The forest had begun to bloom. The bright vibrant colours of spring had chased off the winter gloom. From where she sat, gazing out her front window with tea in hand, Frin could see the birds darting in between the trees. The early morning sun shone down through the foliage as beams of orange light illuminated the subtle colours of their feathers.

In the clear glass, she caught a glimpse of herself. The woman she saw was familiar with a face of contentment. Her dark hair was pulled behind her head in a tight braid. The leather armour which once had been clean and new, was worn. The person she saw in the morning light was different than her younger self would have expected but she wasn't disappointed by it.

A knock at her door caught her attention. She didn't get many visitors to her home, being a half day's walk from Bree. When they did come they were only usually a select few friends. When she opened the old wooden door, she was greeted by one of those few. Nowles stook smiling at her with a few packages under his arms. His grey hair fell to his shoulders slightly contrasting the white of his curly beard. His brown eyes shone brightly down at her. Behind him on the path stood his old grey mare, casually nibbling at the new grass.

"Care for a visitor?" He beamed at her.

"Aways." Frin smiled back up at him.

"I brought your order from the shop," he placed the packages on the table, "a letter came for you two days ago." In his hand was a small piece of folded parchment.

Immediately she was curious. She didn't receive many letters. "Leave it with the rest." She shrugged off the curiosity. At that moment she wanted to be present with her dear friend. "Come sit," she gestured towards one of the large armchairs she had bought for her larger friends. With a pleasant nod, he slid into the chair's comfortable cushions.

"I remember when you bought this thing." He patted the arm of the chair. "It was a pain to lug out here."

Frin let out a hearty laugh. "We lost the cushion four times."

Nowles laughed with her. "That was many years ago. I was a younger man."

"Yes you were."

"You know it's cruel to sit here, unaging while I grow old." He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"I apologize." Frin gave him a sarcastic look. "From now on I will try my best to age faster." They both laughed lightly together.

"How is Emel?" Frin asked after handing him a cup of tea.

"She just had her second child," he smiled into his mug.

"A grandfather twice over."

"Yes," his eyes met hers, the joy clear in them. "It's wonderful but I feel old."

"I share that sentiment."

"Well I look and feel old." He smirked at her. "You're only old because you live longer. Compared to me you are still a young woman."

"Young and old." She gave him a lopsided grin, "what a dichotomy."

Nowles stayed with her until the sun started to grow stale in the sky, casually filling her in on the town gossip. She hadn't seen him in a few months, not since the weather turned cold. The tavern kept him busy along with all the new grandchildren. The blacksmith's daughter married the grocer's son and were expecting their first child. Some hobbits had ventured from the Shire a few weeks previous and had quite the party at the Prancing Pony.

"Honestly, I was thinking the smaller the people the bigger the mess." He laughed merrily causing Frin to join in.

"You better not be referring to me." He joked at him.

"I am absolutely referring to you." He joked back. When the laughter subsided, he stood in a motion to leave. "I should be going." His voice sounded regretful.

A twinge of sadness hit her, but she understood, also rising from her chair to follow him to the door. "Yes, if you leave now, you'll get home before dark. Thank you for bringing these," she gestured to the packages now laying on the floor.

"My pleasure," he leaned down for a hug, "but they were just an excuse to see you, my friend. See you soon."

Frin watched and waited by the door as he mounted the mare and rode towards town only turning to return inside when he disappeared though the tree trucks. Seeing the packages still sitting on the floor she reluctantly started putting the supplies away, a few bags of flour, oats and jarred fruit. After everything was put away neatly, she fell into a chair with the letter in her hands.

For a moment she just stared at her name, written elegantly along the parchment. For the first time in a while she felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Apprehension gripped her while her nimble fingers unfolded the letter. Seeing the slanted writing Frin immediately recognized it as the only person who ever wrote to her.

Frin,

There is blood on the wind. During the first week of summer we will be marching for Khazad-dûm. You should be with us. I am asking you to meet us at the gate, join our ranks. Thorin doesn't know I am asking, neither does my brother.

I am only asking this of you because you deserve to be a part of our victory. You spent time toiling in the mountains and the wilds searching for our home. I cannot say things will be simple. There will be opposition to your presence but I hope you come.

Please join us.

Balin

The letter was short, a plea for an ally.

She didn't know what to do or think. In the past all she had ever received from Balin was polite messages telling her about his days. In turn she would respond similarly but this letter was completely different. There was a tone, the way the letters ended, and the haste it was written in that bothered her. A part of her was angry, the grain of resentment for the dwarves still lingered. It told her to throw the parchment in the fire but she couldn't. It was Balin.

He was always kind to her, a true friend. Never did he jump to conclusions or accuse her of wrongdoing. If she was being honest he had more honor than most. He was the one asking her to come, even though an army marched with him.

Perhaps she would be able to go unnoticed among the sea of dwarven faces, but she knew that was unlikely. If she was going to go, she would have to accept the fact that she would be seen. Thorin's threat was clear. She couldn't show her face. If she went she would be risking her life again for people who didn't want her help. Why should she?

She had built herself a life and a home in the forest. Her friends were kind and she was able to keep to herself. Why would she want to leave her peaceful existence? Would it be worth it ? Would she even come back?

The many questions flowed through her mind as she folded the paper and placed it on the table. A cup of tea later, she found herself laying in bed in her night clothes, staring at the ceiling.

Images of Balin fighting filled her mind, followed by Dwalin and Thorin. They were older now. She imagined them with hints of grey, a few extra wrinkles. Time was funny. She realized as their old looking faces played in her mind, she'd been around the race of men for too long. Thorin would still be considered young by dwarves and Balin would be more or less the same. One lifetime for the people around her was only a small portion of a dwarf's, let alone an elf.

Slowly, the encroaching darkness of sleep filled her mind with a deep slumber, then, in what felt like an instant she awoke. Warm rays of light danced over her face, morning. Her awakening mind, still conflicted, glanced at her sword. It's brilliant hilt glimmered at her in the morning sun as it leaning against the wall.

Standing up, she approached the weapon slowly. Reaching out, her fingers grazed the perfectly molded metal. Something in her started to burn with eagerness. Turning away she clothed herself. Once fully dressed, armour and all, she grabbed the sword and strapped it to her hip. It felt heavier than normal but she continued forward out of her front door.

"Courage," she said to herself, "honor and a stout heart, I can bring no more than that. If he kills me, it is only my life. If I stay here, I lose my honor but if I go he will say I have none." Putting one foot in front of the other she followed the path towards town. "I will know. I will know that I was safe and…happy. I could've stayed home. I have no want of glory or victories, but I made a promise long ago. He may have freed me from it but I did not. I remember."

She stopped talking to herself and walked in the silence of the morning for a while. She would fight and surely die, either by orc or dwarf. Her decision was made and it was alright.

With her brow furrowed, and a purposeful gait, she marched down the familiar path to Bree. As she moved ever forward, she whispered to herself again. "Soldier to friend, friend to enemy, hunter, now soldier again." There was a pause before her own voice reached her ears. "Courage and honor that's all I need."