Chapter 1: Lost and Found

I wrote this story years ago, yet I come back to tinker every now and then like a visit to an old friend.

Chapter 1 – Lost and Found

The dwarves tensed while they sheltered in a hidden cleft in a jumble of boulders. Orcs did not have keen hearing or sense of smell, but their wargs sniffed the ground and followed each other in circles before they lost the scent. Shouting to each other that the dwarves must have made it over the ridge, the orcs led the wargs away, and the pack left at a run. After hearing their sounds drift away, the dwarves sagged in relief against the walls of the small cave, but Thorin remained tense with his weapons ready. Too many battles had taught him that an unready warrior was a dead one. At last, even Thorin knew that they were gone for the moment, and he allowed a minute easing of his broad shoulders.

It is well that the hobbit decided not to come after all. He would never have made it this far. What was Gandalf thinking?

Lost in thought, he remembered when he was a prince and his people lived in magisterial splendor. Looking back at the grim faces of his company, he reassured them with a terse nod. His eyes flickered over the faces of his sister-sons, and a spasm of fear tightened his stomach.

Mahal, what have I brought them into?

A sudden flash of light blinded him. He cried out and pressed the heels of his hands against the stabbing pain in his eyes. Cries from the others echoed around him. Groping like a blind man, Thorin staggered along the cave walls. Whimpers from Ori and curses from Dwalin drew him closer. After feeling around and getting his bearings, Thorin found Fili and Kili and assured himself that they were alive. The sharp pain in his head began to fade, and the filtered light slowly coalesced into blurry shapes. Gandalf struggled to his feet and urged the dwarves to do the same.

"What is this devilry, Gandalf?" Thorin asked while rubbing his temples. "It feels like the sun, itself, has touched the cave."

A soft sound far back in the cave cut off his next words, and his fingers tightened around his sword. The dwarves wheeled about as one, scanning the dark cave, but their eyes could not focus.

"Wha-t was that?" Ori quavered, his young face frozen in fear.

"Silence," Thorin whispered. He heard a faint humming sound, and they crept closer, stumbling over rocks and banging into walls. By the time they reached the back of the cave, they could see well enough to distinguish a small, faintly glowing figure on the ground. With hesitant steps and hands on their weapons, they approached the still form.

"Gandalf, what is this?" Thorin asked. "Is this what blinded us?"

"We should leave," Dwalin said. "The orcs are gone. Better not court new trouble."

"But it leaves us exposed from behind," Thorin said with a shake of his head. "Right now, we're still blind in a fight, and I'll not fight on two fronts. Gandalf?"

"I don't know what it is, Thorin Oakenshield."

"You're the wizard, Wizard."

"I'm not omniscient, however," Gandalf retorted. "I will investigate this."

"I'm coming with you," Thorin said, and they moved quietly toward the small figure, finding their way as best they could.

"Is it some kind of elf magic?" Thorin asked with a sour twist of his mouth. "A weapon to blind enemies?"

"I think not," Gandalf said. "At least I don't know of some such."

"What do you know then, Wizard?"

"I know that Lord Elrond might have the answer since we are near Imladris." Thorin growled with frustration.

"Back to elves again."

"You're the one who brought them up, Thorin Oakenshield. Let us deal with what is in front of us first."

Thorin rubbed his eyes and tried to focus, but he couldn't make out what was on the ground. Sometimes it looked somewhat human, and at other times it looked like nothing he had ever seen. When a lad, Thorin has seen a cow throw its calf much too early, and its features had the same soft, almost formed look. He was disgusted yet fascinated. When his eyes finally cleared, what he thought he had seen was instead someone inside a shimmering, hooded cloak. The form shuddered and drew breath. Gandalf shook his head and blinked.

"Ah," Gandalf said. "It seems that it is an elf after all, an elf child. How did he get out here? And too richly dressed for these parts." He called back to the others. "Has your eyesight returned?" A chorus of ayes answered him. "Our lack of sight is to blame for the confusion."

"So it is an injured elf." Thorin said with some doubt. "Check him for injuries. Gandalf, I leave it to you to arrange safe passage home."

