I could write a chapter's worth of apologies about being everso late…. But I think I'll just put this little peace offering out there first.

Chapter 25

Within the first hour of their descent into the sickened forest, Lyra had already determined that the Mirkwood was one of her least favorite places on Middle Earth. It wasn't so much the lack thereof a straightforward path or the abundance webbing material strewn about the otherwise poisonous foliage that had earned her distaste so much as the forest's inhabitance… or perhaps, even more so, the absence of said inhabitants that irked her. The entire thicket reeked of elf, and yet she had not seen hide nor hair of their "hosts" since her unfortunate run-in with the she-elf by the entrance of the elven path.

She was certain that they were there, watching. She could hear them. Feel them even. But the air, clouded with a hazy mixture of sickness and noxious fumes, obscured their elusive forms from even her eyes.

The forest was dark. Dark had never been a problem for Lyra. Her night vision was, after all, excellent. But now, as she trod on, the lingering effects of her contact with the dark sorcery gathering behind her eyes in the form of a severe headache, she found this darkness to be almost suffocating. She longed to be out in the fresh air, beneath the cool glint of the stars and silvery light of the moon where she could become one with the shadows of the night, not inhaling clouds of mushroom exhalent whilst tearing away at the cobwebs that seemed to coil around her like creeping ivy. Even the dwarves, who thrived underground, seemed uncomfortable with the stillness and thickness of the air.

She sighed, tilting her head back to gaze up at the purple tinged canopy. Weak rays of sunlight streamed through the thick tree-cover, dissipating mere inches from their origin. It made the darkened canopy look much light the night sky, she noted absently. Her reprieve from the murmuring of dark magic in her head lasted but a moment before the voices swelled with a vengeance, demanding to be heard as the headache thrumming painfully against her temples.

"Lyra?" Ania's soft voice drew her from the battle ensuing within her subconscious.

Hmmm? She didn't move her gaze from the leafy ceiling for fear that her head would split open at the slightest of movement.

"Do you hear them too… the voices," Ania's voice was barely above that of a whisper.

Tearing her eyes from the makeshift sky, Lyra glanced towards her friend, careful to wipe any signs of discomfort from her face. The faerie hovered beside her, her expression drawn and tired. Though her eyes still held the stubborn spark of vitality, they were shrouded with anxiousness and perhaps even the slightest hint of fear. She nodded silently.

Relief flickered across Ania's hooded gaze. "I'm glad. For a moment I had thought that I was going crazy."

The lasting vibrations of the faerie's voice faded, allowing the stifling silence to creep back into the air around them. Ania shivered, hating the forest and its awful silence. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling hollow. "Lyra…" she glanced up into her friend's guarded eyes, "I'm scared."

The hard yellow of the dragoness' eyes softened at the openly frightened look on the faerie's face. How desperately she wanted to tell Ania that everything would be alright. That there was nothing to fear. How much she wanted to lie…

Ania must've sensed some trace of the fear her friend was desperately trying to hide because she nodded, blinking away the moisture that had gathered at the corners of her eyes and took the dragoness' hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. There was tired humor in her voice as she gave a dry laugh, "what a pair we make. Neither wanting to burden the other with their problems. It's a wonder we're still friends."

You are my best friend, Ania. You will always be. The sheer effort it took for her to get the words out through the cacophony of sorcerous murmuring was excruciatingly painful. But the look of touched gratitude that graced the faerie's face made it worth every painful second. And there is no one else I would rather have.

She wiped an estranged tear from her cheek, her words just over a whisper. "Thank you."

And though she could not reply, for fear of her skull cracking open, Lyra felt every syllable of the simply phrase touched her very core. And she wished with every fiber of her being that she possessed the strength to communicate just how much the faerie meant to her. But she couldn't. Ever was she weak.

…..

The Upper halls of the Palace were alive with activity. It was a curious sight, as often times Calawyn found herself alone when wandering the great halls. Albeit, Mereth-en-Gilith *Sindarin- the feast of Starlight* fast approached and no amount of spiders, dwarves and dark sorcery would lay halt to their ritualistic celebration of starlight. Tradition was everything here, after-all, though she hardly understood why.

