He stood outside the towering wooden doors that led to his father's study. Unsure if he wanted to see what lay beyond the doors this night. Word had come to him towards the end of his patrol shift from Lord Merenon, one of his father's most trusted friends that the king had not emerged from his study for the better part of two days. He had not slept, or eaten and hadn't uttered a word to anyone. Not even to Galion or Lady Astordil.
That was what glued Legolas's feet to the floor. His father had only shut himself away from the world and from Legolas when his mother and sister had died. He didn't know if he was ready to see his father in that state. He had left his patrol the day he had that vision in the midst of battle and had stumbled upon Lord Merenon in the woods. He had come searching for Legolas's patrol and had accompanied him back to the stronghold.
Legolas brought his hand up to knock, but halted above the wood. He knew he had to do this. What he had felt and seen in the forest kept him up at night. It invaded every available moment of his consciousness and he needed to know what he had seen and if his father knew what it was.
The two guards that stood on either side of the doors barely glanced at him, used to the strange ways of their prince. They had witnessed Legolas in every state and form coming through those doors. From trailing mud and grass into the hallways, to the time he befriended a fox and to the other when he stumbled through barely coherent and bleeding profusely. However, seeing him knock on the doors caused them both to share a glance of confusion.
Legolas ignored them and sucked in a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and locked his jaw. He could not stand here forever. He softly knocked twice and stood rubbing his sprained wrist as he awaited his father's answer. Legolas sighed, hearing the rustling of parchment and the feint hum of his father's voice. The fact he was not completely silent sent a wave of hope running through the prince. His ada was still there. He knocked again, this time louder and with more force.
The humming stopped, "Come."
The doors swung open on their own accord. Legolas shuddered, two thousand years and he it still bewildered him. He strode confidently to his father's desk, taking in the undrawn curtains, the scattered books and parchment and several trays of untouched food that littered the room. He bowed before the wooden desk, rising to find his father not concentrating on him, but on the ancient manuscript in front of him.
"Good Evening Aran-nin."
Legolas supressed a gasp of shock at the dishevelled state his father was in, his tired eyes widened, "Ada?"
Thranduil was hunched over the manuscript, one hand entangled in his wild hair that hung in every direction possible. His robes were hanging haphazardly off his shoulders and around the chair and his face seemed old. Grey and weary, dark rings circled his eyes which held nothing but exhaustion. He rapidly tapped one foot against the stone ground and his other hand nursed a steaming hot cup. He barely registered Legolas's presence.
"Aran-nin." Came Legolas again, stern and commanding. He couldn't let his father spiral down again. This time Thranduil did look up and rubbed an eye tiredly with the back of his hand, unknowingly spreading a dark patch of ink over his face as he did so. Legolas supressed a smile, seeing the weariness in his father's entire body. The prince stood at attention, ready to give his patrol report to the king.
"What news from the patrol, Captain?" Spoke Thranduil, shoving the book on the desk back as he gave Legolas his full attention. Or at least what little attention he had to spare for a moment. His eyes and ears lay ready to hear Legolas, but his mind whirred with questions concerning what he had read.
"The spiders are breeding in the Old Fortress, we caught them travelling northwards and managed to destroy six nests, but more keep coming. With every nest we destroy we find two more elsewhere in the forest." Legolas waited for his father to react, it was usually about now when a sarcastic comment was dropped into the conversation.
But Thranduil just sat there, elbows leaning on the table, hands clasped together, and his mouth pressed against them.
"A greater number of orcs and wargs have been seen crossing the forest river, we fear what power that lies in that fortress is growing stronger. The orcs attempted to ambush us, but a great blue bear popped out of the woods and, according to Faelon, danced an absurd jig upon the head of a warg…"
He trailed off into silence, watching concernedly as his father's gaze darted distractedly around the room. Clearly not paying attention to a word about the great blue bear and absentmindedly trailing back to the barely visible ink upon the manuscript in front of him.
Sighing quietly Legolas unstrapped his weapons from his person and laid the bow, quiver, and twin blades on the floor since every chair in the office was covered with a hazardous pile of parchment.
Legolas walked around the large oak desk and stood beside his father's high backed chair, leaning over his shoulder to read whatever it was his father was thoroughly pouring over. Thranduil barely registered his presence, whether he stood on his blind side or not.
"The Heirlooms of the house of Oropher." Mumbled Legolas, squinting at the faded ink in the book. His eyes hurriedly scanned over the scrawling script and he inhaled sharply, his stomach growling ferociously. "Queen Caladwen."
Thranduil shifted uncomfortably in his chair, he did not speak often mother and hearing her name roll of his son's tongue was foreign to him.
"Why do you read on her?" Asked Legolas, though he already had an inkling of the answer and was sure it had something to do with the enormous wind that had blown through the woods. And with the thin, crimson stain on the floor, that smelt suspiciously like wine. This was not good. He needed his father to talk.
"Ion-nin. Come, sit." He gestured to a nearby chair. "There is much which we must discuss."
Legolas plans before they could speak. His stomach was empty, the last meal he ate having being a cold, rationed breakfast of lembas and dried meat. It rumbled again, rather painfully this time around and he made a beeline for the pile of silver platters piled on the other desk near the fire.
Thranduil watched amusedly as Legolas felt every single platter until he found the warmest one and grinned hungrily. His son and food had a strong bond that no one could break, except for peas. He had always hated peas, claiming they were too 'mushy' for his liking.
Legolas stood expectantly from his father to the desk. Thranduil hummed, raising both eyebrows at the unspoken command son. The look usually instilled fear into most elves, but he was sure Legolas was immune, or just hid his fear well.
"You need to eat." said Legolas, watching with great irritation as his father simply sat there cross armed and glaring at him. "Merenion and Galion and Astordil gave me strict orders to make sure you eat and if I did not, they threatened to come here and behead us both."
Thranduil snorted a laugh, a slight pang of worry flitted across his face. His friends could truly be a nuisance sometimes. "Well then I suppose we both eat. For the sake of the kingdom of course."