Gandalf rolled the bundle over with care, and the cloth fell open. Against the iridescent robe lay long, curling hair, gleaming as if gold had been drawn out into the finest filaments. The skin was creamy gold, and golden lashes fell on high cheekbones. Gandalf turned the neck to reveal a face of mathematical proportions, a face not born but sculpted by a master hand. Its perfection was marred by an ugly, bleeding gash above the left eyebrow. A single flashing jewel was set into the forehead, and above was a circlet of woven gold and iridescent jewels that had a star at its highest point.

"Well, well," Gandalf said, "and just when we thought that we had solved this mystery. Who are you and what has brought you here?"

Thorin stared transfixed, and the others crowded around in surprise. None of them had ever seen a creature like this; one who looked dusted with gold with a flashing gem set in the forehead.

"What are you?" Thorin asked, half in thought. Gandalf pulled the robe open.

"A young maiden it seems," he said.

Fili and Kili grinned at each other and wagged their brows. Although they were in mortal peril not long ago, matters had vastly improved.

"Golden armor!" Balin said. "So impractical!" The dwarves crowded closer.

"No, not gold exactly," Thorin said, and he reached out his hand. At his touch, the jewel in her forehead flashed as if lit from within, and she winced. Bleeding slowed as the cut began to heal. The dwarves gasped as the edges of the gash pulled together.

"No! It's not possible," Gandalf said with a shocked stare. Thorin jerked his hand away.

"What, Gandalf?" he demanded. "What do you know? Do we have anything to fear here?"

"Nothing I know of," he replied, "nothing for sure." He paused and furrowed his brow. "Most unexpected," he said with a tug on his grizzled beard.

Ori reached out a curious hand before Nori slapped it away, but nothing happened.

"What's going on?" Ori asked. "Why isn't this working now?" The others also ventured a light touch. Nothing.

"I don't know," Gandalf said. He mumbled a few words and placed his hand on her forehead. Still nothing. The dwarves shifted restlessly. "We can't leave her here in this state," he said with a nod at the ground.

Lost in thought, Thorin drew closer, knelt in front of her, and touched the gash on her face. With the merest caress of his fingers, the jewel in her forehead flashed, golden rays illuminated the cave, and the gash closed before their eyes. After several blinks, she opened her eyes. They glittered like cut amethysts, and he was reminded of the lilacs that used to grow on the lower slopes of Erebor.

This is unnatural. She looks more like a statue than a woman.

His suspicion was awakened, and his inability to recognize her race irritated him. Her eyes opened, and with a frightened gasp, she scrambled against the rocks, gathering her robes around her and pulling her head far back into her hood. The dwarves listened to her panicked breaths as she curled up within herself.

Thorin motioned for the dwarves to back away, and then he moved toward her with his palm raised.

"We will not harm you," he said, pitching his voice low.

Peeking around the edge of her hood, she watched his every move. He offered her water from his flask and a bit of bread, but she shook her head. Seeing that they were at an impasse, he reached out and put his hand on her wrist, but she flung him off. He put his hands up and reached for her again. After placing his hand on her wrist, he pulled back and waited.

After a moment, she tapped his hand with the tip of her finger. When he did not react, she held his wrist. He smiled, and she pulled her hood down and stared at him. No one moved. She reached out and fingered the ends of his long hair. Afterward, she touched her own. Her eyes flew open. Tossing off her cloak, she moved closer and tried to touch his thick brows, but he jerked away, and she recoiled.

Thorin sat back, and the two stared at each other. Several times she reached out to touch his face, but he leaned away, and she hugged her hands under her chin.

"Why does she want to touch me, Gandalf?" Thorin asked.

"Perhaps she's never seen a dwarf before, Thorin Oakenshield. We've never seen her like, so perhaps the confusion is mutual."

Thorin considered his words and motioned for her to come closer before patting his eyebrow. She traced its line, and her lips curved upward. He nodded and patted his cheek. Everything she felt on him, she found on herself.

"What is she doing?" Dori asked. "It's like she doesn't know who she is."

Gandalf looked thoughtful. "Or what she is."