She sighed. Sometimes she wondered if she was an elf at all, what with her radical ideals. Perhaps it was because she was so often shut away from even those of her own kind. Ever since their mother died, her father had been especially hard on Legolas and protective of her. It was killing him and smothering her.

Hurrying around a corner, a group of elves very nearly ran into her, radiating horror when they realized who it was that they had very nearly careened into. Amidst an undulation of apologies clashing with embellished compliments, the elves managed to slip past her in the narrow tunnel and disappear down the expansive hall before she could even utter a word.

Annoyance seeped into her blood. She hated that she was treated as though she were a delicate little snowflake. The day before had been the first time anyone had ever spoken to her as an equal and, to be honest, she found it refreshing, invigorating even. She had gotten a taste and was eager for more. Since then, she had attempted several conversations with passing elves, anyone, but had been met with nothing but polite agreement and hasty retreat. It was driving her insane.

Curse the dragoness, for setting this addiction upon her. she had been perfectly content with her secret ventures out into the forest, but now not even that could sate her hunger for communication, for involvement. She was tired of being invisible.

"Daughter," hailed her father's voice in their native tongue, "you are up late this night."

Cursing inwardly, she plastered a serene smile on her face and spun gracefully into a low curtsey as she faced her father, "Forgive me, Ada, I could not find sleep this night."

Her father smiled patronizingly and beckoned her into the great hall where he lounged in his throne, probably brooding over the dwarves. "Come, child, and sit a while with me."

Dutifully, she glided over and set herself at his feet, laying her head on his knee and allowing him to run a hand through her loose flaxen locks. After a time, she heard him sigh, "Something weighs heavily on your mind, daughter. Will you not tell me of it?"

She pursed her lips, thinking very carefully before daring to voice her predicament. "I… I wish to know more of what lies beyond the Great Gates."

Silence ensued before he replied in the sickly sweet tone that belied his obvious pleasure, "But of course, my dear daughter, I will dispatch a rider immediately to acquire whatever materials you might desire."

She sat up straight, twisting so that she might look the elven king in the eye. "You know that is not what I mean, Ada."

Her father stood quickly, pacing a few feet away so as to hide the open irritation that he could not force behind his calm façade. "Perhaps you should retire to your quarters. You are clearly exhausted."

Immediately two handmaidens appeared by her side, to help her up and adhere to her father's wishes. For a moment, she considered going with them. Leaving the matter at that. And then the anger surged and the indignation cried out in frustration, dispelling the submissive tendency drilled into her from childhood. It rolled off her tongue so quick that, at first, she wasn't even sure it had been spoken "No."

Calawyn wasn't sure who was more surprised. Her or her father. But no matter, the line had finally been crossed. In all her years, she had never imagined that it would be her to cross it. It felt… kind of good actually.

"No?" he repeated, as though the words were foreign.

"No," she restated for clarification more for herself than that of her father.

His expression had gone deathly still, eyes hard, jaw set. The tension in the room was palpable.

Rising to her feet, she squared her shoulders as she had seen her father and brother do a thousand times before a verbal confrontation. Direct eye contact. That was the key. Right. She met his cold stare openly, as she had done thousands of times, though this time she allowed him to finally glimpse the deeper self that rest beneath the naïve mask that had been forced upon her for as long as she could remember.

"Ada, please," she began. She truly did not wish to argue with him, but if that was what it took then so be it. "You must–"

"I 'must' do nothing!" His voice was colder than the frosty wind that swept through the forest in herald of the oncoming winter. "You will leave me now. This discussion is over."

"This discussion will be over when I say it is over. I will not suffer to live this way any longer." She spat.

