It wasn't until the next morning that Andrea remembered the map and its moon-runes. She couldn't find it in her to regret missing out on the discovery (doubtless Gandalf would have included her) given that she'd gotten more hours of sleep than she had in weeks. And in a real bed at that- the mattress had felt almost too soft.

She put back on the clothing she'd been given to wear and took a tentative step out of her room. No clock was in sight, leaving Andrea to guess at the time as she traversed the empty halls. Nearly noon, she thought, judging by the angle of the light.

The few elves she saw paid her no mind. Andrea made her way deeper into Lord Elrond's household, which turned out to be bigger than she'd thought it would be. Staircases were everywhere, all smooth stone, and a multitude of windows allowed for sunlight and fresh air in lieu of lamps. She looked out over the Valley every now and then, taking in the sight of the idyllic Elven haven– too idyllic, she thought at times.

As she wandered, Andrea tried to remember what the moon-runes on the map had said. Durin's Day when the thrush knocks, right? Easy enough to remember, though she had no idea when Durin's Day was– October, maybe?

Andrea stepped into a stone-paved courtyard. The furthest side was open entirely, framed by carved stone and overlooking the Valley below. Andrea looked out, following the trails of paths, waterfalls, and gardens.

Here was as good a place as any to think.

She sat down on the sun-warmed stone at the edge. The sheer drop down towards the green and buildings below sent a thrill of fear through her. The sun dappled through the greenery overhead, casting a shadowed pattern over the skirt of her borrowed dress. Andrea smoothed out the light fabric, tracing the subtle embroidery with her fingers.

Her hours of sleep had given no answer to the question of whether or not to accept Thorin's offer. She still felt… torn.

She shouldn't have to risk her life for these people. If what Gandalf said was true, and Thorin and his kins' deaths would not truly affect the grand scheme of things, then why bother? Why risk changing the whole story just to save three men's lives?

Her thoughts spiralled over and over. Why care? Why try? It didn't even matter in the end, right? It was all just a story. These people weren't even real, they were just characters in a fairytale.

Andrea had almost convinced herself of this last fact when a voice came from behind her.

"Are you one of my father's guests?" It was a light voice, a bright voice. A child's voice.

Andrea turned around, pulling away from the edge as she did so. There, not two meters away, was a boy, maybe eight years old. His head couldn't have reached any higher than Andrea's chest. Large, dark eyes stared out of a round, youthful face framed by tousled brown hair. His hair covered his ears, but Andrea found she had no doubt as to his race: this was a child of Man.

It took a moment for Andrea to realize what the boy had said. "Oh! Oh, yes, I am."

The boy nodded. "You're the woman, then? Lindir told me there were thirteen Dwarves and three non-Dwarves."

Andrea smiled. "I think that should be obvious."

The boy smiled back, wide and mischievous. "So you are, then?"

Andrea couldn't help but laugh. The sight of a child made her forget the winding dilemma that had been plaguing her moments before. She got up from the ground, brushing off her skirt. "My name is Andrea Chen," she said. Then, with a bow, she offered an, "At your service."

"Estel, son of Elrond, at yours." The boy bowed in reply. He peeked up through the curls falling over his eyes and said, "I think you were supposed to curtsy, though."

Estel. Andrea struggled to keep her surprise from her face as she said, "Well, I was never taught proper etiquette."

Estel. The Elven name given to Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor. The man who would one day join the Fellowship of the Ring, would hunt after orcs with an Elf and a Dwarf, would claim his throne. Would do many countless things in the decades before he died.

Here he stood before her, a boy who didn't even know his heritage. That had been how it went, right? Aragorn hadn't known who his ancestors were until he was an adult.

"Are you hungry?" Estel asked. "Have you had lunch yet?"

Andrea shook herself from her thoughts. "I haven't even had breakfast, actually."

Estel smiled in a manner too reminiscent of Elrond. "Then we must remedy that!" He held out a small, soft hand. "I'll show you to the kitchens– I know the best ways to steal from the pantries, you know."

Andrea wondered if the Elves only let him think that. Children were precious, especially to a race to whom children were also rare.

Reaching out, Andrea took Estel's hand. "Lead on, then, Estel, son of Elrond."

The boy smiled, bright and shining, and pulled her back into the house.

The kitchens, though far cleaner than anything one would find in a Man's household, were as full as a kitchen aught to be. The Elves there smiled and turned their heads away as Estel pulled Andrea along through the tiled rooms, behind cabinets and stoves in a winding, hidden path. Andrea heard the Mission Impossible theme in the back of her mind.

