"It is your mother's vision," Elrond explained simply, as if the answer was always there and she had only neglected to see it. But with the way Moria's face twisted into something of complete and utter irritated confusion, he pressed on to explain further, "A memory of hers, projected into your mind." She crossed the lengthy expanse of the room to meet him on the balcony, digesting his idea as the sky lost its warm light. "It is not uncommon among eternal beings like ourselves," he offered, turning to face the sunset with her, though while her face was concentrated on the distance, brow draw together and eyes unseeing of the pastel colours of the horizon, overwhelmed by deep thought. "If the mind is burdened, ceaseless in concern, a shared memory is possible."

Moria shook her head, though it made sense enough in the idea of projection, it didn't make sense in a number of other ways, "But I was there. My father gifted me with everlasting memory, I remember everything. I always thought it burdensome, troubling, but now I find nothing more troubling than not recalling a memory. I don't remember this; I saw it from another's perspective - not my mother's, not mine, not's Eru's."

"Then perhaps it was your father's," Elrond hummed, "And perhaps the reason you cannot recall it is because he removed it from your mind."

"Why would he..." she trailed off, eyes flickering across Rivendell's scenery as her mind raced and filtered through reasons of why her father would do such a thing.

"A traumatic memory on a young mind would not benefit one's development. He thought it better if you did not remember it, possibly," Elrond wagered, though his voice had a way of sounding so sure, so true, "Lest you might harbour even more resentment for others."

Moria snapped her gaze to the tall elf lord, eyes rounded wide, "How did you... Gandalf," she answered her own query, the solution so obvious. She reset her focus on the sunset, the river that would soon glow and glimmer with moonlight, something soothing that wouldn't affect her like it normally would, not with so much confusion on her mind.

"We have spoken, yes. He's told me a great deal of your predicament, Laureiel."

"Spectacular," she grumbled, slumping a bit more against the railing. Perhaps Elrond had summoned her here to formally expel her from his peaceful land now that he knew of the real Moria.

"He speaks highly of you. He says you have come quite far from the spiteful child he gathered in the Old Forest outside out The Shire in the kindly west. Quite caring and protective of your company of Durinsfolk. And you've been restored your power, so it seems you're on the right path," Elrond said, and Moria's mouth cracked with a small smirk. "If you would have been given this drastic of a push from your father earlier perhaps the world would have been shaped much differently than it is now." Her smile fell with the elf's seemingly casual pondering, those words with his ever-compelling voice, she turned to look at him again, but his gaze stayed forward.

"You do not speak this as an encouraging speculation..." she murmured, standing tall again, though no where near to the elf's towering height. He glanced at her shortly from the corner of his eye, but did not answer her. In fact, this was likely a unique time, Moria was allowed to see a composed, elegant, eternal creature shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. She was no great reader of body language, so she could only assume by his lack of eye contact, which he'd been very comfortable with before, that with new awkward display - "You've seen something," she gently accused. He did not look at her, but the discomfort seemed to intensify, her accusation was correct then. "Tell me. Please. Tell me what you've seen."

After a few quiet moments Elrond sighed softly, his stiff posture relaxing slightly and he finally met her eyes again, "It was a foresight from long ago."

Her heart fluttered in her chest with excitement, but she remained outwardly poised, "But it has been replayed in your mind once more." She paced two tentative steps closer to the eldar, "Tell me, my Lord Elrond, please."

And for a while Moria was placed under his scrutiny, as if he was weighing the possible outcomes in his head before he complied. "I should not see the day I refuse the Valar Child's pleas."

Moria smiled a small smile of gratitude, but it vanished when Elrond placed his finger tips against her temples, giving way to a frown both twisting her mouth and wrinkling between her brows. She could not question it though, when the world around them whited out she found herself somewhere far from Rivendell, audience - and apparently player as well - to a scene she could not believe.

.

The setting was clearly the royal chambers - given the extravagance decorating the enormous room - within a vast and glorious kingdom carved from stone, an immense city hollowed and hewn within a mountain. Another key to the obvious royal surroundings was the way the two characters were dressed, fanciful and regale, though they appeared to be in their sleeping garb. What had likely started as breakfast in bed had migrated to the small table near an excessive vanity littered with little glass vials filled with a variety of coloured lacquers. Moria could take in no more of the ambiance, her attention was captured when one of the figures began to speak, words perforated by a long yawn.

"Little one, have you tended to your morning chores?"

"No," the smaller figure, a young girl, answered factually as she leaned over the table, scrapping clean the remains of what was left of breakfast on the elder woman's plate. The younger's appetite more hardy than her mother's - clearly they were child and parent by appearance alone.