The look he gave her was enough to scare off any normal elf. But she was not any normal elf. She was the Princess of Mirkwood. "Calawyn–"

"No Ada!" She trembled with years of pent up anger, "You have kept me locked up in this prison of a palace for long enough. I want to see the world! I want to see the people, of all kinds, and for once in my life have someone speak to me, without looking down on me, without groveling, as an equal. I want that, Ada. Is it so much to ask for? Wha–"

"That is enough Calawyn!" His voice rumbled with high authority. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice at her. It was not a pleasant feeling. "You will be escorted back to your quarters immediately, where you will remain until I have sorted out what to do with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Violet eyes filled with tears, though she refused to shed them in the face of this betrayal. She made a half-hearted curtsey, her soul burning with resentment. She closed her tone and with it herself, creating a schism between herself and her father. One that she knew would not soon be filled. Meeting his gaze one last time with her own dull stare, she hoped her voice cut like a knife across her father's consciousness, "So sayeth the king."

…..

The days had become long, and the nights, even longer. Little game was available in the darkened wood besides that of the elusive black squirrel, and their food stores had been reduced to miniscule rations. Water stores had begun to run low and though they had done her best to collect the sparse drops when rain fell through the canopy, it was hardly enough to wet their tongues, let alone sate their deep thirst. Thus they were reduced to trudging along, in a single file line, daring not to stray from the narrow path.

The darkness was beginning to chafe on their nerves as well. The entire forest seemed to have been thrust into eternal twilight, leaving the company nothing but the frail half-light with which to distinguish one another.

Then they came to the black river.

"Oy!" called one of the dark masses that was a dwarf, "is that water?"

Lyra watched warily as they rushed forward towards the ominous sound of rushing water. They had come upon it so suddenly. It wasn't right. Beorn's shrewd warning pierced the thick muggy fog of her consciousness, driving her to lunge forward and grab Ania's shoulder. The faerie jerked around, reading the message in her eyes without any other such prompt. "Stop!" her command held every ounce of force that her friend's voice typically procured.

Luckily the order was well received and froze the dwarves inches from the shoreline. They turned towards the women with feral eyes, slightly dazed, slightly crazed. Ania, drawing strength from her friend's solid presence beside her, stood straight-backed and tall, a dim glow encasing her slight form. "Remember Beorn's warning. We mustn't leave the path, nor must we drink or eat from the forest."

The pressure of Lyra's hand on her shoulder increased as she silently willed her the smaller woman on. In the face of her inability to communicate –verbally or clairvoyantly– Ania had become her voice, as Lyra possessed the ability to convey a thought with only her eyes and Ania the ability to read it. It was a gift shared only between the closest of friends.

"I would not touch it either," she warned, sensing Lyra's apprehension over the swift-moving river.

Bilbo moved to the edge of the embankment, glancing furtively at a section of rotted wood that had once served as a bridge. His keen eyes caught on a small shape on the far side of the river, though it was hardly that, more of a very large stream.

Thorin nodded his agreement, his expression wanton and haggard as even he held some inadvertent longing for the dark liquid no matter what its substance. "She's right." he was clearly tired, "Do not get too close to the water. We cannot afford to lose anyone." Alright, maybe not too tired.

"There's a boat against the far side of the Bank!' Bilbo cried, "Now why couldn't it have been this side?"

"How far away do you think it is?" Thorin questioned.

"Twelve yards," someone guessed.

"Twelve yards?" another gasped, "I should have thought it was thirty at least."

"Can anyone throw a rope?"

"What good would it do?"

"The boat is surely tied."

Ania cleared her throat, "Erm, excuse me gentlemen…" she brandished her wings, "But I don't believe throwing the rope is necessary."

Fili stepped forward, all but snatching the rope from Thorin. "I'll do it," he growled.

Ania sighed. She had known that her apparent rejection would be met with hostility, but it did not make traveling with him any easier. He seemed stubbornly determined to prove himself through whatever means. Nonetheless she allowed the dwarf to take up the rope and hook.

His first throw missed, hitting the water with a splash and forcing him to reel it back in.

"A couple more feet and it would have dropped on the boat," Bilbo called from his position by the bank.

Growling under his breath Fili wound back his arm, knowing full well that he would most likely miss again.

Eyes narrowed, Lyra tapped the faerie on the shoulder, giving her a pointed look to which she responded with a tired nod. She stepped forward though Lyra's hand stopped her. The woman gestured subtly with her pointer finger and thumb, dictating that of a small size. Again Ania nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. She had very nearly forgotten.