Entertaining a child was always fun. Being able to see, for a moment, through the open eyes of youth; the way everything was an adventure, every obstacle a monster to be vanquished with sword and shield. Estel stole a plate of buns from a countertop and hid the bounty under his shirt. He stuffed berries into his mouth when an Elf passed by with a bowl of them, and performed an impressive roll from one place to the next in search of the pastries he swore he could smell.

Andrea followed close behind, obeying the boy's every order. She ducked when he told her to, took what he gave her to hold, and whispered furtive reports of oncoming kitchen-staff.

Once they had picked the kitchens clean of worthy treasures, Estel led the way to another open courtyard. This one was lower in the Valley, more level with the many fountains and waterfalls. Vines and green enclosed the stone pillars, crafting a bower about them. They spread out their stolen goods on a cloth taken off a rack in the kitchens.

The sound of life and water came from all around. Wind brushed against their skin, whisking away the sweat from their adventures. Andrea thought she heard voices over the sound of the water– perhaps the Company was out and about. She hadn't seen any of them so far.

"You're very different from my mother," Estel said around a mouth full of sweet honey-bun.

Andrea swallowed her bite of strawberry-jam cookie. "How so?" she asked.

Estel shrugged. "She doesn't laugh as much as you do. She's very lovely, though, the loveliest woman I've ever seen."

"I'm sure she is, if she has such a handsome son."

The boy smiled, his dark eyes shining. "I think I like you, Miss Chen," he said.

"Call me Andrea." She returned the smile. "No one else has been allowed to call me that yet, you know, so you're the first."

"No one? Not even your Dwarves?" Estel tilted his head quizzically, boundless curiosity flashing in his eyes.

Andrea laughed. "They aren't my Dwarves. And no, none of them call me Andrea."

"Why not?"

She paused, brow furrowing. "Well, I haven't asked them to."

Estel put a blueberry in his mouth and said, "But they're your friends, right? And friends don't need titles when they talk to one another."

Andrea felt as though something had hitched in her mind. "Maybe so," she said slowly, trying to figure out her own confusion over the issue.

Estel sat forward eagerly. "Why do you travel with Dwarves? My father tells me they are solitary, and they don't like to mingle with outsiders."

"Well…" Andrea grasped for an answer to give that wasn't an outright lie.

"Are you married to one of them?" Estel asked innocently.

That startled a laugh from her, which grew until Andrea was almost gasping for breath. Estel laughed as well, the bright peal of his voice ringing out like a song. It sounded so pure that Andrea felt tears cling to her lashes, though she didn't know why.

"What's going on here?" Thorin's voice struck a deep contrast to the echoes of Estel's laughter, like a cello to a tinkling bell. His tone was less demanding than his words as he took a step into their little haven, glancing over the food on the cloth and the boy sitting with Andrea.

"This is Estel, son of Elrond," Andrea said, still smiling wide. She looked at the boy and said, waving to Thorin, "And this is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain."

Estel scrambled to his feet and bowed hurriedly. "At your service!" he gasped, his face alight with fascination.

Thorin's stony expression melted, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Sweeping back his fur-lined coat, the Dwarf King bowed. "At your service," Thorin said. "I see you have gathered a rich feast for yourselves."

"We stole it from the kitchens," said Estel proudly.

"Oh? You must be stealthy indeed to have gone under the noses of Elves."

Estel smiled. He paused a moment, and then words spilled out of him as though from a geyser. "Is it true what they say? Do Dwarves see in the dark? Do you spring from the ground fully formed? Do you hear stone like Elves hear trees?"

Thorin drew nearer, standing by a pillar wound all over with vines. "I'm afraid I cannot answer, Estel, son of Elrond," said the Dwarf King. "Dwarves keep secrets as jealously as Elves do."

Estel looked no less excited for having been denied his answers. "We were just speaking of why Andrea is among you," he said. "My father says that Dwarves do not easily allow an outsider to join them."

"Your father is correct. But Dwarven secrets must be kept, and I cannot tell you why she is in my Company." Thorin's eyes shone with more humor than Andrea had ever seen in him before. He looked almost indulgent, in fact, a near-smile turning his perpetually-scowling lips.

"Then will you tell me her status? Is she your wife? She laughed when I asked her that, you know." Estel's cheeky smile belied his innocent words.

Andrea snorted inelegantly, meeting Thorin's eye with a wry smile. The Dwarf raised a brow.

"It was your laughter that gave away your hidden feast," said he. "But if you must know, she is our storyteller."

Estel gasped, turning on Andrea. "Tell me a story!" he demanded, with all the petulance of a child who had wanted for nothing in all his life. His small hands clenched in eager fists, and he bared his teeth in a wide grin. Andrea had neither the will nor the heart to deny him.