"No? And why ever not?" the mother of the girl was not the slightly bit perturbed, but rather plainly amused.

The girl retreated from her position nearly sprawled along the table to stand upright and proudly on her chair as she proclaimed, "A princess - the princess of the great kingdom of Erebor, no less - needs not waste her time on such trivial things. She must focus on strengthening much more important feats: like archery, swordsmanship and battle tactics."

The mother's - evidently the queen if the girl was a princess - amusement grew, noting the distinct way her daughter's proclamation sounded recited, "Oh? And pray tell who told you this?"

"Uncle," the princess said, still standing tall on the chair, likely an accurate example of the short stature she would reach once she was fully grown.

"Which of your lovely uncles would that be, my dear?" the Queen laughed.

"Dwalin."

"Ah, he told you that, did he?" the Queen rolled her eyes though her smile had not dimmed, "And what of your brother? Is he spared of chores because of important princely duties the likes of swordplay as well?"

"No. He said he should read and study more," the princess turned her gaze to her twiddling fingers, "But I think he only said that because Thror has started to best him in the practice ring."

The Queen chuckled as she stood, muttering, "Dwalin would deal with defeat in such a manner." She stood before her daughter, not at all equal in height, even with the girl standing on the chair. She brushed her fingers through the blonde tresses, idly wondering how she would arrange her hair today, before she met her daughter's blue eyes, "Where is your brother now, Thoria?"

The princess shrugged, "I do not know. Probably the library with Ori and Thraina."

"Mhm," the Queen hummed, "And that is where you should be as well, little one. After your specifically appointed chores have been tended to. Come on, I shall help you start them, if I must."

The little princess put up a struggle when the Queen moved to pluck her from the chair and into her arms, "But amad -!"

"Come now, don't whine. You enjoy Ori's lessons, don't you?" the Queen's hands retreated from her daughter's form and curled into fists to plant against her hips.

"Yes! But I was entrusted with the task of keeping you distracted, amad!" the princess bursted.

The Queen's eyes widened before her brow scrunched, "I beg your pardon?"

"Atad said he needed my help, that I must busy you so that you will not find him! You will find him if I tend to my chores and go to lessons! I cannot let atad down!" the princess's feet were stomping excitedly against the chair.

The Queen settled her hands on her child's shoulders to keep her from jostling the chair and tumbling, "Well, by Durin's beard, why would he employ you as such?"

The girl's eyes flickered behind the Queen and her troubled expression lightened into something buoyant before she jumped down from her perch and scurried around her mother. The Queen followed her motion and saw the girl had met her father, he placed his hand against the girl's cheek, affection and praise in the gesture as he grinned down at her before she glanced back to her mother and then skipped out of the room. She was terribly lost and her husband's amused and slightly abashed demeanour did nothing to shed light on the confounding situation.

She fell back to sit on the chair her daughter had occupied only moments ago as the King approached her, "Mining for a jewel befitting a goddess would take much more time than I am granted. I can only hope you accept this humble King's jewel."

The Queen gasped so sharply she nearly choked on air when the King knelt before her and presented her with a ring decorated with a glimmering rock, but it was no ordinary shining white gem. She glanced, eyes startled wide, between the ring between his fingers and his face, "The Arkenstone? But -"

The King smiled at her shocked expression and took her left hand into his as he explained, "It is mine to do with as I wish. And I could think of no better place that adorning my Queen's hand." He slid the ring that looked so terribly small and delicate between his fingers onto her slender finger, the band clinking against the ring that had a home there for quite some time. He placed a gentle kiss against her knuckles before releasing her hand. She raised the ring closer to her eyes, gawking openly at the magnificent stone.

Ever the worrier, she looked to him with pleading eyes, "Please say it wasn't all wasted for this."

He laughed, shaking his head, "A jeweller I am not, but the King's Stone still remains above the throne, if not just slightly smaller." Her face eased into relief and graceful appreciation as the King rose to stand. He took her hands again, thumb brushing against the new stone, he leaned downward, touching his forehead to hers, murmuring gently, "Menu tessu."

"Thorin," she gasped back, her voice constricted with emotion.

"Moria," he hummed.

She tilted her head just so, her breath and words puffing against his mouth before she leaned in to close the distance, "My love."

.

Reality came back into focus so suddenly that it had Moria stumbling and gasping. She held onto the railing of the balcony, taking in large gulps of breath as she tried to grasp what exactly she just saw.

"You would bear three children to the line of Durin," Elrond's soothing baritone summed, "A righteous, just, and loved queen among her people. Beside the King Under the Mountain until your dying day. A fulfilled life in Middle Earth."

"But that's -," she panted, "It's not possible. I am not bound to this form, my mortality is only temporary, isn't it?"

