With The Dust Beneath Our Feet

by RangeroftheSouth

A stranger is found beneath the trees. Unconscious, with no memory and seemingly not from Arda. She dares to join the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim their homeland and find her own. Dodging death, war and ill tempered Dwarves ,with the stars above her head and the dust beneath her feet nothing can stop her from rediscovering her past and leaping towards her future.

22. I Keep My Brother, and He Keeps Me

I just wanted to put a trigger warning in for some heavy topics that come up here, like grief and death , war and some vivid descriptions of injuries. oh and there's also a bit of nudity.

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"A fine lot of trouble you've gotten yourself into this time Bilbo Baggins." Huffed Bilbo as he trudged down the vacant, dim passageway that hopefully led to the dungeons. Without halting his stride, he spun in a quick circle to ensure that there were no Elves behind him and huffed once again, running a hand through his hair as he did so. Hobbits were renowned for their ability to walk for days on end without easily tiring, however, he felt like the exception since his toes burned with pins and needles each time, they touched the cold stone. His battered arm, leg and back muscles ached with every stride, still no doubt bruisedafter he had slipped and fallen down the massive tree after the spider had tried to eat him. Bilbo furiously patted down his arms once again, fighting off the shiver and spiderwebs that made him feel like one of those monsters still crawled on him.

"Follow a bunch of ragtag dwarves and a half-wit wizard out your door!" He sighed, pointedly ignoring the almost painful rumble of his empty stomach. "Oh! And then befriend a reckless elf, why don't you, and watch them all get themselves captured. Very smart indeed! Grandpa Mungo would not approve. Would not approve at all."

Bilbo turned the sharp corner and nearly ran into an elf who popped out from a concealed doorway. He pressed himself against the wall. A hefty axe swung loosely at his side, at least Bilbo assumed that the elf was male. After an unsettling and frankly embarrassing moment in Rivendell with him mistaking Lord Elrond's butler for she-elf, Bilbo decided that from then on that it was wiser to get a good look at an elf before addressing them. If Erestor was anything to go by, then it would be intelligent to attempt to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders.

He watched tentatively as the elf hummed a mournful tune in a low voice and tromped his way down the winding passage. A long braid swished at his waist and Bilbo stood for a moment, fascinated by the way he almost floated above the ground. Much like the elk and doe that Thorin had shot at, he glowed pearl white and seemed somehow both frozen in and racing through time.

"Lieutenant!" Someone came racing up behind Bilbo, "Faelon! Wait!"

Their boots clanged on the stone and their armour clinked loudly. Bilbo held his breath as the elf ran past him. He could not take any unnecessary risks whilst they were in the fortress. Beorn had been correct in saying that the woodelves were less wise and more dangerous. That had been more than obvious to him when he had stumbled upon his friends being searched like criminals.

Anger had risen in him like the rushing current of the Brandywine River and it had taken everything within himself to not go barging into the clearing and tell those Elves just where they could stick their bonds and arrows. They had done nothing wrong. Unless getting lost in the woods and then being attacked by spiders was a crime.

Bilbo would not soon forget the embarrassment and fury on Thorin's face as his hands were tied behind his back. However, he also would not forget the sheer exasperation of the poor guard who had to search Fili for his weapons. The dwarf had stood with a smug smile upon his face for a good twenty minutes before the elf pulled out the last dagger from his inner coat.

Bilbo sighed, his thoughts turning to Lostoriel. She had been dying when he saw her last: covered in blood, pale as death itself and yet something in Bilbo knew that she would survive so long as she remained here with the elves who could heal her.

"…should we do with the wolf that we captured this evening? Shall we release her back into the forest?"

The hobbit carefully picked his way closer to the pair of Elves. The newcomer was, from what he could tell, covered in fur, mud and had several rips in his clothing and hay in his hair. Judging from the way he nursed his forearm and hissed as he walked, Bilbo gathered that Sunflower had put up a fight. And it warmed his heart to know so.

"No. Los-" Faelon coughed awkwardly and Bilbo smiled. He knew who this elf was! He was the one who had come to Lostoriel's aid in the forest. "It would be better if we kept her in the south garden. Tiror will just have to work the hounds in the northern fields until the king has decided the fate of the dwarves."

"And what of the elleth?"

A long silence ensued in which Bilbo could practically see the steam rising from Faelon's ears. The wiry elf flushed pink and forced a tight-lipped glare at the younger elf beside him. "Her fate is none of our concern Celeiron."

The warrior hesitantly stepped forward, a question burning at his lips.

"Come on Faelon. Is it true that she is the Princess?"

"You know as well as I do that I am in no position to divulge any information Celeiron." snapped Faelon, in a stern tone that broke no room for argument. He gestured flippantly to the end of the hallway, "Ensure that Tiror gets the message about the wolf. I need you to also ask Tauriel, Rhaweth and the other captains to meet me in the Captain's Quarters as soon as their duties with the dwarves are done with."

Faelon waited until Celeiron bowed his head and then he was off, marching down the hallway whilst the younger elf trudged back the way he came. And Bilbo followed with renewed curiosity, his hunger and exhaustion forgotten.

Rowdy laughter and excited shouting echoed down the long hallway, elves of all heights and sizes filled the airy passage, some hurrying along armed from head to toe in golden armour, others lazing between the rush, their swords and bows held loosely at their sides.

Bilbo plunged forward to avoid a pair of laughing guards who passed him by as wisps of white fog and continued after Faelon, who called out to them as he walked.

They continued down the passageway until he could see the forest growing into the rock, or the fortress stretching into the forest. Tree roots twisted around the columns of stone, their branches seemed to hold the roof up and tendrils of vine and flowers coiled themselves around the railings to the high ceiling. Winding passageways stretched off in all directions and Bilbo stood dumbfounded in the centre of the bustling hallway.

They dawdled past him, unaware of his presence. Many troops sprinted by in drips and drags, no doubt moving to their next post for the night watch. His stomach rumbled fiercely, and Bilbo became aware of the emptiness within his belly. Not now, he groaned.