His own stomach roared when at the smell of roast chicken and vegetables when Legolas set the tray down between them. He cleared a chair of its parchment contents and pulled it to one side of the desk. Legolas shifted until he found a comfortable position, spending a month on the cold forest floor did no favours for.
"Don't even think about it." Thranduil glared at his muddy boots and then his face.
"Think about what?" Legolas flushed pink, fiddling with his hands, "I wasn't thinking of anything."
"Oh Valar help us all. If you put your filthy boots on that chair, you are cleaning it."
"Fine." Legolas relented, heaving a dramatic sigh and hastily undid the laces, toed them off and sat cross-legged on the chair. His father was already chewing with relish when he looked up again and reached for a piece of the juicy-looking butternut with the spare fork he had found. The pair fell into contented silence, enjoying the company of the each other after an entire month of being apart.
Though Thranduil did not say it often, he missed and worried for Legolas each time he left the palace to go on patrols throughout the forest. More often than not he had to restrain the uncatchable urge to keep him in the safety of the stronghold, where he could watch over him like a hawk and ensure he came back alive each evening. However he knew that Legolas had a responsibility to their people, to keep them safe and their home safe, even at the expense of his own life. Thranduil could ask no more of his son than that. He had once been prince, he had once known the leaden sense of duty and he knew that it had to be done.
Soon three-quarters of the platter had been devoured between the pair, Legolas finished off the last piece of the sweet seed bread and Thranduil leaned back nursing a cold, glass of aromatic red wine. He did not know how to broach the subject with his son and the longer Legolas took to eat, the longer he had to figure out how. He did not have to wait when Legolas took a deep draught of wine and the white bandage peaked out from underneath his armbrace. Thranduil gently grabbed his arm as Legolas set the glass down.
"Care to tell me how this happened?" His father pushed the armbrace back to reveal more of the thick band of bandage wrapped around his wrist. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Have you gone to Bronaduion yet?"
Legolas carefully pride his father's fingers from his wrist, smiling at the immediate love and concern and much needed distraction that his injury brought. He hoped his father would not see through the thinly veiled pain he was in. Legolas had also bruised his back and cracked a rib when he had fallen from the tree. And he had more pressing issues at hand other than seeing one of the head healers in the palace. Bronaduion was a strict, fearsome elf who instilled fear into the hearts of every warrior in the army and Legolas was unprepared to face him.
"I am fine Ada."
Thranduil harrumphed derisively and raised an unconvinced eyebrow at his son. Legolas was unfortunately prone to lying now and again about his wounds, especially if he didn't want his father to worry.
"Can't let me lie can you?" he laughed and stopped shortly when an ache ran through his chest. He shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned chair, "Sidhion saw to me well enough in the field. I have a bruised rib and back and my sprained wrist. But that is all Ada, I'll go see Bronaduion later. I uhmm…"
Legolas drew a deep breath, his ears turning red as he felt the embarrassment fill him. "I fell from a tree. But I'm alright, don't worry. It was not a high fall and Renieth said I was unconscious for only a few minutes."
Thranduil's frown deepened and his eyes searched for any hidden injury Legolas may have obtained. Legolas falling from a tree was as unheard of as the rain being warm and he could not help but worry. "How did this happen ion-nin? When? Are you sure you're alright? Do we need to go down to the healing ward now?"
"Calm down Ada. I am fine. I promise, please don't make me go to Bronaduion now. I'm only worried about you." Legolas leaned forward, giving his father the most serene expression he could muster. Thranduil sat rigidly, his son should never worry for him. "It happened during a skirmish with the spiders when that strong gale blew through the forest. At first I feared the worse, thinking that this had to do with the South. But then it crashed into us from the North, I was about to shoot one of those nuisance spiders when I…When I saw something."
Legolas's voice was soft and distant, fear swirled in his tired blue eyes as he paused, the words stuck in his throat. Thranduil's stomach churned, vaguely he could feel Legolas's distress and hoped that he had been mistaken in what he saw. Thranduil leaned forward and grasped he son's hand.
"What did you see, Legolas?" His voice thick with worry.
"I think it was a memory from when I was a child." Legolas looked up earnestly into his father's eyes, gripping Thranduil's hand. "There was someone singing a lullaby, the one nana used to sing to us. It swelled and flowed on the wind. And suddenly, as I was on the branch, the forest came back to life. The trees were alive, dancing and swaying in the golden sunlight and birdsong. Lush grass and flowers sprung from the dead ground and some kind of warmth spread from here."
He laid a hand over his heart, gesturing wildly as he recalled how the warmth had bloomed. "I felt them Ada. Naneth and… And Lostoriel…"
Silence filled the room, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Legolas saw his father's façade slip, his left eye turning milky white for a split second before he thinly regained his composure. "At first I did not think it was real, but when I hit the forest floor I saw them and hope swelled within me Ada. I don't understand how, but it was as if I could've reached out and grasped Lostoriel's hand. As if she were still alive…"
Still, his father said nothing. He simply sat there, staring distantly into the flames knowing that he had to tell Legolas about what he had found. Thranduil had felt the same warmth that Legolas described, as it had that night, the tsunami of emotions flooded his senses. Blinding him to all else except his son. His head spun and he let down every pretence of being altogether. It hurt too much to pretend, to mask what he felt behind the steel demeanour he draped himself in. He had been crippled by his grief for hours, lying half in a puddle of wine and tears Thranduil had not been able to pick himself up. He sat against his desk until the dawn shone through the greyness he felt within him.
"Ada?" Legolas gently shook his father's shoulder, searching for some sign of comprehension beyond the silver tears that trickled down Thranduil's face. "Why do you weep?" his voice was small, like he was a child again. Comforting his grieving Ada with Lostoriel, both unsure of what they could do and only knowing that holding him and being with him stopped their father from slipping away from them.
The midday sun rose high in the sky, casting wonderful shadows through the windows. As the cool, autumn breeze fluttered around them Thranduil allowed himself a heavy sigh. He caught Legolas's hand on his cheek and lowered it, a watery smile quirking at his mouth. Thranduil abruptly stood and moved to the far corner of his desk, yanking open the top draw and producing a folded bundle of cloth. He grabbed the thick book from his desk and came back to the chair, setting the book on his lap as he flipped through the pages, looking for the section he had been studying earlier. Thranduil closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, stilling his tears and met his son's gaze.
