A/N: I feel so accomplished! Another update right on schedule. Hopefully, this pace will keep up and life will give me a chance to do just that! Thank you all for the reviews, favorites, and follows, they're very much appreciated. Please keep them coming! I am so excited to be working on this story again, it's so near and dear to my heart!

As always, please read and enjoy. :)


Chapter 29: What Cannot be Undone

It wasn't long after the sun had moved just beyond midmorning that the company prepared to set out.

Beorn had generously offered them the use of his ponies to carry them as far as the edge of Mirkwood, along with more than enough supplies to see them to the Mountain. Laden with sturdy, freshly sealed jars of honey, wrapped cheeses, thick loaves of fresh bread and many large canteens of water, the dwarves swiftly busied themselves with packing and loading their new charges. The hounds milled in the yard with the sheep, skillfully plucking up packs in their jaws and lifting them to the ponies who in turn lifted them with their own mouths to set on their high backs. It was a mutual effort that, if her mind had not been occupied, Culurien would have found both amusing and fascinating.

With a quick, sharp tug, she tightened the saddle's thick leather strap around Darthan's belly. He craned his neck towards where she was bent at his side and he blew a harsh breath through his nostrils, hard enough to send several of the bands in her braids clinking lightly. She glanced at him.

"I don't care for it any more than you do," she said bluntly, the stroke of her fingers against his broad neck negating any sting her words may have carried.

And she did not lie.

Culurien's frown deepened as she straightened to secure her saddlebags across Darthan's wide back. Her fingers performed the motions of knot-tying automatically, muscle memory compensating for her lack of attention. Seemingly convinced that his vocalization of dissatisfaction would make little to no impression on his friend, the big gelding whickered quietly to himself and resumed nibbling at the sweet grass and clover tickling his nose. Large bees fattened by fragrant pollen and the rapt care of their keeper floated lazily about them, easily swiveling around the half-hearted swipe of his freshly groomed tail.

Humming softly under her breath, Culurien finished her task, absently smoothing her palms over travel-worn flaps. The wounds on her face and neck ached. They steadily throbbed despite Bofur's earnest attempt to diminish the pain with generous slathers of Oin's healing ointment. She wouldn't have admitted it to him, but she preferred the ache. If she had wished, she could have easily willed her flesh to re knit itself, the scars fading in little more than a blink. Such was the nature of dragon and Valar.

But she wanted the reminder. She needed to remember the price of her pride.

A slender finger lifted to trace the yet open path hidden by a linen bandage that wrapped over her nose. Another was snugly fitted about her neck and throat, stark against the fire-darkened color of her skin.

Dinz morn an gosliez.

"Only death will free you," she murmured, her eyes unfocused as she stared, unseeing, across the wide expanse of the yard towards the barrier of thorn.

She bowed her head, her hand falling to rest against warm leather and fisting there.

What's done cannot be undone.

The knowledge hung heavy in her breast as if Thorin had reached past sinew and bone to tie a hammer around her heart. The disappointment and fear she had seen reflected in Bofur's eyes had done nothing to ease the sensation. Instead, it had only wrapped her in further guilt. Where once she had owed Oakenshield and his company nothing, she now owed them everything.

It tasted bitter on her tongue.

But it had been necessary, she argued silently, leaning down to inspect the straps of the saddle for the third time that morning. She wouldn't have been able to secure a place in the company again without an oath that the dwarves could not question. Barath'kha had fulfilled that need and she had accomplished what she desired.

Hadn't she?

Muttering an old curse she had picked up in Snowbourn from a band of Rohirrim riders, Culurien ran her fingers across the thick buckle. This was what she wanted. It was what Gandalf had wanted, and the company needed. By guiding them through the forest, she would be able to rid herself of any obligations that she had made in their original contract and would be able to assess how far to the North the spiders' grip had spread. She would be able to bid farewell to troublesome dwarves and their pointless quests, free at last to pursue her own goals.

And look how well that turned out last time, eh?

The voice's tone of derision agitated her further, causing her to grind her teeth so hard that her jaw cracked painfully.

Yes, she had been woefully unprepared for had lain in wait within that fortress, but this time would be different. Gandalf himself would be leading the charge into the warg's lair, Master Radaghast, Master Elrond and the Lady Galadriel at his side. It was a plan that had been hatched in Rivendell, not long before her departure from the valley. The elves had not included her in their discussion with the Grey Pilgrim, but neither had they dismissed her, hovering at the edge of shadow and resentful that she had been dragged into the debate, figuratively by her ear. But Gandalf had insisted that she attend one more meeting before she bolted off into the Wild, much to her displeasure. She suspected that the Lady of Lorien had known of her own plans to lay siege to Dol Guldur, but if she did, she had kept silent.