He had not eaten for almost a day and his body felt it. He had come a long way from his days of whining and grumbling at the lack of second breakfasts, elevensies and luncheons, and he could go with only two meals a day- a fact he was most proud of. However, now he was exhausted, his body ached, and he struggled to supress the sneeze building in his nose. He needed food and sleep. Unfortunately, his ailments and hunger would have to wait.

Whilst he had been complaining, Faelon had disappeared in the throng of Elves. Bilbo cursed and a loud bell rang through the hall and hundreds of Elves swarmed like moths to a flame. A small whimper escaped him as his world was reduced to hundreds of legs and flowing tunics that slapped him as the elves whipped passed. He was whipped by hair and shoved from side to side unnoticed by the ethereal and oblivious Big Folk. He clutched onto his ring and scampered through the bustle, dodging swords, arms and knees until the fresh air greeted him and he clambered up one of the pillar bases and searched desperately for the ebony-haired elf.

The elves truly were beautiful creatures. The tales that his mother had told him of her encounters with the few who would travel through the Old Forest to and from the Grey Havens did not do justice to the WoodElves. They seemed wilder than those of Rivendell. There was something more alive within these elves, as if they lived in the present, bursting, and overflowing with life.

He squinted into the crowd but found no sign of Faelon. Instead, he saw elves with hair the colour of fire, with clothing that danced as they walked, some had weapons strapped to their persons, others laughed giddily. If he didn't know any better, then he would have assumed that the realm was a peaceful one. But there were many elves with blood-stained bandages, their limbs held in casts, and some using crutches to walk where they had lost a leg in battle.

There! Bilbo grinned. He spotted Faelon in the middle of a small group of Elves who laughed and joked with him. He seemed to be excusing himself from the conversation and Bilbo leapt down from the pillar and made a beeline for him before he could lose him again. For such a wiry elf, he moved like lightning as Bilbo chased him down the vast hallway, dodging annoying legs and elbows, and nearly crashed into Faelon's back as they rounded a sharp corner and into a quieter passageway.

Moonlight washed the ironstone from high, wide windows and the firelight from the sconces illuminated a series of doors on either side of the wide passage. Graceful Elven letters were carved into plaques on each door, Bilbo gathered that these were offices of sorts, probably for the captains and generals in the guard. Faelon did not stop in any of these rooms, and continued weaving his way through, greeting soldiers and friends as he did so.

After criss-crossing down several hallways and steep staircases, Bilbo and his quarry finally arrived in a small armoury. Many weapons that he was and was not familiar with lined the walls, shelves and hung barrels of arrows that were scattered across the room. Bows, swords and many other weapons that he didn't know the name for lined the wall beside neatly folded grey- green cloaks and heavy looking pieces of dulled leather armour.

Several warriors disarmed themselves, shockingly large piles of weapons lay in a haphazard pile before each elf, many of whom Bilbo recognised from the forest. Even disarmed they looked dangerous. He assumed that under normal circumstances that they would be a jolly bunch, but now as they spoke in hushed tones, he turned his ears towards their conversations, hearing Lostoriel's name mentioned more than once.

He watched as Faelon lay his battle-axe against the wall, run a hand over his face and recoil in horror as he realised that it was covered in blood. Scarlet smeared down the elf's cheek and Bilbo's insides twisted painfully, bile rose to his throat. He pushed it down, telling himself that Lostoriel would live. That he would find her and that they would get out of here as soon as possible. A part of him wondered just who he was trying to convince of that.

Bilbo scuffled back near the cupboards, careful not to rustle any of the clothing that hung behind him, or the pile of leather armour being cleaned by a particularly terrifying looking soldier with massive, scarred arms.

The breezy scent of the warrior's polish diffused into the air and a sneeze built up in Bilbo's nose, his heart raced wildly as the pressure built and he had no choice but to sneeze into the crock of his elbow. He prepared himself for his discovery until he realised that he was firstly invisible and secondly that someone had dropped something that clanged with an echo as he sneezed, ensuring that no one heard him.

"Ai, Faelon! There you are!" The cheerful elf who had dropped the sword carefully picked her way across the room, precariously balancing an armful of Dwarven swords, bows and daggers. Long, twin blades hung at her side, they, and the elf's hair gleamed amber in the firelight. Bilbo once again found himself astounded from how different these elves were from their kin in Rivendell. She was beautiful, like tulips in the spring and yet Bilbo knew that beneath that beauty lay danger.

A thick accent coloured her words as she spoke in the Common Tongue, and Bilbo found himself frowning at the chunkiness of common speech in comparison to the music of the elven tongue.

"The prisoners have been put away and fed," she gestured to the weapons in her arms, leaning dangerously to the left, "please tell me that we're storing these here for the time being? I don't think I'll be able to carry them across the fortress again. Oh, and Rillien is on his way down with the rest." she added as an afterthought.

Bilbo awkwardly shuffled out of the way, narrowly missing being knocked over by the muscular warrior. He gulped; she could snap him in half like a twig if she so chose to. Bilbo became all too aware of the unsettling fact that he stood in a room with some of the most dangerous elves to walk the earth.

Faelon sighed warily, dropping the bloodied cloth he had been using to clean his face on the bench he sat on, "That we are, Rhaweth."

He watched with mild curiosity and a mind full of anger as Faelon gestured to Rhaweth, both slipping back into their home tongue as they locked away the dwarve's weapons in a wooden box against a wall. Bilbo would have slapped them over their heads if he could. They simply tossed all of Fili's knives into the box as if they were sticks, not to mention that Dwalin's axes were all but left to rust in a musty old corner of the room.

"Elbereth!" A quiet exclamation escaped Rhaweth's lips and she held up a sword to the light. It gleamed with the radiance of the moon. Bilbo watched with bated breath as the she-elf unsheathed it, running her fingers across the scabbard and then the blade.

It was Orcrist!