Hesitantly offered the bundle to Legolas, who took it with shaky hands. Unravelling the carefully folded garment to reveal a long mottled grey and green cloak. For a moment he forgot how to breathe when the charred remains of a golden oak-leaf broach fell across his hand. Legolas ran his thumb across the blackened metal, he had given this to Lostoriel when she had come of age. He had spent hours down in the forges and the most talented jewellers in the kingdom creating it. And now it hung limply against the tattered, stringy remains of her cloak that she had worn that day. The day he lost his little sister forever. Legolas tentatively studied the faded burns and bloodstains as his father spoke.
"That night the wind… Came from me. I felt the same warmth you did, that strange tingling that spread to every inch of my body. At first I thought I had gone mad, but that's when I felt it. I thought it was not possible Legolas, but this warmth, strange and golden like the evening sun upon the water radiated from here," Thranduil rested a hand on his heart, "and it was as if she were in the room with me."
A long silence filled the room as Legolas stared at his father, his thick brows knitted together, "Ada, what are you saying?"
Thranduil leaned forward and cupped his son's cheek, he needed Legolas to believe him since he didn't believe himself. "I'm saying that I know not if what I felt is true, I have only that in my heart to believe that… That your sister may be alive. I don't know how, Legolas, but I can feel it in my bones, in my heart. I know it."
Legolas gawked at him like his father was insane, "Wha- How is that even possible? She is dead Ada, she has been for the past hundred years. How now can she possibly be alive?" his father sat back in his chair, his heart aching for Legolas did not believe him. Legolas caught the hurt in his fhater's features and grabbed his hand, "Adar. I felt it too and yet I cannot allow myself to hope. It has left me desolate, I haven't held onto that kind of hope for many years. But if you feel her in your bones, like I feel her presence in my every day since, then I have no reason to doubt you Ada. I just… How can we know for sure? How can we give ourselves hope?"
Thranduil was on his feet, bending down to wipe the stray tears from Legolas's cheeks. "Oh ion-nin." He engulfed his elfling in his arms, Lostoriel's cloak squished between them as Legolas fiercely wrapped his arms around Thranduil's torso and buried his head in his father's shoulder. Legolas allowed himself to let go, to let the tears flow, his father stroked his golden hair. "I know my little leaf, I have missed her every minute of every day. But there has always been hope. We held onto it with all we had and now we must do so again."
Legolas pulled away from his father, searching his face for answers, "How can you be so sure?"
"Because of this." Said Thranduil as he gracefully picked up the book he had been studying and placed it in Legolas's hands. He tapped at the intricate illustration of a gold and green oak pendant hanging from a golden chain. "This was my mothers'. It was forged in the West by the most skilful of jewellers and brought over the sea where it was given to her in Gondolin by her mother. I told you and Lostoriel the tale when you were younger, you remember do you not?"
Legolas shook his head somewhat despondently as he squinted to read the fading text. Carefully he paged through the ancient book, the fragile pages crunched dangerously as he studied the illustrations of his grandmother wearing the necklace. Whilst he did so Thranduil gazed out through the window, gathering his voluminous cloak around him and trying his best not to sigh at his son's awful memory.
Legolas huffed through his nose, frustrated because his eyes hurt from attempting to read the faded text. He couldn't allow himself to feel this way. And yet the tiny glimmer of hope in his heart grew larger as he felt the soft material of her cloak in his hands and remembered her laugh and her smile and the way she hummed as she strolled down the halls. He gazed up at father, seeing his entire body radiate with hope, he could feel it. A fickle but strong hope that wedged itself between the doubt and the fear that nagged at his mind. Legolas whispered, still lost in memory, "I still do not understand. What does grandmother's necklace have to do with Lostoriel's return? If she even is alive, Ada?"
Thranduil earnestly met his eyes, determination flickering in his blue orbs as he firmly set his jaw, "Everything, ion-nin."
She had of course been the first one to descend the Carrock. The Dwarves were more than happy to let Lostoriel lead them down the spiraling staircase. They clung onto the each other's shoulders or arms or any limb available for that matter since the Darrow had never had a head for heights. However that fear seemed to dissipate the moment they stepped their cavernous kingdoms, that apparently had no need for handrails.
Lostoriel had rolled her eyes each time the dwarves or Bilbo for that matter complained about the dizzying height, or her feline ability to tromp down the stairs as if it were flat ground.
The stairs were still fairly new. Before she had left Middle Earth these stairs had never been here. Nor had this guardian or builder who had carved these stairs. Earlier, after her ... incident. Gandalf had explained to them that this mysterious he who lived nearby had built the grand structure. Vaguely, she wondered what mortal man had the strength to do something such as this.
"So, my dear, are you going to at least tell me what you saw or shall I have to pry it from you?" asked Gandalf from behind her, eyebrows quirked upwards.
Lostoriel sighed, she was not in the talk about it.
"Mithrandir," she began, glancing over her shoulder, "I don't know what I saw. I could not begin to tell you even if I tried."
His unamused snort only made her want to run away. She had not had a vision or remembrance or whatever it was supposed to be since the one in the cave. And she had no wish to recount either of those experiences again.
She had already spent the better part of the morning wondering what had caused her to say what she had to Thorin. And she felt as if she was balancing on a thin tight rope, dangling between two cliffs with no idea of which way to go. Having to push Gandalf away, the one person who she felt safe around, was not something she did without guilt.
Gandalf cleared his throat, "Very well then, but you will have to speak about it at some point. I may be able to help."
"I appreciate the offer, but one wizard has already tried to help me. I do not think I shall be so accepting of another's." Lostoriel's voice was humourless as she recounted Saruman's harsh words in Imladris.
"Very well then Lostoriel." He coughed lightly, unsuccessfully hiding his hurt at her rejection. Instead of prodding in the same direction Gandalf took in the view, trying his best to be nonchalant about the entire incident.