With such powerful magic assaulting the keep, it would surely fall this time. The wizard had not said that she was to join them, but Culurien had no doubts that he knew she would. At the time, it hadn't mattered, but now—

Perhaps lives will be spared, as much good as it does the dead now.

Snarling, Culurien stood straight abruptly and swung up into the saddle, jerking on Darthan's reins. Startled, the gelding neighed shrilly, hopping up on his hooves and his back bowing before he turned sharply to the right. Culurien tightened her grip and leaned forward, an apology flowing past her lips into his trembling ear.

"Whoa, Darthan, whoa. I'm sorry, old friend," she spoke to him in gentle tones, her voice belying the unease and bitterness writhing in her belly. He reacted to her calming encouragement, settling down almost as quickly as he'd started.

Brushing back the braided ropes of her hair that had fallen forward as she'd bent, she caught a dark figure trotting up beside her from the corner of her eye. Turning her head, Thorin edged his painted pony alongside them, his features darkened with suspicion. He didn't speak, just stared at her pointedly and Culurien lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug.

"A bee, I think," was all she said of the incident and though the prince did not reply, the hard glint in his eye spoke volumes.

When he had turned back to oversee the rest of the company mounting their ponies, the smith let out a weary sigh.

What she wouldn't give to be able to calm her swirling thoughts.

Unfortunately, as Beorn swung the large garden gate open wide to let them pass, Culurien knew that the ride up river would give her nothing but more time to wallow in her own mind.

"Do not slow your pace until the Carrock is well beyond your sight," the skinchanger warned brusquely, "And do not drink from any stream that flows past the tree line. You do so at your peril."

It was sound advice that Culurien did not dispute, reaching up as she rode by to touch the large man on the shoulder briefly. He looked down at her with his dark eyes.

"You be sure they return my ponies just as they got 'em," he said in a gruff voice, "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy and have little regard for those that they deem lesser than themselves."

Culurien nodded with a wry twist of her lips. It was a testament to how much he respected Gandalf that he had even let them inside the gate.

"I promise, Beorn," she replied and he brushed a large hand over Darthan's withers before stepping away from them.

Nodding to him one last time, Culurien flicked her reins and prodded Darthan into a swift canter towards the front of the troupe, slowing as she neared Gandalf's black mare. The wizard regarded her quietly for a moment, then chuckled warmly. Her glare only seemed to encourage him, the sound of his laughter deepening richly.

"For all of your posturing, my dear, you were certainly willing to pay quite the price to rejoin our little band."

Impatiently, Culurien tossed her head, feigning disinterest as she turned her gaze towards the fields of scented clover.

"Why do you bother sniffing for an answer you already have?"

She failed to see the knowing twinkle in the old man's eyes as his gaze shifted from her braided plaits to a summer-eyed dwarf near the rear of the line.

"It's one of the few pleasures I allow myself, you know."

Culurien snorted, turning back to him with a skeptical expression. "Forgive me if I find that hard to swallow."

Gandalf swept his hat off his head and bowed at the waist in a gesture that would have been almost gallant had his lips not been lifted in a teasing smile.

"As always, your sharp tongue finds its mark, my dear, but fails to strike the killing blow."

In no mood for his jocularity, Culurien scowled and spurred the heels of her boots into Darthan's flanks, cutting in front of the wizard and taking off at a gallop across the shallow ford that led towards the Carrock. Gandalf's smile immediately faded, his expression appearing deeply troubled as he let out a deep breath.

"Predictable, at least. Better than if she knew," he muttered to himself before twisting in his saddle and jerking his staff in the direction the smith had gone. "One of you, after her. She'd scout better with another watching her back for orcs," he called down the line, not surprised in the least to see a pony laden with two riders veer off towards the river.

Culurien had already reached the base of the tall rock by the time they reached her, looking over her shoulder as Nori and Bofur came to a halt beside her. Bofur folded his hands over the pommel of the saddle as Nori leaned back from him, his eyes roving across the scrawny pines stretching out ahead of them. She glanced between them, then let her gaze settle on Bofur's, ignoring the jittery sensation that suddenly filled her stomach at how intensely he studied her, as if he thought to find all the secrets of her thoughts reflected in her features.

"Taal?"

She couldn't say that she was fond of that feeling, but she couldn't say the contrary either. It was the look he had given her that had planted the first seed of doubt in her mind after her oath. Though she was loathe to fully allow herself to acknowledge it, she knew that she had caused him nothing but worry and confusion the last two days. She caused those same feelings in her own mind, particularly where he was concerned. Emotions, foreign and unbidden, had begun to shimmer and gleam like flashes of moonlight behind silver clouds in her heart. They unfurled warmly, beckoning her to examine them fully and discover their meaning.