Bilbo grimaced, a wave of fatigue washed over him followed swiftly by irritation for the pair of elves who knelt close together, gawking at the sword as if it were some relic. Which it in fact was, but Bilbo was too tired to stop complaining to himself about the elves. If he could have snatched it out their hands he would have.

Hurried footsteps drew nearer, echoing off the stone and cutting off the hushed voices of the elves.

An elf with a face almost as red as his hair burst into the room. He moved with the urgency of a madman, and he looked the part too with his wide eyes and braids that hung at all angles.

"Faelon!" He breathlessly came to a halt, leaning with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "The Lords…And-"

"Rillien, what's wrong?"

Immediately Rhaweth was at his side, pulling him upright and rapidly questioning him whilst Faelon fastened his own cloak around his neck. The three spoke in hasty whispers, Faelon's expression darkened with every word that came from Rillien.

As Bilbo studied them closely, both Rillien and Rhaweth had flaming red hair, and freckles across their or rather Rhaweth's pointed nose. Rillien's was crocked, no doubt it being broken more than once and left to heal on its own. They both had the same build, though Rhaweth was just taller than him by a few inches. They were siblings! Maybe even twins, but Bilbo doubted it. Lostoriel had once told him that twins were an extremely rare occurrence in the elven world.

With a flurry of cloaks and hair Faelon hurried out the room followed closely by Rhaweth and then her brother. In a matter of seconds they had disappeared out the door and into the bustling hallway. Another two elves stood in the threshold leading into the hall. Bilbo cursed silently, he was trapped.

The room, though quiet, filled itself with the excited hum of the elves as they discussed the strange occurrence. And Bilbo stood with a deep frown upon his face, and his fists pressing into his sides.

He had no idea of what had just transpired. He had no way of getting out of here either since he could not remember the way back from where he came from. He took a quick look at the room and his frown deepened, there were two adjoining doors to either side of the room that he could try. Perhaps they were an entrance into passageways that would take him to where Lostoriel was, or perhaps the dwarves.

But first, he would have to somehow get one of the doors open without being noticed.

Luckily, he did not have to wait very long.

One of the elves leisurely padded into the next room, a towel slung over his shoulder, and Bilbo hurried after him, letting the door shut behind him with a thud.

The temperature change in the room set his nose itching as a thick wall of steam rose around him. Lively chatter and laughter dominated over the loud gush of water from the showers to one side of the room. From somewhere in the chaos someone sang a randy sounding tune, another voice called to them with words, which Bilbo to his surprise knew the meaning of thanks to Lostoriel and her foul mouth and the singing ended in a roar of laughter.

Bilbo ducked out the way as a shirtless elf briskly rushed out the washroom. He had to duck again when a pair of elves horsed around near the cabinets that housed their clothing, and then leapt over another who sat tying the laces to his boots.

He nearly fell on top of the double bench that split one side of the room in half when someone aimed an extremely dirty towel at another across the room and it nearly hit Bilbo on the head. He ducked and dived beneath and over arms and legs. Having to, more than once, dance around shirtless and much to his discomfort pant- less elves until he stumbled upon perhaps the quieter part of the washroom.

Bilbo spotted the door and made a bee-line for it, only to be stopped by a new group of warriors who swaggered into the room, covered in mud and twigs. For a moment he was swept away by the tall warriors who surrounded him, moving backwards and forwards, turning this way and that until they broke away and he spun away.

Steaming hot water hit his back, flattening his hair and Bilbo bit back a gasp as the warm water squelched between his toes. He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing who or rather what he may see if he opened them.

Bilbo could feel someone move in front of him and he cursed again, hating that he could not just disappear. His feet were filthy, and he doubted that his ring could hide muddy footprints.

With a disgruntled sigh he pried his eyes open, holding his breath and nearly fainting as he came face to face with a round, gleaming elven bottom. The sight did not make him squirm. Almost nine months of travelling with thirteen dwarves who took pleasure in their nakedness had effectively chipped away at his sense of modesty. At least the elf was not facing him.

He had spoken too soon.

He bit back an exclamation of surprise with a scarlet face. The elf shut off the water and turned.

Bilbo wished that he were taller and not waist height. For there too close to him for his liking, hung what Dwalin liked to call his 'jewels'.

He did not know what he did to deserve this. Bilbo dashed to the side to let the elf pass by and nearly bumped into another showering elf who apparently decided that it was time for him to rinse. He nearly bumped into another elf naked as the day he was born. Warm, soapy water spluttered onto Bilbo who hurriedly hopped down the small step, shrugged off his coat and placed it on the dry ground before any of the elves could walk passed.

He grimaced, his mother would not approve of what he did next, but he did not have a choice.

Bilbo stepped onto his coat, drying off his feet and leaving it smeared brown with mud and dirt. He gathered his once red coat, now soaked heavy with water and bolted from the showers and through the doorway like his life depended on it.

()()()

It was sometime in the early hours of the morning that Bilbo dragged his cold, wet self across the silent passageway. A cold draught whistled through, sending shivers up his spine.

He had not found Faelon again, nor had he heard a single word about Lostoriel as he trudged through the kingdom looking for a place to sleep.

That was all he wanted. To rest his weary, aching feet and let his taut muscles rest beside a fire, or even in a dark corner in a forgotten room where he could pretend that his friends were not imprisoned or injured. Bilbo sniffed miserably and squeezed his arms closer to his chest. He just wanted somewhere to pretend that he was not a little person in a large kingdom, all alone and with no chance of escape.

His stomach grumbled thunderously at the warm, sweet smell emanating from the end of the passageway. His nose would never lead him astray and life sprung back into the hobbit once again. He was nearing the kitchens. As he studied his surroundings Bilbo noticed the massive kitchen which spread across one side of the hall. One or two elves still worked near a raging oven, the gush of running water made Bilbo all the more aware of the dryness in his mouth, as he passed by the scullery where tall servants scrubbed dishes and pots all the while singing a jaunty tune.