He had, of course, heard it from Saruman's perspective. Though there were times, more than he wished to admit, that he had turned a deaf ear on the white wizard's words and acted on his own accord. This was one of those times, he decided with a grunt of satisfaction and tried a new tactic.
"You caused quite the disruption in Imladris, hmm..." His lips quirked in a quick smile, calling her departure a disruption was an understatement. "I don't recall having seen poor Erestor in such a state before, unless you count the time the twins declared a snow war on Legolas. Saruman did not take kindly to your... gestures... However Lady Galadriel seemed most amused."
Lostoriel have to turn around to see the telling expression on Gandalf's face. He sounded impressed, exasperated, but impressed. Though Lostoriel could see the concern in his eyes.
"Oh, did I now? Frankly I do not care for anything the white wizard has to say to me. He and I have… differing opinions." She threw a grim look over her shoulder, catching that annoying spark in his eyes that told her that he wasn't giving up so easily. "And before you can ask me anymore I don't want to talk about it."
"Indeed you both do. Take your time and whilst you're doing so care to explain why you left me to travel for four days by myself?" He grumbled, "I know you WoodElves don't usually take kindly to wizards, but I thought you were fond of my company?"
He sounded incredibly hurt and looked the part too as he innocently stared at her.
This time she did turn around and rolled her eyes, Gandalf was truly relentless. She fiddled with her hands, relinquishing her exasperated tone, "I am sorry about that Gandalf and I have always been fond of your company as well you know. But I knew that if I stayed then I would never have left." Lostoriel beamed and stepped away from the staircase, turning to face the ford that rushed past at the foot of the plinth.
"I never thought I'd be so happy to see a river again." Hastily she changed the subject before he could ask more questions.
The river ran downstream from the Misty Mountains, bringing down fresh, icy water and beckoning them to jump in. It fiercely rushed as it snaked through the fields and forests until it ran to a steady, shallow gurgle in a massive u-shape around the Carrock and cut off into several tributaries leading into the lands of the east.
They had finally made it onto solid ground, and the Dwarves sunk gratefully into the grass. They were relieved to have the metallic scent of fresh earth in their noses. The calm sound of rushing water lifted their spirits and Thorin began calling out orders about where they were to set up camp.
The sight of the clear water made Lostoriel feel clammy as the grim, blood and sweat on her body became accentuated. She could feel the dust and splinters under her nails, the mud in her hair and the stiffness of her shirt and leggings that was crusted in orc blood. She needed a bath.
As she stood staring at the welcoming water the Company had moved off into the trees behind her to stay for the night. Thorin was, grudgingly, perched on a rock where Oin was cleaning out the cuts on his face and attending to the other wounds their leader had obtained. Fili and Kili had been sent off with Bilbo to collect firewood and most of the dwarves were standing at the water's edge, chattering amongst themselves about how they were supposed to ask Lostoriel to move so that they could bathe. The elf hadn't realised it, but they thought she had been staring at them whilst she was studying the clear water instead.
"Ms Lostoriel!" Piped up Dori not daring to stare at anything but his dusty boots. Dwalin had a firm grip on his shoulder after having pushed the poor fellow to the front of the group. The massive Dwarf nudged Dori forward. His voice was tight and his nose was a wonderful shade of pink, "We were uhm…Wondering if you wouldn't mind moving… You see we want…"
Understanding dawned in her eyes as she watched his eyes flit between the ford and herself. They wanted to bath and definitely not in front of her. Lostoriel didn't want to scar her brain like that again. After accidentally seeing their bare bottoms in Imladris she did not know if her eyes would survive the sight again.
She cleared her throat, avoiding looking into any of their eyes as the tips of her ears burned, "Oh yes! Of course! I shall be out of sight."
Hastily Lostoriel spun on her heels and marched off in the opposite direction, immediately hearing the witty banter that passed through the group as they shoved each other into the water.
And so after an hour of arguing with herself and scanning the heavy wooded area on the other side of the Carrock, where she couldn't be seen. Lostoriel hesitantly dipped her fingers into the calm water and recoiled as her fingers seemed to freeze to the bone. The trees thickened where the ford narrowed to a small stream that ran at the edge of the forest and collected in a natural pool surrounded by enormous black boulders.
She had found the spot after her third scouring of the area and was satisfied with the boulders and shrubbery that provided her with enough cover. She was far enough that they couldn't see her, but close enough to hear their voices. Still, Lostoriel stared apprehensively at the water, the Dwarves' colourful exclamations of how frigid the water was did nothing to settle her nerves.
She glanced at the water again, sniffed experimentally at her shirt, noticing several unwanted stains and grimaced. She needed a bath. Desperately.
Her hands were pasty, and her hair was oily and Lostoriel didn't waste another minute and pulled off her boots, ignoring the ripe aroma that rose from her stale socks. Next she unclipped her belt and carefully set her sword down, hilt first at the edge of the pool in case she'd need it. Lostoriel undid her leather jerkin and hastily unbuttoned her not so white linen shirt, and removed her thick, long-sleeve undershirt.
She hurriedly glared murderously around her, ensuring that there were no prying eyes and painfully tugged her leggings down and bounded into the water. Lostoriel gasped and swore, invoking several mythical legends from both the worlds she had lived in as the icy water rose higher until she was covered to her chest. And then she grimaced, realising that the river was swarming with germs and fish and other unsavoury things.
"Get it together. You're not on earth." She berated herself, ridding herself of her black vest and threw it onto the riverbank.
She waded into the centre of the pool where the water was shoulder height and her body was fully submerged. It was only now that she realised how sore her chest was. The wires of her bra dug into her skin, the lines were thick, swollen and red. This. This is what going three months without taking the damned thing off had led to. As she undid the clips an indescribable wave of relief swept over her body. The same kind that came with taking ones boots off after a long days walking.
The relief was short-lived when she felt a pang of self-consciousness and uneasiness. Hastily albeit disappointedly Lostoriel put it back on, she could deal with the discomfort of wet material on her skin. The afternoon sun was still blazing and she would dry off in no time.