"I will tell you a story," she conceded. "If the King of Durin's Folk would deign to sit and dine with us."

Thorin grumbled, but it was all for show as he sat down and obligingly took of the berries Estel pointed out to him. Then they both looked at Andrea expectantly. She ignored Thorin and met Estel's eyes, searching for… something. She wasn't sure what.

"Once," she began after a few moments to gather her thoughts, "There was a lost king. But it is not right to say he lost his kingdom– rather, his kingdom had lost him. For many years ago, one of his forefathers made a grave mistake."

Estel was entranced. Andrea didn't look at Thorin.

"Many, many decades before this king was born, another king grasped for himself a force which would give great power to any who wielded it. And though this king was told to abandon this power, to destroy it, he did not. His greed and lust for power doomed him, and his descendents. And so the kingdom lost its kings for many generations, and not one could reclaim the throne– the time was not right.

"But then," Andrea smiled, "There came our lost king. He was a mighty warrior, a skilled hunter. His hands held the gift of healing. He was told, when he came of age, 'It is time, you must go and claim your throne.'

"But he didn't want to be king. He was afraid, you see. Afraid that he too would fall to the greed of his forefathers." Andrea felt the weight of Thorin's gaze. "But that was how the people around him knew that he would be a good king. An arrogant man is not afraid he will be arrogant. Only a humble man fears such things. But the lost king refused to see it, for he was as stubborn as he was wise.

"And then, the power that doomed his forefathers resurfaced. The lost king joined the company which would ferry it to its destruction. They traveled over mountains and plains and rivers, and all the while, it whispered to him the same words it had whispered to his ancestor.

"But his path was not the same as that of the power and its bearer. No, his path led him away, over the lands of the Horse Lords and through the Paths of the Dead. A long, long journey that wound its way through Middle Earth and down to his kingdom. There he saw it, white stone and high towers. His kingdom opened her arms and welcomed him into her war-torn heart. With his hands he healed her, with his words he bolstered her. His people recognized him and called out to their healer-king.

"He took his place on the throne. He bowed his head and took the circlet of the king, accepted his birthright. And he ruled justly and fairly, for all the days of his life. The greed he feared did not seize him, and no darkness touched the land under his gracious eye.

"He was a good king, and he rose above the sins of his forefathers." She fell silent at last, her throat dry. Thorin's presence was like a heavy heat, like stepping too close to a fire.

Estel clapped, his eyes shining. "I love it!" he cried. "You must tell me this one again, tomorrow!"

Andrea shook her head. "Some stories can only be told once," she said. She could only hope that Estel would not remember this when he was older, decades of experience behind him, his childhood long past.

Thorin spoke, his voice low and soothing. Thunder during a rainstorm. "Your stories grow more poignant, Miss Chen," said the Dwarf King. "I believe they have more meaning than one first suspects."

"Which is why I only tell them once, and leave the meaning to be discovered by the people I tell them to." Andrea met Thorin's eyes. They stared at one another for a short moment, some conflict flashing between them that Andrea didn't fully understand.

Thorin stood suddenly, brushing dust and leaves from his clothes. "Thank you for the feast, Estel, son of Elrond, and for the story, Miss Chen." He bowed to the boy and nodded to Andrea, then left.

Andrea watched him leave the green-bound bower. A rustle pulled her gaze back to Estel, still bright-eyed after the story she had told. Andrea took a breath and put a smile on her face.

"Come," she said. "These pastries will not enter our stomachs by themselves."

oOo

Estel stuck to Andrea's side for the whole day. The sun was low in the sky by the time they finally found the Dwarves, who were all instantly enchanted by the boy.

The Dwarves had claimed a veranda for themselves. When dinnertime arrived, they employed Estel's eager assistance in acquiring food. Andrea smiled wide as Bombur, Bofur, Nori, and Estel tramped back into the courtyard with arms laden with food. They spread it out on a table that Dori and Dwalin had gotten from somewhere, and they dug in.

Andrea ate more than she had last night. She ate until she felt full to bursting, and didn't worry about the grease on her fingers or the way her hair fell from its braid. She laughed with the rest, and joked, and didn't look at Thorin when the Dwarf King finally joined them.

Estel's laugh acted as a balm to all their weary hearts. The Dwarves did their very best to please the boy, for want of hearing that bright sound. No child had ever been loved so much or so quickly, Andrea thought, watching Kili argue playfully with Estel over bow techniques.

Eventually, though, things wound down. A protesting Estel was taken away by an Elleth to be put to bed. The Company slowly trickled away to their beds until only Fili, Kili, and Andrea remained about the embers of the fire. Thorin and Balin walked and spoke in low voices, just close enough that Andrea could see their silhouettes.