His sore feet and weary bones forgotten, Bilbo practically sprinted down the passage and skidded to a halt.

A dying fire cackled softly in the grate to one side, casting long shadows from the large tables in the middle of the room and onto the coal stove at the other end of the massive room. In the dim light he saw fresh vegetables in bowls, fruit laying in baskets on the centre counters and long tendrils of what smelt like time and rosemary hanging from above. And on the stove sat a steaming kettle of tea that set Bilbo's mouth watering.

The sweet scent wafted into his nose and he followed until he came to the counter by the windows where several trays of scones were left to cool off.

It was almost cruel, the way they stared at him. Tempting him and his now roaring stomach. Silently, he told it to shut up in case someone should hear.

Bilbo turned away from the scones. He couldn't just take one. No, he knew better than that, it was stealing and his conscience told him to walk away and find food somewhere else.

He turned back apprehensively, no one would know. Perhaps a lesser member of the kitchen staff would be blamed if one or two would go missing? There were almost twelve trays of warm, buttery scones just waiting to be eaten.

He could take one. He was going to take one, maybe two or three. Afterall, why shouldn't he? He was the designated burglar of the Company and he was sure that the dwarves would approve.

Standing on his tippy-toes Bilbo managed to snag three scones from one tray, careful to stack them in his hands so that the crumbs would not fall. With a short cry of surprise, he remembered the tea and waddled over to the stove to pour himself a tall cup. Setting down the scones he clambered onto his toes and lunged for the massive, round mug that the baker had no doubt left for themselves.

But Bilbo did not care. All he could taste was bitterness on his tongue and sand in his throat. Carefully he lifted the heavy kettle and poured himself a cup of the most fragrant tea he had ever smelt in his life. The rich, almost creamy scent drew him in, fragments of seeds and unmixed spices rose to the surface and Bilbo lost all his resolve.

He did not even check if the tea was cool enough for drinking before he brought the cup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful. The warm liquid filled him like the winter sun, spreading from his stomach to his fingers and toes. He gulped down the remainder, ignoring the way it dripped down his cheeks in the most un-Baggin's way imaginable. Bilbo downed another two mug fulls, poured himself a third, briskly spun on his heels and ducked under the table near the fire, uncaring for the cold floor beneath him for he had food and a fire to warm his toes.

The hobbit was not concerned that the baker would find him, now that his thirst was quenched, his hunger roared. The table was tall enough for him to sit upright under. He barely tasted the first scone as he devoured it and took the time to savour the next, enjoying how the cake melted like butter in his mouth and the rich texture played a medley on his pallet.

Surrounded by a thin pile of crumbs, Bilbo belched so loudly that Fili would be proud. He hurriedly checked that no one had heard him, and after hearing nothing but silence he laid himself down, turned on his side and fell into the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.

---

Lostoriel could not bring herself to look up and into her father's eyes. Instead, she focused on her feet and on suppressing the dread that rose within her. His mind pressed against hers and it took all her willpower to push him back.

"I did not…I meant you…" Her voice shrunk away, much as it had when she was little and afraid. Her wound flickered with pain that bloomed across her entire body. Lostoriel squeezed her eyes shut, it was the only way she could manage to ease the pain. She needed to speak. She could feel the tension in the room thickening. She had to save her dwarves. So, she mustered her courage and met his eyes.

He had seen this before. On a black night turned amber by fires, when his throat had been thickened with dust and ash and the cries of a foreign tongue had surrounded him. Thingol had let the dwarves into his kingdom first as friends. And he had died for it.

But this was his child. And no matter what he thought of the grandson of Thror, his instincts screamed at him to believe her.

Thranduil's fierce gaze that had frozen so many warriors in place faltered and Lostoriel felt his sword waver in his hand. He was one of the most skilled warriors possibly on Aman, she never knew his grip to falter and it sent her heart constricting. He was horrified, there was no other explanation for it.

Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak but lost her words at the expression on her father's face. He only ever wore those sad eyes and stern grimace when he was torn between mercy and duty. And now more than ever the king of the Greenwood had no choice but to bear his crown and his law, no matter how much he loathed to do so. He too fortified himself, easing the sword to hover before her skin, and forced the ice back into his gaze.

"Well?" Lostoriel grimaced at his iron tone.

"I did not try to- To kill you or Legolas."

Silence blanketed the room. No one dared move a muscle.

Now that her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see the vague, but familiar outline of her brother off to one corner. "No matter how it may seem, I am incapable of such despicable action. Since you have- "

Lostoriel bit down the biting remark on her tongue, the dwarves were undoubtedly imprisoned, and she had no clue what she was doing. But they did not know that. She had to tell the truth. Despite the consequences that would follow.

"The spider's got to them first and I needed to assist the Company before any of the elves got there because I knew that they would be taken as prisoners. So, I tried to ward you off."

"By firing at me?"

"I fired past you."

Somewhere in the darkness she heard an unbecoming snort from the direction of Legolas.

Thranduil pressed the sword against her skin once again and Lostoriel grimaced, knowing what she had just done. No one would dare speak to him in such a disrespectful manner, however, she did remind him of himself in his younger days. That did not lessen the fury and dread swirling within him.

Her father was not a cruel ellon, not even when pushed to the brink. He loved her and Legolas with everything within him. But he was a commander and king. And the line between family and duty had to be drawn somewhere. He had almost been killed while thirteen dwarves entered his forest and his long-lost daughter had mystically appeared.

It really was a wonder that she was not already imprisoned.

"That is not the point and you know it. You committed the highest form of treason in all four of the Elven Kingdoms." Thranduil 's face inched closer to hers until she felt his breath on her nose. He pulled away like a serpent from its prey, straightened his shoulders and leisurely strolled around her. Lostoriel flushed crimson with shame.

"Come clean about your motives, I have survived much worse than a poor markswoman. You could have killed me and yet you chose not to. Though I do not doubt the authenticity of Oakenshield's tale, I must inquire as to what business has posing as my daughter and trespassing through my woods with a troop of stinking dwarves?"