She pushed back her self-consciousness and hastily washed herself, hopped out the water, dried herself off and changed back into her clothes, basking in the relief of being clothed once again.
Her reflection rippled as the crystal clear water rushed passed. Lostoriel watched entranced as the dying amber light shimmered on the surface, falling on the rocks and stringy plants on the riverbed. She scratched her neck, her crudely cut locks infuriatingly tickled her skin as she traced a hand over the thin scar over her face. The white line resurfaced the cruel memory, the thick darkness of the woods, the pelting rain and Thalion's head resting on her lap. Lostoriel had seen him, or at least she thought she had seen him in Gollum's cave. Everything within her was elated for that moment until her head cleared and Bilbo was crouched over her.
Booted footfalls crunched the frail leaves far behind her, Lostoriel hastily wiped away the stray tears on her cheek as the Dwarf's heavy breathing echoed in her ears. They truly did tromp about, scaring away birds and animals as they exhaled like small thunderclouds. It was either Dwalin or Gloin, she thought wryly. Thorin trudged lightly on the ground and if it were Fili or Kili, she would have been tackled from behind and halfway into the river by now. The Dwarf halted just within the treeline.
"Are you dressed?"
She turned and laughed as Dwalin stood hunched, with one outstretched arm carrying his axe and his massive hand covering his eyes. Lostoriel snorted and failed to cover it beneath a cough as she noticed his bright, red ears.
He grunted, assuming a long-suffering tone, "I'm glad my discomfort amuses you lass. Now if you could answer me so I don't walk blindly into the river?"
Lostoriel was enjoying the sight of the tough, burly dwarf standing there red as a tomato and bristling with discomfort. She left him in silence for a long moment before taking pity on him. Her linen shirt was not dry as yet and she was only in her tights and tight fitting black shirt. The concept of modesty had been all but beaten out of her from her years on Earth.
She shrugged, he'd just have to deal with it. The elf smiled to herself as she turned back to the river, "Yes, I am Dwalin. You can uncover your eyes."
Dwalin marched across the grassy bank to sit with her at the water's edge. His axe laid across his lap and his muscular legs seeming to be in an uncomfortable cross-legged position. The pebbles sharply duck into his backside as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Lostoriel watched him out of the corner of her eye, unsuccessfully hiding a grin as Dwalin muttered several colourful curses, and his last was an interesting number about Durin's teeth.
She coughed, "I haven't heard anyone curse Durin's teeth before."
He scowled at her, though she remained unfazed, "Oh! It seemed the politer than what I was thinking."
Polite my foot, thought Lostoriel humming as she turned back to the water. She didn't think Dwalin had a grasp on what polite actually meant, though she kept her objections to herself. She did not want to push the rough Dwarf away, there was a softer side to him under his thick layers of tattoos and stony façade.
They both fell into silence, neither one not knowing how to start the conversation. Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and turned back to the river. From the corner of her eye she spotted him looking strangely distressed as he heaved a long sigh and found great interest in the sky. The seconds that followed seemed to last a life time and Lostoriel had had enough of the ridiculous game they were playing.
Finally she broke the silence, "How is Thorin?"
Dwalin picked at the grass near his feet, "He is resting. He wanted to come check up on you. You've been gone the entire day and we were all starting to worry."
What he wanted to say was that he, specifically had begun to worry. And as a matter of fact, had spent the better part of the afternoon pacing and angrily muttering to himself about how attached he was becoming to the elf.
He cleared his throat, "Anyway, Thorin is still in pain and Oin threatened to have Bombur sit on him if he so much as moved. So I came instead. More for his sanity than mine, of course." He added gruffly for his own sanity, not failing to notice the darkness around her eyes.
Lostoriel allowed herself a small smile, "That would be a remarkable sight indeed. Well in any case Dwalin, I'm glad you did. Thank you."
He studied how she absentmindedly fiddled with the uneven cut of her locks and how she continually gazed longingly into the water. Dwalin had seen how Azog had insulted her, he had half the mind to snap the orc in half with his bare hands when Azog gleefully wrapped her braid over his wrist. That piece of filth had crossed a line and Dwalin knew that the next time he saw that orc he would kill him, first for wanting to behead his closest friend and then for what he had done to the Elf.
He grunted, rolling his eyes to the heavens. He wanted to help the poor elf, she had been through much and though they had only known each other for only a few months, he already considered her a friend.
It went against everything he had stood for, for most of his life, but he knew he had to do something.
Tentatively he twisted to face her, "You going to leave it like that?"
"Leave what like what?"
He supressed his urge to sigh, knowing that this was a sensitive matter. Dwarves may hate Elves, but this was second to a declaration of war. He knew this pain. He had watched many Dwarves lose themselves when their beards were lost in battle, and he knew how shattered they became. Dwalin did not wish to see Lostoriel descend that lonely path.
"Your hair. If you leave it, it will grow into an uncontrollable mess and you'll have to cut it all over again."
Lostoriel didn't take her eyes away from the river as she shrugged. She had no clue as to what she wanted to do. She twisted her fingers in her hair, feeling the irregular lengths slip through.
"What do you suggest?" she asked eventually.
Dwalin stood, his axe in hand as he studied her hair. Years of experience trimming his comrade's locks, Kili's included, gave him ideas. Finally, he huffed, satisfied with his decision.
Lostoriel gazed at him over her shoulder, "Well?"
And she immediately regretted asking. Dwalin glanced from his axe to her hair and back to the axe. The massive, broad blade gleamed dangerously in the fading daylight. Lostoriel could see how blunt the edge of the blade was and she gulped nervously.
"No." she managed to squeak out.
"What?"
"I said no. You're not coming anywhere near my head with that axe! Absolutely not!" She glared murderously at Dwalin, who stood blank faced and waiting for her to stop her tirade. He folded his arms.
"You haven't let me explain what I want to do."
"Well I don't want you to do it." Lostoriel caught the flash of hurt on his face before he covered it up and instantly felt guilty.
"You're right, I'm sorry" She said shame-faced, "You're only trying to help and I shouldn't have reacted that way. I'm grateful for what you're doing, however, if you must cut my hair, please use this."