"Eldar have a choice, should they choose it, they may live a mortal life. Perhaps, by this vision, the option is open to you as well."

She was thankful for her hair not being carefully and intricately arranged as she drove her fingers through along her scalp, "That can't be possible. Thorin and I. There's - there's nothing there," she muttered, feeling a heat crawl up from her chest to colour her neck, "I'm just - I'm just coming into my place as protector of Arda. I can't - I mean, there isn't any time for - I couldn't."

Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder, "Calm, Laureiel. Foreseen visions are not the set future, everyone has a choice, it's just a probability." A very likely one, he neglected to add.

"Right... Alright..." she nodded, though the blush didn't lessen, "Wait... You said this was a vision from long ago... How long ago?" she question, "And you mentioned the shaping of the Earth, if I had been pushed earlier..."

"It is merely a chance. Think nothing more of it," he patted her shoulder once in comfort. "My original intention was to congratulate you on your self realisation, not to cause you more stress. Forgive me."

She nodded, then shook her head in an effort to clear her mind, "It's fine."

Elrond let a quiet pause fill the air as he took in her still flustered state, "...You'll not be able to look at him the same, will you?"

"Definitely not," she answered immediately with a sure nod.

The elf smirked, "My apologies."

She waved him off, "No, no. It's... it's quite alright. I, erm, dinner? Is there dinner?"

"Of course. Just over here," he gestured toward the direction where the balcony wrapped around, and she followed, and sure enough there was a small table set for three, probably Gandalf would join them soon. "And we can discuss something else to get your mind off troubling things... Your twin daggers from the troll hoard...?"

In an effort to distance her thoughts from visions and memories, Elrond educated her on her throwing knives. They were not of the same make as Gandalf's Glamdring and Thorin's Orcrist, but rather much rarer. They were of Laiquendi make. The Green Elves were known for their solitude and aversion to confrontation, so such knives meant for battle was an incredibly rare find - Maetha and Orthor were their names. Much like her, the knives from people who dissociated themselves from the rest of the world, were doing as they were intended, knowing battle, slaying those who needed to be slain, fighting the good fight.

But no matter what stories Elrond told of elvish weaponry and its history, she could not shake the things she'd seen from her mind. Her near death by her father's axe, wielded by Eru himself, then knowing her father had plucked that memory from her mind. Seeing a future, an obviously happy, healthy, loving future, with a surly dwarf intent on the reclaiming of his kingdom with a history of sickness in his family.

Aulë had told her a gift of memory would keep one knowledgeable and rational, prepared to take on the future, while a gift of foresight would do the same while making one cautious and unbound by events one might see, giving the implied feeling almighty in the face of the future.

He was right.

.

She took her leave soon after she finished her meal, extremely grateful for Elrond sparing her a chaperon. She had told him that though she was appreciative of such attention, being waited on hand and foot, every moment of the day, truly finding solace only when she slept, was, in simple terms, putting her off. He said he would mention it to those he had tending to Moria, and she pleaded to tell them as gently as possible.

Mentally exhausted, though not physically, she still found herself missing her company and sought out the dwarves. She found them in their designated quarters and was welcomed with loud noises of elation and someone offering her a seat, which ended up being someone's short cot, since they destroyed the rest of the furniture to make firewood. She pinched the bridge of her nose briefly and chose to ignore it, she was mentally exhausted, after all, too tired to scold them. So she took a seat on Bofur's bed, reevaluating her first choice to sit beside Ori when Dori had a wary look about him.

Nearer to the candle light, she was carefully gathering up the long skirt and train of her dress to arrange about her and manage a more comfortable position when both Kíli and Fíli sprang forward with sounds of amazement escaping their throats.

"Look at that battle wound!"

"Mark of a warrior! Sort of like Dwalin's!"

Bofur words were tinted with smoke as he inched closer to inspect her ear as well, "Forgot about that! I remembered the blood on her hand and in her hair. Does it still hurt?"

"Nah, not at all," she murmured, a flush of pride colouring her face as she tentatively touched the part of her ear the dwarves were peering around one another to look at.

What proceeded after that moment was an exploding bombardment of the company trading battle stories with each scar they pointed out, missing bits or added bits in Bifur's case. Two or three stories were told at once, and Moria had difficulty listening to all or singling one out. Bofur had refilled his pipe, puffing and chuckling along as he either kept along with the stories or simply found his brethren's excitement amusing.

She glanced all around the room, noting who was there and who wasn't, and then took in each appearance, clothes, hair, beards, and whatever tokens and trinkets they adorned as well. Bofur, among the several who were quite over her big identity reveal, and of whom she felt a close friendship with, was the closest in her nonchalant inspection. His hat was his main identifying accessory, capturing most of the attention, which is probably why she'd never noticed the jewellery decorating his ears.

