use, saying that you came to make sure the barrels came in alright. The rest of you, into the barrels."

"Ssh. What's he doing?" Dwalin's voice came from his barrel, and I tapped it warningly with my foot. Bard had dismounted and was now speaking with some men at the dock too quietly for me to hear, what with the dwarves deciding that being silent was not in their best interest,

"He's talking to someone," I said softly, glancing up from my hands, which I had been carefully pretending to examine. "And… he's pointing right at us," my voice took on a tone of panic. My hands itched to draw my knives. "Now they're shaking hands."

"What?" Came Thorin's disbelieving reply.

"He's selling us out," Dwalin growled furiously.

"Be silent," I hissed, kicking Dwalin's barrel. He growled in response.

I stepped back as Bard approached and began directing the fishermen to drop their catch into the barrels. I prayed that they could not hear the muffled grunts of thirteen disgruntled dwarves and one fishy hobbit; it would not do to be caught now.

Once the fishermen had disembarked, we set sail again. Bard steered the barge through the icy waters towards the man city, and I noticed that his knuckles were white on the pole.

"Aeyera," he said softly. "I don't know if you lied to me or not, but listen. Cover your back with that cloak. Yes, I see your back," he answered in response to my start of surprise. "And we will discuss it later. Act as haughty as you can. Try…" he thought for a moment. "Try and act like a princess." The dwarves began moaning once more, and a few snickered, but Bard quickly put a stop to it. "Quiet! We're approaching the toll gate."

I moved nonchalantly to stand next to Kili's barrel, eyeing the gatekeeper warily as I clasped the cloak around my shoulders. "Halt! Goods inspection. Papers please!" He stepped from the lodging, looking up. "Oh, it's you, Bard!"

"Morning, Percy!" Bard said somewhat cheerfully, glancing warningly in my direction as he stepped forward to speak to the gatekeeper.

"Anything to declare?" Percy asked, glancing curiously at me.

"This is an ambassador from the Woodland Realm," he said. "She has come to ensure the return of the barrels, nothing more."

Percy nodded politely at me, eyes wide, and I nodded my head at him, keeping my expression as serene and peaceful as possible. I had a sneaking suspicion that he had rarely—if ever—seen an elf before. "Other than that?" he asked.

"Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home."

Percy chuckled. "You and me both." Bard handed him a slip of paper, which Percy took inside his booth and stamped. "There we are, all in order." As he offered it back to the bowman, however, a hunched, greasy man dressed all in black slunk from the gatehouse, leering.

"Not so fast," he said, snatching the paper away and reading from it. "'Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland realm,'" he read. He pointed at the barrels, looking up at Bard through dark, gleaming eyes. "Only they're not empty, are they Bard? If I recall correctly, you're licensed as a bargeman. Not..." he picked up a fish from Bombur's barrel and held it up. A jolt of panic swept through me as I met the horrified gaze of the dwarf whose eye had been unveiled. "...a fisherman."

"That's none of your business," Bard growled.

The man smiled. "Wrong. It's the Master's business, which makes it my business."

"Oh, come on, Alfrid," Bard sighed, exasperated. "Have a heart, people need to eat!"

Alfrid shook the fish in his hand. "These fish are illegal," he snapped, throwing it into the lake, where it landed with a plunk. "Empty the barrels over the side," he said to one of his followers.

"You heard him, in the canal," the guard snapped to the others. One by one, they boarded the barge, eyeing me warily. My hand inched towards my sword. "Come on. Get a move on!"

The guards began picking up the barrels, shifting them to the side. Bard's worried face sparked anger in me such that I had not felt for quite some time. "That is enough!" I bellowed, abandoning my sword and taking up my bow. I nocked an arrow to the string and aimed it at Alfrid. "Step away," I said, somehow keeping my voice steady and controlled. He stepped back, hands in the air. His followers froze. "You leave this man alone, understand?"

"And who are you?" Alfrid asked, leering at me.

"I am Aeyera of the Greenwood, captain of the Elvenking's guard," I snarled, watching with some satisfaction as the slimy man's smirk fell from his face. "My Lord the King sent me to make sure the barrels made it here safely."

"But—Captain—he—" Alfrid struggled to form a coherent thought.

"Is doing as commanded," I finished loftily.

"That does not change that what he is doing is illegal here, Captain," Alfrid continued, leering.

"Come on, Alfrid," Bard said, glaring at the man as the guards began to tip the barrels once again. "Folk in this town are struggling. Times are hard. Food is scarce."

"That's not my problem," the worm said, turning around. I swear, it took every ounce of patience I had not to send my arrow through his skull right then and there.

"And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake? When the rioting starts? Will it be your problem then?"

Alfrid froze just as the first fish were dumped from the barrels. He brought his hand up, glaring at me. "Stop!" The guards put the barrels back and walked off the barge. "Ever the people's champion, eh, Bard? Protector of the common folk. You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won't last." He turned and strode from the barge, eyeing my arrow, which remained trained on him.

"Raise the gate!" Percy called, giving me an approving nod and winking kindly at me.

The guards began to raise the town gate and Bard started to steer the barge through it. Alfrid turned around, glancing at my still drawn bow. "The Master has his eye on you," he called threateningly. "You'll do well to remember, we know where you live."

"It's a small town, Alfrid," Bard called back. I smirked. "Everyone knows where everyone lives."

With that, we sailed past him, continuing through the canals that crisscrossed through the city.

"You did not need to do that, Captain," Bard said finally, leaning heavily against the side of the boat. I glanced over at him, returning my weapons to their rightful place. "Threatening may have worked in Mirkwood, but all it does here is stir up trouble."

"I am no captain," I replied smoothly. "But I decided that choosing a rank considered high by men would grant me favor. I supposed it did not work with him."

"No, I supposed not," he agreed. After a moment or two of relative silence, he spoke again. "I knew I recognized your name from somewhere," he told me.

"Oh yes?" I replied carefully, eyeing the mountain before me. "Where is that?"

"A story my father once told me of a rare meeting between the dwarves, men, and elves of the East. The youngest member, besides my great-grandfather, was an elven princess by the name of Aeyera. I suppose that would be you?"

"I do not know," I replied smoothly. "Perhaps."

"You had better hope Alfrid does not remember your name, Princess," he said, turning down a side canal. "The master does not take kindly to criminals."

"I am not a criminal," I bit out, smiling slightly at the cries of anger from several of the barrels.

"An exile, then," Bard corrected himself. "My mistake."

"I was banished for trying to save the dwarves of Erebor from the dragon Smaug," I snapped, turning on him with my hand on the pommel of my knife. "Does that make me a criminal?"

"To some, perhaps," he said calmly, either ignoring or oblivious to the grip I had on my knife. "Not to me."