Bolder now, the woman got on her knees and explored his face. Her hands were gentle, and each time she touched him he felt a frisson throughout his body. She touched his eyes and eyelids, explored the planes of his face, and ran her fingers down his cheeks. She felt for a mustache and beard on her face but looked confused when she did not find them. Thorin shook his head and smiled. Her fingers trailed through his thick hair and down his braids to finger the silver tips. He examined her every move. Pushing back his hair, she found his ears and then found her own. Slim fingers stroked his neck, shoulders, and chest. Frowning, she patted her chest with one hand and his with the other, confused by the difference in contour. Kili's snigger was cut off by his brother's elbow. Thorin changed position, and the hilt of his sword shifted into view. It caught her eye, and she shrunk back after taking note of their weapons.

"Disarm," he commanded. They obeyed, and she relaxed and gestured for Thorin to take her hands. He gasped and screwed his eyes shut as images sped through his mind. A fierce battle, a blinding flash of light, shocking pain, and quiet relief. He heard her voice in his head. It did not sound like words, but he understood her all the same. She wanted to know where she was and why she looked like him. He had no answers. Instead, he saw a multitude of blinding lights that diminished while her form solidified. It was an incomplete image of her, and he wondered if that was how she saw herself. He did not understand most of what he saw, but one thing was clear. She was no threat. Delving deeper, she pulled scenes of Erebor's fall from his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the searing images of his memory. He groaned, and Gandalf and the dwarves watched her gather herself before gripping his hands. Powerful waves of empathy sought to release him from his legacy of guilt and shame. Sweat dripped off his brow while he fought her efforts to relieve the burden that he had carried for years. Breaking off with a ragged cry, he fell against the wall of the cave.

"She's killing him!" Dwalin yelled, and he snatched up his ax. The others grabbed their weapons.

"Hold!" Thorin shouted as he struggled to his feet. "She did not hurt me."

Balin grabbed his arm and steadied him.

"I've known you for many a year, Thorin," he said, "and I've never seen that look on your face before. What happened?"

Thorin shook his head and inspected her as if he did not trust his eyes. She almost overwhelmed the senses but in a disturbing way. Her features were too perfect and her body too symmetrical. There were no beads of sweat on her skin, no wrinkles, no imperfections anywhere. Even elves had hair on their arms, but her skin was as seamless as polished gold. She was not anyone or anything he had ever seen before, and he wondered if she was not some trick or mirage.

"Th-o" she whispered, "Th-or." She struggled to form his name as though unused to speech. "Tho-rin." All eyes turned. "Help."

She placed her hand on her thigh where her armor was scorched through. Thorin watched both fascinated and revolted as the burn turned black and spread into her skin. She winced and bit her lip. He called for Oin who hurried forward with his pack.

"By Durin," the old healer said under his breath, "what manner of witchcraft is this?" He reached in and pulled out a jar of salve.

"I brought herbs and medicines for cuts and infection," he said as he hefted the small jar, "but nothing for burns. I can try this ointment and see what happens."

He stepped forward and kneeled, but she launched herself at Thorin and hugged him around the waist. Turning her face to his chest, she curled against him. He sat back on his heels, but she followed.

"I think the lassie is afraid," Balin said.

Thorin pulled her up against him and held her close while trying to explain what Oin was doing. She put her hand on his face and nodded her understanding. Closing her eyes, she stretched out her leg. He dabbed the salve on her, and she touched it in wonder. Her nose wrinkled at its smell, and the dwarves chuckled.

"What is your name?" Thorin asked, his rich baritone soft. She shook her head.

"Help." She winced again and tried to breathe through her pain.

He stood and turned to the others with his hands outstretched. No one knew quite what to do. Gandalf opened his mouth but said nothing useful.

"We mustn't tarry, but she's injured, and most definitely not an elf. What a situation!"

A howl sounded too close for comfort, and Thorin cursed their inattention.

"Guard the entrance and stand ready," he told Dwalin and Kili as they grabbed their weapons.

"Get behind me," he commanded the woman, holding out a protective hand, but before he could stop her, she slipped under his arm and ran outside. He lunged for her but missed.

Above ground, a pack of wargs and their riders circled around her.

"O-ho, what do we have here?" said the orc captain, a sharp-faced ruin of creation with uneven points of teeth and one frayed ear. "A dainty piece that's certain, not like the dwarf-scum we've been tracking. She'll be a nice mouthful, but we'll still be hungry after, eh boys?" The others nodded and swiped their tongues against their lips.