Lostoriel slid her dagger from its sheath and handed it up to Dwalin, who frowned at the flimsy weapon in his massive hands.
"It's alright lass, you don't have to apologise." His frown deepened, "My axe will work well enough."
"I know. But this will make me feel less like you're about to decapitate me."
He shrugged, setting his axe in the holster over his shoulder next to its twin and flipped the dagger in his hand before setting to work on Lostoriel's hair. His hands worked as a well-oiled machine. One holding down the thick strands and the other scraped gratingly as he began to shape her hair into a bob. Lostoriel had not spoken, he sensed that she didn't want to, so he had stayed silent and listened to the way she sniffed and dabbed at her eyes every now and then. Dwalin had no idea what to say to her so instead he began to sing.
Lostoriel sat stiffly as he worked, he had a surprisingly wonderful singing voice. It was rich, easily carrying the lower notes of the slow melody and smoothly holding the tune of the song. She identified a few words as he sang in Khuzdul.
Lostoriel knew that she was privileged that Dwalin sang in his first tongue in front of her. For they had been guarded in using their home tongue around her. Though she had heard them, when they thought she was asleep, speaking in rolling hushed tones.
It was mesmerising. A far cry from the smooth, gently folding words of Sindarin. The words rolled off Dwalin's tongue, clashing together like the clanging of a hammer on an anvil and dancing in the air like thunder and rain. She felt so much within her that she let herself simply be, letting the melody play in her mind until they reached the camp in the evening light.
Night drew its heavy blanket upon the world and the Company settled around the fire as the stars crept across the clear sky. The small fire cackled happily in the circle of rocks, as a cacophony of snores shattered the peace of the night. The Company had dined on a meal of fresh fish that had been grilled over the fire whilst Bilbo recounted his and Lostoriel's harrowing encounter with Gollum in the Goblin Caves. The Dwarves in turn, had shared their tale of how they'd escaped Goblin Town, taking explaining how the goblin king had tricked them into thinking Lostoriel had been taken prisoner by the vile creatures. And of how Gandalf had explosively come to their rescue and had single-handedly slain the goblin king.
As Lostoriel recalled Bilbo's heroics in Gollum's cave she caught the Dwarves staring at her strangely and knew that it was because of her hair. She was yet to become accustomed to how it tickled her neck every time she moved and to the weightlessness of her head. Dwalin had done an excellent job cutting her hair into a neat bob that cropped off just below her jaw and yet the Dwarves stared as if something was missing from her. Which admittingly, something was.
The winding wisps of smoke wafted into the air and entranced the elf as they turned hues of blues and purples. Lostoriel craned over her shoulder to smile admiringly at Gandalf, "Still doing your tricks then?"
Kili yelped as her leg jolted from underneath his head and he hit the ground with a thump! He cursed loudly grabbing the attention of the Company.
"Oh! I'm so sorry! You alright Kili?" she asked as he rubbed the small lump on the back of his head.
"I'll live. Nothing more than a small knock."
It had not, in fact, been a small knock. His vision blurred for a moment and his skull reverberated with pain. He swung on his bottom and plopped his head onto Fili's legs, earning a gasp of betrayal from Lostoriel.
He laughed beneath his beard, a cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth. "Of course. Goodness! First Bilbo and now you." He winked good-naturedly at the Hobbit, "I'm beginning to think I should walk about with a sign saying, 'still in business' that bursts forth with fireworks."
The pinch of exasperation in his voice told Lostoriel that she was not the first to be pleasantly surprised that he still used magic for fun. She watched as Gandalf blew out a perfect, pink smoke ring that dissipated quickly. Lostoriel sniffed disdainfully at the bitter scent of the pipe weed that had miraculously survived their ordeals thus far. She rolled her eyes as Gloin frowned at the miniscule smoke ring he had blown in comparison to the one Gandalf had.
Bilbo coughed around his pipe, "Very good that. But how's this?"
He inhaled a deep draught of smoke and puffed out a beautifully, thick curved ring that floated above the firelight. The dwarves cheered quietly and Gandalf snorted.
He gently blew the smoke out his mouth and it spun and curved into a herd of yellow, silver and purple horses running off into the darkness.
"How did you do tha'?" piped up Bofur as Gandalf puffed out butterflies and emerald coloured birds that fluttered in the smoke. The old wizard chuckled as Lostoriel reached up and touched a smoke butterfly that rushed to sit on her nose. The bitter smoke tickled her nostrils and a strange pressure began to build behind her eyes and nose. Creeping up her throat as she heaved in a great breath whilst the pressure collected like a dam.
She sneezed so loudly that she scared herself and the Dwarves. Lostoriel sniffed, not daring to move a muscle as she regained her breath. Elves did not sneeze, or cough or get sick unless in extreme there was nothing extreme about the smoke.
"Oh no! Elfling allergic to a little smoke?" Dwalin did a horrible imitation of her appalled expression, earning a few laughs and muffled remarks, many of which were expressing disappointment at her unenthusiastic reaction to their pastime.
Lostoriel glared half-heartedly at them, "Oh shut up."
However, she couldn't keep her laughter in any longer and joined in. Despite almost having died several times in the past few days alone she felt that light warmth that settled into one's bones when in the company of good friends.
"How come Elves don't smoke?" asked Fili from beside her, where he sat cleaning out his pipe.
"How come you lads aren't fond of heights? Scared you migh' fall off?" She countered with disturbingly accurate imitation of Dwalin's thick accent. Fili opened his mouth to object when something flashed yellow beside Lostoriel's head. He squinted at the elf, dropping his pipe onto Kili's forehead.
"What is it? Is there something on my face?" Lostoriel stared at him, wondering what had distracted him.
"There it is again." Fili pointed next to her left, "Lightening bugs!" He exclaimed quietly as more yellow lights flickered around them.
A wave of yellow emerged out of the surrounding undergrowth. The fireflies swarmed the air, flickering and glowing as they spoke to one another. They undulated, flickering in a dance of pattern and light as they bobbed happily around the Dwarves. One landed on Bilbo's nose, the Hobbit's eyes skewed as he stared at the glowing creature that seemed to study him with the same curiosity.