Thranduil told himself that he would not look at her as he walked past this time. But he could not help it. He could feel it within his bones that this truly was Lostoriel who sat before him. Every fibre of his being cried out for him to stop his circling and questioning and to embrace his child. And yet a small part of him knew that there was a deep magic within the world, dark and menacing. Out to destroy them all. He could take no chances. Not when it came to his already war-torn realm. And not when it came to his family.

"Trespassing?" Lostoriel snorted indignantly, "Since when is getting lost in the forest and stumbling into a spider's nest trespassing?" Her words echoed in the silence. Her entire body ached with pain and her patience was running short. Why he could not simply believe her was beyond her and all Lostoriel wanted to do was close her eyes and wait for the pain to fade away. "Like I told your commanders, I did not intend to kill anyone, much less my own father and brother. And if I wanted to then we would not be having this conversation, now would we?"

This time Lostoriel did look at her father and was taken aback by both his brows being raised and what she hoped, but doubted, was good-natured humour that glinted in his eyes. "And secondly, we did not mean to disturb the people of the forest. Call me a traitor and a kinslayer all you want Aran-nin, but I had no ulterior motives. And if you wish to, like I know you will, to verify the claims as to who I am and what my business is then by all means ride to Imladris and inquire all you will about me from Lord Elrond. Better yet seek council with Lady Galadriel and the three remaining Maiar. I am sure that you will find that you stand mistaken-"

Thranduil had had enough of this babbling. He longed to believe her. But he needed the truth and he needed it now.

Mustering all his strength he pushed through the stone wall she used to block out the bond that he and Legolas shared with her. Before, her bond had been like the spring breeze, wafting through the air like butterflies through meadows and sometimes more ferocious than a winter's blizzard. But now it was fortified like the very gates of Angmar and Lostoriel pushed back with a fierce glare and a rough wave of fury.

Everyone else in the room froze as the temperature dropped like a fall into a frozen lake. An eerie glow emanated from Thranduil, and he stood tall with the strength of the old trees of the forest. Though no one could see, Legolas paled and stood gaping in horror as he watched his father forcibly broke their bond and his sister's resolve fading with every second.

Perhaps if she had been stronger, Lostoriel would have fought back. But she was tired and the fight within her gave way.

A heavy silence fell upon them, like the calm before a battle. It started as a slight tingling on the tips of their fingers which exploded into radiating white light as Lostoriel slumped against her chair.

Monolithic pillars of emerald and sapphire rose from the red stone, accompanied by the blinding glitter of a raging inferno refracting through thousands of jewels and golden trinkets that swirled in the air like the winds of a hurricane. The inferno engulfed the room, the wind picked up and the dragon Smaug swept down from the high ceilings and breathed a wave of fire upon them all. A guttural scream erupted from somewhere far below and Lostoriel leapt out of the swirling mass of treasure, her sword thrusted forward, and her shield held before her as Smaug grinned viciously at her.

"You think you can defeat me?" his rough voice cut through the roaring of the flames. "I am invincible. I am your doom elfling!" Lostoriel ducked beneath a pillar, jutting her shield to the right in a futile attempt to shield herself from the stream of flames which he breathed out.

"You would sit upon your throne and rule a kingdom that will crumble should another force of darkness settle at our borders rather than aid Thror!" Lostoriel's voice echoed through the fire and Thranduil's shadow gracefully floated up the stairs to his throne.

"Come little princess. Let's see what good daddy taught you under the trees." Smaug taunted her," Oh yes very intriguing indeed." his voice rose as a thought came to him. The dragon laughed as he rose to his full height, towering above the ruins of the once spectacular dwarf fortress, his claws wrapping around entire staircases. The monstrous, orange flames that licked the walls made him look menacing against the pure sunlight that streamed through the high windows.

"Perhaps I should pay your little forest a visit. I'm sure they will welcome me." An evil smile pulled at his scaly skin revealing a set of teeth the length of spears and swords and the size of small trees.

"There is no place for me here!"

They all watched in horror as Lostoriel stared the beast in his amber eyes with a deadly glare of determination and terror. The dragon stepped back. And the princess raised her sword and with a cry charged head on. Her shield held before her, heating until it glowed orange under the dragon's fire. A haunting scream filled the air as Smaug swooped down, sweeping up waves of gold and darkness filled the air. Steam bubbled and hissed in the air, solidifying into water and the world spun like a compass needle gone mad. The writhing waters of a pool far below drew closer, then the deafening roar of the waterfall and the pool grew sickeningly closer. All their stomachs twisted as gravity took a hold and Lostoriel hit the water with a deathly smack. The steam rose once more.

Thranduil's sword fell with a resounding clang upon the ground and he stumbled backwards into Merenon, who caught him before he could fall.

The fire in the sconce weakly flickered back to life and Lostoriel fell forward awkwardly, vomiting up what little remained in her stomach. Legolas rushed to her side and caught Lostoriel before she went down with the chair.

"My Lord that is enough!" A pair of elves flew down the stairs, the one in the lead practically glared murderously at the king. His long white robes flapped wildly as he ran to where Legolas held up his sister. "I allowed your commanders to interrogate her on a single request that no further harm befalls her!"

The prince's eyes never left Lostoriel's face and the healer only knew why when he bent down to gently wipe away the grime around her mouth with a cloth he produced out of his satchel. And gasped as he stared into a face that did not look to be alive at all. Quickly he schooled his features. He had seen burns like this only once before when Thranduil and his battalion had battled the serpents of the north millennia ago.

"Lostoriel?" But the elleth did not look up. He checked her pulse on the side of her neck that was still covered in skin and huffed in relief as he felt her pulse beat steadily beneath his fingers. Bronaduion rummaged blindly in his satchel, his eyes continuing to examine the burns that flared to life all along the left side of her body and his heart constricted at the sound of her ragged breathing.

"Untie her." He commanded Legolas who clearly did not hear him as he stared in horror at his sister. "Legolas Thranduilion untie her at once!"

