Frin had awoken, curled up on the cold ground where Thorin had left her. The metallic scent of the damp earth filled her nostrils. Cold air nipped at her skin but she didn't care. All she could think about was Thorin. The pain of his words lingered but she didn't cry. She wasn't sad. She was furious.

The reckless, dwarven side of her wanted to march back into the city and demand he fight her. It wouldn't be to the death, no, she wanted him to suffer a defeat to her, an elf. She wanted the whole city to see it. She was the better fighter and could beat him but that wouldn't change anything.

The wiser part of her, the one her parents had nurtured, told her to walk away. He didn't want her any more. She could walk away and start anew somewhere else. After all, she had everything she needed on her, her coin purse and her weapons. In the end, she could take care of herself. She didn't need him, so she would head West away from the Iron Hills.

The familiar road wound through the barren forest and out into the open landscapes. It was all so familiar and welcoming. She recognized each turn and hill, remembering the last time she passed by with him. Despite the known road, she kept a hand on the hilt of her sword.

Traveling alone was always dangerous. Orcs and thieves often kept close to the main roads hunting. It would have been bad enough if she'd been on horse back but she was on foot. Speed was not her ally. Her only comfort was her sword, bow and knives. Anyone could see she was well equipped, she made sure of it.

One knife was strapped openly against her belt. Her bow was slung lazy over her shoulder with the quiver hanging off her hip. On top of all her weapons, her face wore a permanent scowl. She hoped the intimidating visage was enough to be left alone.

She didn't know where she was going; all that she knew was that she needed to get away. The road would lead her through the Misty Mountains and eventually to Bree. Though, the thought of returning to Bree caused her anger and frustration to flare. The memories of her time with Thorin were still fresh and bitter. Eventually she would have to make a decision, pick a destination, but not immediately.

The days passed by easily. Occasionally she would pass by fellow travelers. On one, dreary morning, just before the mountains, a small cart came to a stop in front of her. A pair of elves, appearing to be from Mirkwood, greeted her.

"Any trouble ahead?" The older of the two asked in Westron.

"No trouble." Frin greeted them in Sindarin. With a slight bow of the head, she continued fluently. "The road is good. You shouldn't have any trouble."

"Are you alone?" The younger asked, her face unreadable.

"Perpetually." A sense of uneasiness overcame her. Unsure of the elves' motives she let her fingers tighten slightly against her sword.

A moment passed as the two elves glanced at each other. When the elder shrugged, the younger smiled. "Perhaps you would join us for some food."

"Why are you being so kind to a stranger?" She couldn't help her suspicion.

"You are not strange to us, " The elder put up his hands. "I am Elatheral and this," he gestured to his companion, "is Alanin. We are both from the Woodland realm. We mean you no harm, daughter of Farin."

"You know me." Frin instantly relaxed at her father's name. It had been so long since someone said it.

"We've heard of you and seen you but you appear older." The elven woman, Alanin, offered a small smile.

"Much has happened." Frin stated.

Both elves nodded.

"Come let's eat." Elatheral jumped down from the cart.

The food the elves produced was immaculate for being on the road. They offered her an assortment of dried fruits, cheeses and bread. The bread in particular was sweet and somehow still fresh.

"This is amazing." Frin smiled into her food.

"It's just bread." Alanin gave her a quizzical look.

"I haven't had bread in a while." She shrugged, continuing to nibble.

"So where are you heading?" Elatheral had finished eating and was studying her.

Frin paused for a moment, debating whether to answer the question. "I have no idea." She finally sighed. "West, I suppose."

"You could join us on our journey home." He offered.

"No, thank you. I think I need to go out on my own." She replied, "I have taken care of others for too long and lost myself along the way."

"Very well." Alanin nodded, "I wish you the best on your journey."

"Before you leave," Elatheral's face grew serious. "Did your parents make it out of the mountain?"

Frin was taken back by the question. How could they not know? "No." She finally said, swallowing back her emotions. "I am sorry." She stood suddenly, avoiding their gazes. "I should move on. The day grows late. Thank you for the meal and company. I wish you luck on your journey." She bowed to the two still sitting elves and without another word left.

As she continued down the road, she fought with herself. She desperately wanted to belong somewhere, have a home. The elves had offered her that and yet she rejected it. They had been kind and yet she pushed them away. Perhaps there was a home for her among elves but it wouldn't be in Thranduil's halls. The King's opinion on dwarves was probably still negative, and that was still half of her.

"Half of me will be rejected, then all of me." She muttered to herself hours later as her mind continued to dwell on the elves. When the mountain pass started to climb steadily upward her troubled thoughts began to clear.

The mountains were treacherous but also held so many memories for her. Her heart involuntarily pounded against her chest as a flood of memories rushed into her mind. Despite all of it, the difficulty and the failure, at least then she still had friends and him.