But as she had for two days hence, she denied them, shutting the door firmly against the temptation to ruminate on what was hinted at. Bofur had grown into someone dear to her, that she wouldn't deny. His compassion and gentle bantering with her spoke well of him, and had led her to lower her guard a little. That opening, and his recent actions, had earned him an almost permanent place in her thoughts of late. No small feat, but it was one that she could very nearly resent him for. It was distracting, and more than a little frightening, how comfortable she could find herself in his company.

"Taal?"

Perhaps that was why she was fighting so hard to remain on edge in his presence. It allowed her the opportunity to lock away how attached she feared she was becoming. But she couldn't keep bouncing back and forth between warm exchanges and cold dismissals. That was what was confusing them both to begin with, although where it only seemed to mildly perturb him, it greatly disturbed her.

What was wrong with her?

No one other than Master Radaghast had achieved the kind of fondness she was beginning to have for the dwarf. And absolutely no one had ever done for her what Bofur had. She may have sworn her life to Thorin, but she truly owed it to Bofur in every sense of the word. He had saved her from an existence of shadow and decay, calling her back from the abyss with nothing more than a song and a sweetly green memory. It inexplicably pained her to think that she had done so little to repay that debt. A trinket and a few softly spoken words were hardly sufficient. But he had said that he understood. He saw fear in her eyes and had assured her that the emotions she tried to keep locked safely away were shared. He knew what she felt because he felt the very same. And yet she had seen no fear in his eyes, no uncertainly when he gazed at her. Not until that morning when he had gently tended to her wounds.

It was in that moment that she experienced the biggest twinge of regret. Without warning, the thought had occurred to her that she had sworn her life too hastily to someone she shouldn't have. Recklessly, she considered that the one to whom she had truly made a vow was kneeling before her as she had knelt, his eyes promising her that words unspoken held far more weight than those she had uttered. And so she had also made him a promise, sealing herself to a fate she hadn't fully understood at the time and now could barely find the courage to admit.

But for you...I will always just be Taal.

Had those words truly left her lips? If they had, she couldn't deny them anymore than the ones she had given to Thorin. It had been such a strange relief to say it. For once, she could simply be who she was, what she was, and for the first time in centuries, there was someone who didn't give a damn about her heritage. For an all too fleeting moment, her heart had been light, as if she had confessed to all the sins of her fathers and been granted pardon. Her hand had found its way to his hair without conscious thought, reveling in his warmth and closeness with an openness that had bordered on affectionate.

And the shiver she had barely suppressed when his lips had inadvertently touched the skin of her neck—

"Taal!"

Culurien's eyes snapped to his suddenly, realizing that she'd been staring up towards the the top of the Carrock silently for some time. She cleared her throat and shifted her focus towards the tree line.

"I'm sorry, Bofur, my mind was elsewhere."

"Clearly," he said teasingly. He tilted his head, the flap of his hat touching his shoulder. "Don't ya think we ought to be heading North? If we can get ahead of the others a bit, we might can give 'em a little warning if Azog and his ilk are closing in."

She nodded sharply, relaxing as she realized her thoughts were undetected, and turned Darthan in that direction.

"That would be wise, I think. Let me know if I need to slow Darthan a little as we go. He's swift and your pony is rather burdened."

Her voice held a playful note that Bofur immediately picked up on, glancing over his shoulder towards Nori.

"You hear that? A burden, we are!"

Nori chuckled, his grip on Bofur's thick coat tightening as the other dwarf prodded their pony into a quick canter beside Darthan.

"Mayhap we should rejoin the company and leave her ladyship to fend for herself."

"Ha! The wargs would snap you up like fattened lambs before you crossed the Anduin!" she called back, braids whipping in the rush of wind lashing her marred cheek as Darthan leapt into a gallop.

If they responded, she didn't hear them, her attention narrowing to the landscape that unfolded before them. With sure steps, Darthan navigated the pebbled shore of the river, water spraying up from his hooves in a fine mist. Within moments, they had passed the trotting company to their right, recrossing the ford and leaping ahead of them. Culurien's ears were pricked for the sound of savage howls or the harshly guttural black speech the orcs used. None reached her and she whispered a prayer to Oromë, the rider, that their pursuers would not be granted swiftness or skill in their hunt. And for once, she prayed to her mother, Yavanna, that her fears for the Green Wood were unfounded.

But dragons are not known for their luck.