The young prince sprang into action and slit through her wrist and ankle bonds with his long knife, catching Lostoriel as she crumpled like an empty sack of potatoes.

"Hold her up." The ginger-haired elf assisted him in gently resting her against the back of the chair and got to seeing to her wound before he could attend to her burns.

Lostoriel groaned through gritted teeth and she tried to set her feet upon the ground, but her muscles ached and burned when she did so. The blood rushed back to her wrists and ankles in a wave of pricks and pulls and the pain ebbed in like the tide.

"Thranduil, what has happened here?" Commanded the elf who had followed Bronaduion, his dark, braided hair swishing behind him. He looked sternly from a deathly pale Thranduil to Astordil and then to Merenon, both of whom were shaken to their cores. "Merenon? Astor?"

Finally, he turned to Renieth, who stood quietly to one side of the room looking lost. "Captain, care to fill me in?"

Again, he found no answer.

"We… I- " Renieth had seen unspeakable horrors upon the battlefield, but this was something entirely different. This was her gwathel. Her Lostoriel who she had grown up with, grieved for, mourned over for decades and now she sat before her, being interrogated by the ones they loved most and looking for all the world like the wraith that the men of the lake spoke of.

She could not stomach it. This was all too much for her to bear. Renieth waded up the stairs and disappeared into the stronghold, shaking, and hastily wiping at her eyes the entire time.

"Renieth. Ren!" After a quick exchange between Legolas, Astordil hurried after her leaving Merenon to guard Thranduil.

Lostoriel cursed and Galion spun on his heels, finally understanding- with a falling stomach- why they had all been speechless.

For there, knelt Bronaduion, throwing down a bloodied bandage and retying a clean one around Lostoriel. At least he thought that was Lostoriel. He could see her muscles and tendons flutter like fiddle strings as she spoke. In some places on her hand the skin had tried to regrow, but it mingled with her flesh, bone peaked out from beneath the redness and one of her eyes was milky white.

Lostoriel tried to ignore the fact that they all stared at her like she was a nightmare and willed her skin to cover her wounds. Bronaduion, she knew, was trying to be as gentle as he could, but even so everything burned. At least Legolas tried to soothe her by talking, but she could hear the fear trembling in his voice.

"Thranduil…" Galion blindly reached for his old friend and found his shoulder unsure if the shaking came from Thranduil or from himself.

Galvanised into action Thranduil picked his way towards Lostoriel just as Bronaduion tied off the bandage.

'If there is no place for others in your heart, then there is no place for me.' Her words smashed their way into his heart just as they had the day he had lost her. His daughter thought that he did not love her. Thranduil had not had the strength to move as he watched her storm out of the fortress, he didn't have the will to call her back as a coldness washed over him and their bond broke.

Lostoriel forced herself to look up, her features had contorting between fury and shock and returning to normal. she hissed through gritted teeth, "Was that evidence enough for you, my King?"

She glared up at him, fire burning before the tears in her eyes and Thranduil's stomach twisted. What he had done was unforgivable. The three of them had promised long ago to only use their bonds in this way if it were a life-or-death situation. And he had broken her trust.

His knees threatened to give way and it took everything within him to stand up straight. He could not fathom that he had been correct. The fact that he had doubted himself just hours before seemed to rash now. Now that his daughter, his Lostoriel was alive. But a part of him sunk deeper within himself, knowing that he had pushed her further away. Just as he had all those years ago.

Thranduil knelt before her, blanched like a winter's day, and watched in horror at the sight of her dark flesh moving as she spoke. He brought a hand to his cheek to remind himself that it was not his reflection that he stared at, but that it was his daughter.

He had once looked like this. Bloody, burnt and stripped of all he knew of himself. A shiver crawled up his spin as he remembered the fire that licked his skin, the horrid gusts of the dragon's wings and that waking moment when his entire body seemed to be melting around him.

Staring at Lostoriel through misty eyes he felt sick to his core, his heart refused to accept what he had just seen. His words stuck stubbornly to his throat and he suddenly wished that the vast emptiness left behind by his wife was filled. He needed her to help him speak, to help him take the next step, because he had witnessed the moment his child had died. He had seen the light leave her eyes and the fire take her. Celerieth would not break as he fractured like ice in the sunlight. She would know what to do next.

"Adar." Legolas briefly squeezed his arm, snapping Thranduil back into the present.

The king shook his head upon realising that he had sat there staring at his daughter for several minutes.

The king shook his head upon realising that he had sat there staring at his daughter for several minutes. He pushed his fury down as far as he could even though a part of him knew that she was a traitor to the crown. But that was a problem to solve later. Right now, he had to set his crown down.

Tentatively, Thranduil reached out to take her hand and Lostoriel let him. For them both it was like reaching into the depths of a memory long lost and forgotten, never knowing what they may pick out of the misty deep.

Tears pricked at Thranduil's eyes as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, from somewhere deep within him a strange warmth erupted and he found his voice, though it came as barely a whisper.

"Iel-nin."

Those two words echoed through the room and Lostoriel could not stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks, or the strangled sob that escaped her lips. This was in so many ways unlike seeing Elladan and Elrohir again, or Glorfindel. Even without understanding how it was possible she had found herself rooted around them, and yet here with her father and brother she pushed against two opposing forces that threatened to tear her apart.

"Adar." She murmured, not ready to let her guard down.

Thranduil reached out and placed a hand on her cheek, he could have sworn that the Lostoriel he saw was the little girl afraid to walk down a dark passageway without holding his hand. But when he looked again, he saw the child he had inadvertently pushed away, the one who had followed down the same paths he tread.

A third rough hand squeezed his and Legolas came into view. He looked lost, unsure of what he should say or do. Thranduil touched Legolas's cheek. It was a strange sensation, to have both his children with him once again. He wanted to say something, to tell them how much he loved them both and how he would somehow fix this. But Lostoriel's cropped hair caught his eyes and he could not help but gasp. The ambers of a smouldering fire roared to life in his eyes.