Moria reached over and flicked her finger against the piece of bone capped with silver, carefully etched with Khuzdul, hanging from his lobe. "That's lovely," she commented.

"Why thank you, princess," he grinned.

"Is that another sort of Dwarven tradition with hidden meanings or is it simply for decoration?" she wondered as she glanced around the chamber looking at the other dwarves ears and what adorned them.

"For lack of a more suitable word, it's decoration. Though some things can be fashioned into trophies of sorts," Bofur said and gestured to his ear and explained just how he came by the fang dangling from his lobe (a gift from Bifur when he'd gone on a hunt). This prompted more talk of trophies, piercings and jewellery among the dwarves. Moria was distracted with the idea of trophies, she didn't necessarily want trophies from her kills, but the idea struck her when she glanced down to her nails, free of any color or sheen. The blood of a warg would create a bold red she could never manage from the petals of roses. The blood of an orc, she dared consider, would be the darkest colour to ever colour her nails. It was a morbid thought, using the blood of those she smote as polish for her nails, but it was a morbid thought that was becoming more and more attractive as she dwelt on it.

She faded back into the jewellrey talk when she heard Kíli explaining his mother's twice pierced nostril with two thin gold hoops (the only gold they still had). Moria couldn't imagine being so brave to do the same, her ears though; her hand ghosted along the marred portion of her ear. She inquired about decorating her new battle scar, not realising she had spoken aloud until all the dwarves eyes were on her, wide and glittering with wonder.

Moments after short contemplation and confirmation Moria was lying flat along Bofur's bed, the dwarves were shuffling around the chamber, murmuring and muttering to get what they could to make this impromptu ear piercing work. Moria gathered all her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, baring her injured ear completely, grinning up at Fíli and Kíli sitting on the bunk with her, far too amused. Nori pushed through the frenzy and presented her with a large goblet, a soaked piece of linen in his free hand, and Bofur stepped up beside him with the nearly empty bottle of Elven wine, the cork in his other hand. "This is absolutely going to hurt," he said, failing to tamp down his own amusement. Óin squeezed between the two dwarves with a curved surgical needle, the tip engulfed by a candle's flame, quickly turning red.

Moria's hand reached out blindly and caught onto Kíli's hand at the sight of the hot needle, and bless him, he quickly started talking about how once they reclaimed the Lonely Mountain he would see her adorning Erebor's finest jewels befitting a goddess. She was startled, the words triggering Elrond's vision to play all over again before her eyes, the future.

"And finished," Óin's voice brought her back to the surface. She blinked rapidly, finished? Someone put a hand mirror into her open grasp and she looked into the reflection and turned her head to the side to see her disfigured ear now garnished with two slim brass hoops bracketing the missing cleft portion.

She stared in awe, eyes brightening and mouth curving into a grin, "That is -"

"- Oh, my! What have you done?!" Bilbo Baggins stood in the doorway, horror struck until the dwarves collectively chuckled. He scurried across the chamber until he stood in front of her and took her face into his hands, tilting her face to the side and assessing the work, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," he murmured.

"Oh, come on, Bilbo. It's lovely," she smiled, nodding in gratitude toward Óin who beamed back proudly. "Maybe you could do it, too," she giggled when Bilbo paled and took a few steps away from her and the entourage of dwarves laughing along with her. Beyond the troop of dwarves and scared hobbit she saw the door darkened by three figures, Fundin sons and the King of Erebor himself, her laughter died in her throat, her mirth dispersing quickly and causing her to look in a similar fashion to their burglar. "Erm," she coughed and stood, "The night is late, isn't it? Until tomorrow, dwarf masters." She slipped through the space created by the dwarves parting, and patted Bilbo's shoulder as she passed. She couldn't meet anyone's eyes as she made her escape and couldn't gasp in a proper breath until she reached the hall her chambers were in.

She was better than this, she could look past the vision and treat Thorin as she had before, as a fellow warrior in this journey, but for the rest of the night, until she succumbed to slumber, arranged comfortably on her right side since her left ear throbbed with a new pain, her mind was busied with thoughts of the possible future she had seen.

.

.

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Note: Unexpected plot twist?! Not really, I've got everything planned until Lake Town. Lake Town is giving me troubles. Anyway! It appears Moria's becoming more and more dwarvish as the days progress, I don't think anyone anticipated that. Err... I don't think I have anything else to comment on, not like last chapter, wow. Um... Yep, I think that's it. The general theme of this story is striving hard for redemption... so... keep that in mind.

Menu tessu - You are everything.

Maetha - fight, Orthor - conquer.

I don't own anything, aside from the original stuff.