Eventually the path became strange and new, no longer holding memories but warnings. Along the side of the road, tucked in between rocks was a leather belt. Then, further along, a single gold coin. After seeing a few more trinkets scattered along the rough landscape she remembered the warnings, the dangers in the mountains.

Normally, she would travel during the day, but she knew orcs were the main threat along this road. If she rested at night she would be vulnerable and easy prey for any creature who found her. So, she started to move in the cover of darkness, electing to rest in the sunlight when her enemy would be resting. In the dark, movement was hard. Without a torch she had to move forward carefully. She cautiously placed each foot in front of the other, hoping the ground would not disappear from beneath her.

One moonless night, while Frin moved silently along the cliff face, the sound of voices caught her ear. Treading closer, she hoped to make out the voices more clearly.

"We were 'ere first." A whiny voice squawked.

"But you left, so they are ours." A deeper voice hissed back.

"Can't you share?" The whiny voice pleaded.

"If you don't shove off, I'll add you to the pile." There was the sudden sound of movement.

Instinctually, Frin's hand grasped her sword while she pressed herself against the rock wall. In front of her, running along the road, heading in the direction she came from, ran a group of gangly orcs. She led her breath, praying she wouldn't be noticed. When the sound of their movements faded into the darkness, Frin allowed herself to breathe. However, she was still trapped.

Behind her a group of desperate orcs were looking for someone to corner and before her were probably some dead travelers, and more orcs, one who could chase off the group she had already seen. Deciding it was best to wait for the safety of daylight she found herself a small nook in a rock face and sat, placing her sword at the ready across her lap.

She waited as the occasional star flew across the sky. When the coming light of day started to outline the distant landscape, she remained still. Only when the sun was high in the sky, casting it's warming rays directly upon the road did she move. Exhausted and needing a place to rest, she ran. When she passed the place she believed the orcs were she didn't look and didn't stop. Using her elven agility she ran for two hours until she felt as though she had made enough distance. Hopefully, the roaming orcs from the night before were well behind her.

Ducking in behind some rocks, she curled up, so no one could see her and quickly fell asleep. Still fearing any movement, she regularly awoke at the slightest noise. Eventually, when darkness covered everything once more, she reluctantly climbed from her hiding place.

The rest of her journey out of the mountains was uneventful but the close encounter with the orcs left her uneasy. It was only when her feet felt the soft earth of the plains through her worn boots did she let out a sigh of relief.

The morning sunlight bathed the dying grasslands in warm light. Somehow she had managed to pass through the mountains before the winter storms hit. In the distance she could see the looming clouds, a reminder of her fortune.

With a small smile on her face, her hand reached into a small pouch on her hip where she kept her food. When her fingers grasped the fabric her heart sank, nothing. She was out of food. The momentary smile faded. Trying to ignore the severity of her situation she marched onward, knowing she had no other choice.

Bree was only a week away and she could make it without food. Anyway, she was a skilled hunter capable of gathering her own food but it was winter. The herds had probably all migrated further South, and the lack of tall grasses would make it hard for her to get close enough to any prospective prey.

After a few days of keeping her eyes out, she gave up. The few times she'd seen an animal, they saw her first. She would catch a glimpse of their tails as they disappeared from sight. In the end, she decided her best chance was getting to Bree on an empty stomach.

By the time she arrived in the small town, she had grown weak. The light elven blade on her hip felt heavy, impossible to wield. Her arms felt as though they were constantly being pulled to the ground and each step was agony. Her first destination in Bree was the familiar tavern, the Prancy Pony.

The woman behind the bar, handed her a plate of cheeses and bread when the only word Frin could muster was "food." After scarfing the entirety of the plate Frin gave the woman, Hellena, who she recognized, enough coin to pay for the meal and a room for the night.

After a full night's rest and another meal of cheese and bread, Frin started to feel more like herself. She wandered around the small market contemplating her next move. Being in Bree was not as painful as she anticipated but she didn't want to stay there. For the first time, she craved solitude.

She soon learned of a small cabin, left abandoned, nestled in the Old Forest which lay in between the Shire and Bree. When she asked, Frin learned that the old hermit who lived there died a few years prior with no family to inherit the place.

"You could take it up." Hellena smiled, "if I remember right you're a skilled hunter. It'd be perfect."

"But how would I find it?" Frin smirked at the tavern's owner. It had taken a day for Hellena to recognize her.

"My son, Nowles, you remember him right?"

"The exceptionally clumsy lad?"

Hellena chuckled. "Yes, he'll show you."

"Alright." Frin hopped down from the stool she'd been sitting on. "I'll meet him here tomorrow morning after breakfast."

Hellena gave a smile and nodded.

"For now," Frin let out a stifled yawn, "I need to get some sleep. Good night."

Through the windows of her room, Frin could see the last of the light disappear over the distant hills and treetops. For weeks, she continually pushed her feelings and memories away, hoping to not feel them. Even then as she was taking steps to move on, she could feel the pain start to rise in her again, and again she refused to acknowledge it.