"Who did this to you?"

Lostoriel's answer died on her lips and she gently pushed her father's hand towards him. The wide cavern grew too small, the air seemed to warm and Lostoriel could not meet either of their eyes. She could not stand the shame that erupted within her, the dishonour. Fury boiled in her veins, not just for what Azog had done, but for the Dwarves being captured, for the utter harshness of what Merenon and Astordil had done. And it spilled over at the thought of her father's disbelief and the pain that he had caused her.

She snatched her hand away from theirs, tears and heartache forgotten, she glared at her father in defiance and rage. "It is no concern of yours."

"You knew that it was me who sat here from before you came, there was no need for you to do what you have done." The bond that elven parents shared with their children was a sacred one, one that was built on trust. And her father had shattered what little trust Lostoriel had left. Her indignation grew and a wall of ice fell upon Thranduil and Legolas.

"Lostoriel." Legolas warned, knowing what she had done again. He could practically feel the rage radiating off his father and the indignation ebbing from his sister. He loathed it when they fought. It was like watching two monoliths clashing into each other with no hope of stopping the quakes that would emanate from their actions.

"No, Legolas, you will let me speak. I understand that what I have done is the highest form of treason. I understand that the penalty is banishment or imprisonment. I do not care which you chose. Let me out to the wolves or imprison me in the deepest, darkest cell in the dungeons for all eternity, let me rot away in the cold," Lostoriel rose from the chair with renewed strength, her entire body screamed for her to sit down, and she bit down her pain replacing it with anger, "but do not. Do. Not pretend that everything is fine and that any of this did not happen. Let's not pretend that we have been one big happy family. Don't sit there acting like you did not just hold a sword to my neck Ada. You do not-"

She stopped herself short before she could let the flame touch the wood, her hands were definitely not shaking at her sides. She coughed away the hard lump in her throat and tried her best to ignore the hurt on Legolas's face, or the mix of anguish and fury on her father's.

"I wish to return to the healing wards," Her head snapped back to her father with an unbridled anger in her eyes, "With your permission of course, my King."

She practically spat out the last two words and it took Legolas's steadying hand on his arm and the slight shake of his head for Thranduil to swallow his anger and simply nod his head.

"Go Bronaduion, take her." The healer stood stunned at the roughness in Thranduil's voice, never had he heard him sound so exhausted.

Lostoriel opened her mouth to speak, but Legolas sent her a meaningful look, and she knew to keep her mouth shut. They rose, giving her room to pass by.

The moment Lostoriel stepped forward her legs gave way and Legolas caught her in time before she hit the floor. He looked like he was on the verge of speaking but thought better of it and shifted her into Bronaduion's arm.

"Come Lostoriel." He slung an arm around her waist and helped her hobble to the dimly lit stairs. Galion, who had stood beside Merenon shaking like a leaf as the scene unfolded before them, grabbed a torch from one of the sconces and wordlessly led the way for them.

"Wait, please." Lostoriel halted before the first step and twisted in Bronaduion's grasp to face Merenon. "May I have my ring back Lord Merenon? Just the ring." She clarified, not wanting anything more to do with that accursed chain.

He strode forward, her sword still strapped to his belt and absolutely no expression upon his face. Merenon gently handed her the silver ring, which Lostoriel slipped onto her finger, relief washing over her as she felt the cool metal around her flesh once more. It was all she had of Elrohir. She would undeniably be banished from the other elven kingdoms after this, and he would never see her in the same way again.

Just as they made it halfway up the staircase, Legolas rushed over and grabbed her shoulder. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed into deep knots.

"I will come and find you later." Lostoriel's stomach fell at the admonishment and resignation in his voice, that was the tone he used whenever she had managed to do something rash or had angered him, "please don't do anything reckless before then."

With that he turned and fled down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Lostoriel noticed her father warily running his hands over his face; his shoulders slumped forward, and his crown hung loosely in his hands. He seemed grey and hollow, almost like he had aged a thousand years, the grief hung around him like a thick blanket and Lostoriel's hands started shaking again.

She was responsible for this.

---

The first haze of the grey dawn pressed against the dark sky to the East. The deepest part of the night had flickered by like a lightning strike for Lostoriel who leaned against the doorframe to the large balcony that extended from her room. The pouring rain beat against the forest, swirling and howling with the wind. It had not stopped since the early hours of the morning, leaving her to sit in the dark, listening to the storm passing by.

An icy wind of rain swept past her and she pressed her arm against her side, shielding her wound from the cold. Lostoriel yawned and pulled the thick blanket further around her shoulders, shuffling awkwardly to avoid it tangling around her feet.

She had not slept through the night. The medication that Bronaduion had given her knocked her out like a blow to the head and she had awoken in the wee hours of the night after dreams of her mother and the dragon and one of tumbling off the side of a cliff and into the endless depths of black waters.

She hissed as her elbow hit her side and her flesh wound erupted in pain. Lostoriel gently folded her arms, the ends of the blanket bundled under white knuckles. At least she had slept a painless sleep, her old wounds did not burn, she did not even notice the gash on her stomach until she turned on her side and jolted up in a wave of nausea.

It had been almost two days since she had the dwarves had been captured and since her interrogation. At least she assumed it had been that long. The medication that Bronaduion had administered to her kept her in a haze between reality and her dreams. She wished that she had not raised her bow to her father. If she had simply left him at the bog without having shot at him, maybe if she had then the Company would not be imprisoned, perhaps then the mutterings of kinslayer would not echo in her dreams and maybe, just maybe she could have embraced her father and brother.

There had been a moment when she had her family back, but her fury and anger and grief had swelled to the surface.

She had seen neither her father or brother since then, and not even a single sign that Bilbo was around. Lostoriel had not even seen the other side of the door. Two guards had been posted outside her room door and another two stood guard on the balcony. It was a smart move, no doubt motivated by her endless, successful, attempts to escape for a walk or for good from the hospital wing. Even now as she stood watching the sunlight pour through the rain, she could see the guards holding their spears a little tighter and closer to themselves.