Fili left for a few moments, then returned with two fiddles in hand. He and Kili tuned them now, plucking at the strings and tightening or loosening here and there.

"Isn't it a bit late?" Andrea asked.

Kili smiled cheekily. "It's never too late for music, Miss Chen. Any requests?"

Andrea shook her head. "Whatever you like."

The brothers conferred for a moment, then set their fiddles on their shoulders. What came from their bows was not a fast fiddler's tune, but rather something Andrea expected more from a violin (though violins and fiddles looked exactly the same to her eyes). It took her a moment to recognize the solemn tune: it was the Song of the Misty Mountains.

Andrea didn't remember anything beyond the first verse. Still, as the brothers ran their bows over the strings and pressed with their calloused fingers, Andrea found she did not need to remember the words; she felt them somewhere in the depths of her chest, a hint of what she'd felt that first night in Bilbo Baggins's Hobbit-hole.

Neither Fili nor Kili sang, only pushed and pulled at their wooden bows in perfect harmony, drawing into being the gold of Erebor, the life in the vaulted halls, the rush of fire.

Andrea closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. Her cheeks flushed, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Something tightened in her chest, between a sob and a scream.

The song wound to its end, a high, pale note on Kili's instrument.

Andrea took a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. Fili and Kili stared into the remains of the fire, looking just as confused as Andrea felt.

"Why that one?" she asked, quietly so as not to break the spell. The notes lingered in the air and thrummed through her breastbone.

Fili set his fiddle across his knees. "We've never seen it, you know," he said. "Everyone else has, except Ori. They all tell us stories, but… it's not the same."

"We're going to cross the Misty Mountains soon," Kili murmured. "We'll be nearer than any Dwarf has been in decades."

Andrea pursed her lips nervously. "What's it like? What do they say?"

Fili smiled slightly. "You heard the song." But then he elaborated. "They say there are greater halls than any other Dwarven kingdom. Pillars so tall you can't see their tops. There are chambers untouched by pick or hand, wrought by the Mountain itself."

"They say that carved into the pillars of the forward hall is the history of the Dwarven race," Kili said softly. "From the moment Mahal breathed life and gave name to stone. The stone of the Mountain itself lives beneath the hands of a Dwarf, teaching him where to carve and where to lift his tools."

"They say that to look down into the mines is like looking at the night sky." Fili's voice was hushed, as though speaking of some holy sight. "Lit with the faraway lanterns of the miners like stars. The jewels and stones they bring up are each like a star themselves, willingly crafted and refined to their most beautiful state."

And so it went. They each spoke in turn, crafting an image that Andrea could see clearly in her mind's eye: the kingdom of Erebor, carved and built into the heart of the Lonely Mountain, a wealth of riches and people. And as they spoke, Andrea felt their longing. Behind their eyes was a mourning unlike that of Thorin and the older dwarves; Fili and Kili had never seen the Lonely Mountain in all its glory, filled to the brim with life.

And they never would.

But they looked so alive as they spoke. Despite the darkness, they glowed brighter than the fading embers of the fire. Speaking of a sight they'd never seen, some glorious vision bordering on religious, Fili and Kili were transformed.

They seemed so real. Real people, sitting in front of her, their eyes alight. She loved them, suddenly, with a burning passion. It rose up in her, fierce and shocking, almost violent. It felt like something a mother would feel for her child, or an older sibling for the younger. She wanted to take them in her arms and hold them close. She wanted to see their dreams fulfilled.

Would they die each alone, separated by Azog's cruel hand? Or would they die defending Thorin, out on the battlefield.

Andrea wished she had never spoken to them. She wished they were still only characters to her.

"Are you alright, Miss Chen?" Kili leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "You look upset, suddenly."

She took a breath. It filled her lungs, cold and cool. There was a dampness in her chest, as though she'd been crying. And maybe she had, somewhere deep inside, been shedding tears, because she knew what path she was going to choose now.

"Call me Andrea, please," she said through the tightness in her throat. "We're friends, after all."

They both smiled. "Andrea, then," said Fili. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Andrea shook her head and stood. "I'm fine. Excuse me, I need to find Balin. There's something I have to discuss with him."

A/N: thanks Kilataia, A5mia, sasha .sr1, and Faron Oakenshield for your reviews! And that person who reviewed the first two chapters and then stopped- maybe I put them off with chapter 3.
This chapter is, by far, my favorite. Especially the ending part. I'm excited to hear what the rest of you think about it :DD reviews, even a few words, make a big impact :))