Casting the hook once more, Fili knew immediately that it was a bad throw. He was preparing for the ultimate retraction and retry that was sure to follow the splash of the hook into the water.

"A hit!" Bilbo's exited cry carried over from his position downstream. "Let's hope the hook will catch."

Sure enough the rope went taunt and he found himself hauling against the entrapped boat. Clearly it was stuck on something. He could feel Ania's eyes on him, doubting. He had to do this. He had to make her see. Muscles bulged as he tugged relentlessly on the rope. Several of his companions attempted to help him, but were met with a biting antiphon and feral snarl, even Kili.

The dark hair dwarf slunk away, nursing the hurt of his brother's refusal. Lyra caught his eye from across the pathway and cocked her head in concern question. He shook his head and looked away. He did not want her sympathy. He just wanted his brother back.

The rope went slack with an audible snap, sending Fili sprawling back onto his butt with an oof. Clearly the boat had been tied down, though now it floated free, caught suddenly in the swift current of the would-be river

The rope slipped free of the dwarves grasp, sliding precariously along the ground, avoiding all desperate lunges from the other dwarves until snagged by the unlikeliest of palms. Bilbo's. The hobbit squeaked in surprise as the rope yanked him savagely towards the dark frothy waters, heedless to his otherwise pointless struggles to retain hold of means of passage. "Help!"

Just as it seemed that the hobbit would surely be dragged into the water, the weight of the tethered boat disappeared, leaving the hobbit to fall to his knees and gasp for breath. He groaned, favoring his savior with a grateful look, "Thanks…" the words caught in his throat as he found himself staring into a pair of unnaturally yellow eyes.

It wasn't so much the sharpness of her gaze that caught his attention, quite the opposite actually. Her haggard stare was framed by sunken cheeks and pallor skin, as though it were that of a corpse. Her eyes, once keen as a blade fell dull upon him, glinting with a feral disposition the caused a shiver to slither up his spine. "Lyra?"

She blinked once. Then again. She shook her head, as if to rid it of an unsavory thought, then cast her eyes once more upon him in apology. The rope tugged. Her foot slid in the mud, bringing her to her knees. Though she made not a sound.

Fury ignited in Bilbo's core, driving him to his feet as he shouted demands for aid, yet again grasping the rope with bloodied hands. Coerced by the Hobbit's cry, the dwarves leapt to action, managing to haul the small craft to the edge of the embankment where it could be dug into the mud, allowing the company to drop, exhausted, to the ground.

Severely concerned for the woman's health, Bilbo practically crawled over to where Lyra had set herself in the mud, touching her shoulder gently, "Lyra? Are you alright?"

Ania materialized next to him, appearing every bit as worn as her friend and every bit as concerned as him. "Lyra?"

She looked up very slowly, exposing the internal battle ensuing behind her gaze. No

…..

Calawyn shouted her fury, hoping it echoed through the entire keep and thoroughly embarrassed her father. She threw the door to her apartments open with enough fury to have it crack solidly against the wall to which it was attached. Her handmaidens trembled timidly in the doorway, unsure whether to risk entrance or not.

"Leave me," she snarled at the maidens, sending them scurrying from the premises.

Closing the door behind her, she strode quickly into the adjoining room, throwing off the heavy layers of clothing, forced upon her each morning, until she was left in a simple tunic and trousers. Closing her eyes and exhaling through her nose, she carefully reigned in the powerful temper she had inherited from her father.

When she opened them, she knew exactly which course of action she would follow.

Was it the smartest course? She gathered up a meager pack and slung it over her shoulder.

Nope.

Would she be punished severely? She strapped on her set of double-short-swords, enjoying the familiar weight of the beautifully crafted weapons.

Probably.

Was she going to do it anyways? She slid off the side of her balcony, dropping into the undisclosed tunnel located directly beneath with a mischievous grin.

Absolutely.

…..

Soooo yeah there it is. Shall I expect the assassin in the morning or will I live to write another chapter? Like? love? Hate? Lemme know. I'm terribly sorry for the wait. Now that summer's finally rolled around, I should have more time to really buckle down and write this thing.