The Company stared at their wondrous beauty, forgetting about Azog and the dragon as the fireflies bobbed around them. And for the first time in many weeks they felt pure, unbridled joy within themselves. Nori wedged himself between Dori and Ori, not wanting to let them out of his sight after they had nearly plunged to their deaths barely a few hours ago. Kili lay on his back, one booted foot on Fili's lap, the other unbooted foot hovered in the air just as Kili brought it up to Fili's nose and his older brother slapped it away. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were also huddled closely, Bifur used Bombur's leg as a pillow and Bofur had settled himself half on Bifur's barrel stomach.
Lostoriel did not relish in the splendour of the fireflies any longer as she noticed them sprawled with their brother's around the fire and suddenly felt a pang of longing for her own. Watching all of them just being together made her miss Legolas and Thalion even more than she already did. Especially watching Fili and Kili, they reminded her of how her brothers used to be. Happy, mischievous and oh so very annoying. But she had loved them beyond measure and still did.
Whilst the Company let their spirits be lightened by the creatures she quietly slipped away into the night. The quiet that sunk into her bones and silenced the flurry of thoughts in her head. She wondered if Legolas would recognize her after all this time, if he still sang amongst the trees and drank his tea with absurd amounts of honey in it. Or if he was still sworn off peas for all eternity. She laughed quietly to herself as she remembered him. But that laugh quickly turned into a heavy sigh as she stole a glance at the merry Dwarves behind her.
Thorin, Smaug, Azog and the sight of the GreenWood had her pulling at the ends of her sleeves. She had made a sizable hole in one and had to restrain herself from tugging at the threads that would unravel it and likely send her unravelling along with it.
Lostoriel slipped in and out of matches of moonlight as she rounded the wide curve of the river. As much the voice inside her head told her she shouldn't, Lostoriel knew she'd have to confront Thorin about her flashback in the cave in the Misty Mountains. She had seen him leave her at the mercy of Smaug and hoped beyond hope that what she had seen was wrong...
And that she hadn't just offered her friendship to a dwarf who had left her to die. On top of that there was something nagging at her consciousness, something intangible, dark and sweltering like the rain clouds that, scudded overhead. It was a shadow of malice, small but powerful enough to have caught her attention, it was almost similar to what she had felt around Saruman. Lostoriel grimaced, she needed to tell Gandalf about it.
As a matter of fact she needed to talk to Gandalf about the GreenWood. The forest road the quickest route to Erebor and should they take it she needed to know what she was walking into. On the other hand, she thought wryly as she perched on a large boulder in the shallows of the river, it would be interesting to simply knock at the door as he had so succulently put it and see what would happen.
Bilbo found her sometime in the early morning hours. He had noticed her slip away earlier when the fireflies had lit up the night and began to grow worried when she still hadn't returned after Fili had relieved Gloin from his watch duty. And that had been well past midnight.
Lostoriel was perched on a low, flat rock at the edge of the river where the water ran only a few centimetres deep. The stars were veiled by the clouds and the moonlight bounced off her platinum hair, tricking his eyes into seeing rivulets of gold running through her locks as he silently approached her from behind.
If Lostoriel had heard him, she made no sign of it. Then again he didn't expect her to. Over the course of their travels Bilbo had seen how she could sit stock-still for hours on end and could hear an enemy approach minutes before they came into the Dwarves' range of sight.
"You know, slouching over like that can do no good for your back." said Bilbo, clasping his hands together beside his back as he stood beside her. Lostoriel jumped at the sound of his voice, she gasped loudly and nearly toppled into the river as she recoiled from the Hobbit.
"Good grief Bilbo!" Lostoriel clutched her chest as her heart lurched. She hadn't heard him approaching over the sound of the river. She had not even heard him breathe as he crept up behind her. He seemed to have magically appeared from the air itself. Gandalf had been right, Hobbits were remarkably light on their feet and skilled at doing so if he managed to sneak passed an elf.
"Next time do announce yourself before you scare me halfway to death!"
He grinned, rather proud that he had snuck up on her without using the magic ring he had found in Gollum's cave. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the empty spot beside her.
Lostoriel nodded, half amused that he had snuck up on her and half annoyed that he found so much glee in his skill. "So long as you don't try to scare me again."
The Hobbit sunk to the ground beside her, feeling incredibly tiny next to the elf. Who even sitting was still at least five whole heads taller than him. He realised with some disappointment that his head barely reached her shoulder, he had to crane his head back if he wanted to look her in the eyes.
Bilbo shrugged and turned back to study the water. Without knowing it, Bilbo patted the bottom pocket of his waistcoat, where he had left it before the orcs attacked, just to ensure that it hadn't suddenly disappeared. His heart seemed to stop when he didn't feel the familiar weight of the trinket. Without showing any outward signs of panic he slipped his hand into his pocket and nearly fainted in relief when the cool surface of the ring
"Looking for something?" She turned to face him after hearing him rustling beside her. Lostoriel caught a glimpse of the golden trinket as Bilbo slipped it back into his pocket. She realised that she and Gandalf had not imagined it, when they saw it upon the mountain. There were barely a handful of magic rings left in Middle Earth, none of which turned the wearer invisible. And one found in the dank depths of a forgotten cave, occupied by a gangly shadow of a creature sent alarm bells ringing in her head. Nothing good was found in the depths of the earth.
For a moment Bilbo's heart lurched thinking that she knew about the ring. And that she might want to see it. Somehow he didn't want her to even touch it, nor to set her eyes upon it. It was something he had found, his treasure. Lostoriel caught the shadow that flickered across his face. His usually kind brown eyes glared at her in suspicion. She ruled it down the irregular shadows of the clouds as they competed for a place in the sky, blanketing the land in pockets of moonlight. Then the shadow passed and Bilbo smiled up at her.
"Yes," Said he, fishing for something in his pocket, "Just… my pipe."
He held out the small, wooden pipe, along with the twig he had found earlier that day and began to clean the ashen contents of the bowl part of the pipe.