"But that's not all they're good for, is it?" said another. "These kinds give a certain good sport before they're killed, I've heard."

Thorin threw himself at the opening with a fierce growl but could not get through.

"Why can I not reach her?" he cried. "What foul magic is this?"

Gandalf stroked his beard and tried his staff.

"No use," he said, "but not foul. Quite the contrary I suspect."

The woman stood her ground though Thorin saw that she favored her good leg, but her look was steely as she faced them down. The jewel in her forehead glittered with a cold brilliance.

"No," she said firmly. "No."

The orcs snarled and moved in. A spear whistled by her ear, but she did not flinch. Reaching behind her back, she drew two jeweled glass-like swords. The orcs jeered at her dainty weapons and shouted leering insults, but she kept calm. Watching their movements, she waited until they came into range and killed four wargs and riders in an intricate arcing slash.

"Never have I seen such speed and grace," Gandalf said. Other warg riders pressed forward, and she dropped to her knees. Thorin saw the burn spread up her leg.

"What is she doing?" he asked. Two more wargs bore down on her, and she gripped her leg and cried out. Just as they drew close enough to strike, she crossed her swords and flicked each to the side, catching the beasts in the throat. They fell hard beside her.

Other riders approached with more caution. Those wargs were almost as large as horses and wolf-like with thick necks and ridges of hair running down their backs. Their oversized heads had blunt snouts as if they needed to be widened to make room for more teeth. She screamed, fell on her side, and pressed her hands on her leg. At that moment, Thorin and the others leaped out of the cave and ran forward with battle cries.

"Du bekar!" Thorin shouted as the company ran into the fray. "Kill them all!"

Dodging the yellow teeth of one warg, Kili shot its rider in the forehead while Fili fought off two orcs and stabbed a warg through the roof of its mouth. Gloin knocked an orc to the ground, and Thorin lopped off its head.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" Dwalin yelled just before his hand ax struck a warg in the belly. The wretched animal squealed and lurched toward Bifur who split its head open. Oin and the Bombur fended off two more. Meanwhile, two riders raced toward the woman and Ori, whose throw from his slingshot had fallen short. Gandalf sent a blast of light that momentarily sent them off-course, but they regained momentum. Looking behind her to see the wargs riders closing in, she pushed Ori to the ground and tried to cover him with her body.

"Let me go!" Ori cried. "Let me go!"

"No!" Thorin shouted and slashed his way toward them. In a panic, Nori and Dori ran toward their brother.

"Ori! Ori!" they cried. Balin threw a sword that stuck out of an orc's back like a pole and Dwalin flung himself into another warg, pitching its rider onto Thorin's waiting blade. Now without their masters, two wargs loped toward the huddled pair with teeth bared. Resigned to death, Ori waited, but nothing happened. He opened one eye and felt putrid saliva dripping on his cheek. Covering his head, he blanched and shook with fear, but one warg whined and brushed against her hand. The other growled a challenge, and the two fought for dominance.

"No move," she whispered to Ori. "No move!"

The larger warg sank its teeth into his smaller companion and stood over them. He howled with his snout tipped to the sky, and the other dropped its head in submission. Desperate to save Ori and the woman, the dwarves ran up shouting, and the wargs ran off. Ori jumped to his feet and wiped his cheek with his sleeve.

"What do you think you were doing?" Nori yelled. "You could have been killed!"

The younger Ri point to the woman on the ground. She was breathing in sobbing gasps, her hand shaking over her burn.

"She wouldn't let me go," he said in defense. "She wouldn't!" He glanced at his doubtful brothers and scratched his head. "I don't know what happened."

Rocking back and forth, she opened her mouth in a silent scream. Thorin ran up and knelt beside her, his hands hovering helpless.

"Mahal," he breathed, "what dark magic is this?" The burn now covered the front of her thigh.

"We need to get her to Lord Elrond," Gandalf said. "The elves can help her."

"I will never seek help from them," Thorin growled. "Never!"

"Then you condemn her to death, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf countered. "She's gravely wounded, and we don't have the means to help her. Are you prepared to have her blood on your head?"

With that argument, Thorin pressed his lips together and nodded. To Rivendell, they would go.

"Du bekar!" means "To arms!"

Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! means "Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!"