Lostoriel glanced at him again, easily hiding her suspicion beneath her amused smile. He had lied to her. She had never known Bilbo to lie, he was an honest friend. The elf quietly sighed and turned her attention to the calming water, the reason as to why he was being so secretive would have to wait. They slipped into a content silence, Bilbo scratched away at his pipe and Lostoriel watched how the water rippled around the rocks and gurgled into the deeper parts of the river.
Bilbo kept glancing at her, his mouth open to speak, but his words failed him each time. Eventually he took a deep breath and spoke, "You alright?"
Again he caught Lostoriel off-guard, she was lost in her thoughts and felt far away from him. "Yes, of course I am." She answered too quickly, giving herself away. She knew that Bilbo wasn't asking about her injuries and she plunged on, pointedly ignoring his unamused expression. "My head isn't spinning and my shoulder is barely throbbing anymore. Why do you ask?"
"We both know that I know you know that I wasn't talking about your wounds, Lostoriel." Bilbo had stopped cleaning his smoke pipe and turned to face her, watching as she avoided his eye contact and played with the golden chain she wore around her neck.
She snorted, "I'm almost tempted to ask you to repeat that."
"Fine." He relented as she continued to stare at the water, sensing that Lostoriel wasn't going to open up anytime soon, "You don't have to talk about it now. But if you do, I'm here."
Lostoriel winced, the sincerity in his voice made her feel terrible. He was only trying to help, to be there for her and she was pushing him away. She knew what he wanted to know about. Deep down Lostoriel wanted to run away, to not have to talk about it, it might have been decades since it happened and yet the pain still felt as if it would tear her apart. Lostoriel sighed, she would have to tell him about it at some point.
She pulled her grandmother's necklace over her head and wound it around her fingers. The winding and unwinding of the metal over her skin distracted her well enough to tell the story. "You want to know about Thalion."
Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but saw that she wasn't done speaking and let her continue. Lostoriel twisted the thin chain around her wrist, she hadn't spoken about his death in many years. "I…It was a long time ago, maybe a hundred or so years before I could disappear. The twins and Arwen, their younger sister, had come to spend the summer with us in the GreenWood. Back then the woods was still the GreenWood of old, the darkness had only begun to creep into the forest. Legolas and I had managed to shift around our patrols to be with them and we decided to go camping near the footholds of the mountains towards the south of the forest." Lostoriel paused for breath and stretched her legs out before her.
"Legolas and I had been exploring the caves in those mountains for a few years and naturally we wanted to show them to our friends. So far we had encountered no danger in our searches and we had no reason to fear an ambush from the orcs. We were wrong." Lostoriel shuddered as the memory of the foul beasts flickered to life in the dark reaches of her mind, "It must have been a day or so after we set up camp, the night was fair and the forest was quiet. They came in the middle of the night. It was a terrible skirmish, the orcs outnumbered us four to one and we were caught unprepared. Legolas and Elrohir managed to escape, but not uninjured.
Arwen, Elladan and I weren't so lucky. The orcs held us captive for three days… Beat us, tortured us… It felt like an eternity of hoping and waiting for death. We were only supposed to be in the mountains for a few days and Thalion's patrol had heard the sounds of battle and had run into Legolas and Elrohir as they searched for signs of the skirmish. They found us, alive and we managed to escape, but not without a fight."
Lostoriel gazed out over the land, her eyes darting wildly as if she expected the orcs to appear at any moment. She traced the scar on her face, from above her eye to her chin. "That's how I got this. Thalion had his back turned, an orc tried to stab him, but I got to it first. It made to slice me across my middle, but I somehow managed to duck and the orc was caught off guard. Its sword got me on my face and once I was down it…It had stabbed Thalion in the back." Her voice lowered to a whisper, thick with emotion, "I could've saved him, he would still be alive had I not ducked to save myself. That blade was meant for me, not for him."
Bilbo was at a loss on what to do, or what to say. He watched helplessly as she wiped the tears from her face, the conviction in her words had hit him in the gut. So this was why she had mistaken him for Thalion on Gollum's cave, this was why she had been so terrified. Bilbo reached out and squeezed her hand, he smiled sympathetically at her, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
He didn't know if his words meant anything to her, more often than not he had learnt that those the words hardly meant anything. But he hoped she understood what he meant. "It was not your fault. You couldn't have known that that orc was going to do that."
Lostoriel squeezed his hand back, thankful that Bilbo had come. "You're right. It was not, it's been so long and I should have forgiven myself by now. But it's not as easy as it seems." She looked down into Bilbo's eyes and saw nothing but empathy in them, "Thank you for reminding me."
"I-" Bilbo began to speak but was cut off by a shrill howl that pierced the air. They both froze. Lostoriel loosened her sword from its scabbard and grimaced as a chorus of answering howls and shouts filled the air.
"Wargs." She growled, springing to her feet and unsheathed her sword at the same time. Beside her Bilbo clambered to his feet, the hair on his neck and arms raised as Lostoriel's harrowing tale still echoed in his ears.
"I thought we were days ahead of them." he whispered, drawing his sword from his side and let himself breathe when it did not light up blue. Bilbo gestured to his dull blade, "They can't be very close."
Lostoriel nodded, relieved that the sword wasn't glowing and that they had time to avoid an ambush. She scanned the horizon , searching for any sign of the orc pack. And that's when she saw them. There, high upon the ridge line to the west of the Carrock , silhouetted against the fading starlight were at least five wargs, howling and noses glued to the ground as they picked up the Company's scent.
Bilbo saw her blanch in the dim light and his stomach sommersualted. He hated that fiery look of determination, he had begun to learn that the locked-jaw, thin-lipped expression meant that there was imminent danger and the possibility of death ahead of them. "How many are they?"
Lostoriel shook her head uncertainly, "I see about five maybe six, though I can't be sure." She pivoted on her heels, the adrenaline already coursing through her body, "Come on! We need to alert the others! "
With that Bilbo and Lostoriel took off running, to rouse the rest of the Company. The wargs howled again, this time closer to their current position. Azog was on the move. The hunt was on.