Legolas had returned that night, as he said he would, but his visit had been cut short by Lostoriel falling off to sleep almost minutes after Bronaduion made her drink that fiercely disgusting draught.

She knew that her brother and father would most likely be forbidden from seeing her until she had faced the consequences of her actions. What those were, she was yet to discover. Lostoriel was torn between wanting to see them, Merenon and Astordil included. Lostoriel didn't blame them for interrogating her as they did, if she was in their position after the king had been shot at and a group of dwarves had appeared at the same time, she too would have reacted that way. Though, she would have not thrown the dwarves in prison for traveling through the forest. Lostoriel knew that she would be fighting for all their freedom, she only hoped that Thorin wouldn't do anything stupid before then.

She pushed that thought aside and turned back to the sounds of the rising kingdom.

It was so strange to be standing in the healing wards again, to hear the faint steps of the nurses and medics as they shuffled through the halls ready to begin the day or end it. Beyond the noise of the hospital wing, she could hear the kingdom waking up. Already the cavalry troops had taken their horses out for a ride, the courtyard below bustled with servants and other elves, running through the rain and crossing paths on their way to begin the day. But the fluttery aloofness that had engulfed her fell into a pit and sank into the depths when she remembered the dwarves and what her actions had cost them.

The wooden door creaked open and Bronaduion strode in followed by two guards whom she did not recognise, but judging by the plain green and brown clothing they wore and the birch leaf sewn above their left breast, she knew that they were from one of the elite companies.

Bronaduion greeted her with a smile, carrying with him a tray laden with bandages, jars of salves and a steaming kettle.

Lostoriel twisted around, careful not to jostle her wound, and bowed her head, "Good morning Bronaduion."

"I did not expect you to be awake as yet, my Lady." He briefly smiled as he crossed the room, quickly resuming that half annoyed, half concerned frown that all healers wore as if they were mildly annoyed with their patients yet willing to assist them in any way.

"I could not sleep." She answered simply, not willing to divulge more information with the two guards who stood in the doorway. Word spread like wildfire in the kingdom and she did not need everyone knowing her business.

The floor spun wildly beneath her and Lostoriel gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe and squeezing her eyes closed. Her empty stomach twisted and rolled, threatening havoc if she did not sit down soon.

Bronaduion bolted across the room, catching her by the arm just before she could stumble forward. "Come on, just a few small steps."

The healer slowly led her to the low bed as she groaned and held a hand to her head and the other to her belly. Already, her skin turned a shade of deathly white and a slight sweat had beaded upon her brow.

"How bad is the pain?" He asked as soon as he had her sitting upon the unmade bed, the only thing keeping her upright was her holding onto the bedpost. "And do you feel any itching?"

Lostoriel blanched, bile rising in her throat as she gagged. She looked up into a steaming cup of water mixed with what smelt suspiciously like lemon.

"Drink." Commanded Bronaduion in a tone that broke no room for argument.

Sometimes she wondered whether he forgot that he was just a healer. Though his brashness had saved countless lives in the past, so perhaps it was not such a terrible trait. Lostoriel blew on the steaming liquid, and lifted up her top, uncovering just enough to see the top of the bloodied bandage that was wrapped across her torso.

"It's not too bad. Just a mild throbbing for now." Lostoriel took a tentative sip and grimaced as the sourness hit her tongue, "There's only a slight itch, but it's not as bad as it was yesterday."

Bronaduion cut through the bandage whilst he spoke, "That's a good sign." He wrung out the clean cloth that had been soaking in a bowl of hot water and carefully wiped away what crust had formed between her drying blood and the salve he had put on the wound. "At least we know that the infection is beginning to clear up."

"I will give you something for the pain. Here, hold this for me please." He distractedly shoved a clean roll of bandage into Lostoriel's hand. Not that she noticed since she had swallowed the entire cupful of the sour concoction and had her eyes and lips squeezed tightly together.

A cold shiver broke out across her body at the cold touch of the salve that Bronaduion spread across the scarlet wound. Drips of blood still oozed out, but the salve soon saw to that. Thankfully the wound had not been too deep, it had missed her organs, but the stinger had still ripped far enough that whenever she moved it burned and twisted like the fires of Morgoth itself.

The healer abruptly halted, a quiet exclamation escaping him, "Lostoriel, what happened here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She cleared her throat, naturally avoiding his inquiring gaze. She didn't need to look to see which scar he spoke of. She had been shot in a storm of gunfire, in the middle of a blizzard during the war.

Bronaduion had become accustomed with that numb grief that swam in Lostoriel's eyes after treating thousands of warriors since he first began as a healer long before Thranduil had become king. He did not pursue the topic any longer and let Lostoriel stew in her silence.

Even now, after many decades the ceaseless firing of the guns, the horrible, wet thud upon impact and the screams of the men she had fought alongside haunted her. She had been shot many times over the years, but this had been the worst one.

It had fragmented upon impact and the damage had been irreparable. She had lost a part of herself then, Smaug's fire had only added to creating a desert within her.

Bronaduion tied off the bandage, a brow raised in asking if it was too tight and Lostoriel shook her head. He moved off to the small sink to one side of the room whilst she pulled her top back down. She huffed a sigh of relief as the salve began to numb the edges of the wound. What she was not going to tell him is that she worked as a spy for a time, which would only make her look more suspicious now.

Lostoriel stared into somewhere and nowhere all at once, a hand rested below her neck, reaching for the reminder that had hung there for decades. She could still feel their blood well around her hands as they died and hear the sickening impact of every bullet and the silence that followed.

Bronaduion moved off to one of the counters and set himself to mixing together a pungent selection of herbs. "Well," said he, grinding the mixture in the mortar, "the good news is that thanks to Faelon's quick work in the forest, the poison has left your wound."

She sighed warily, abruptly snapping back to the present, loathing the fact that she had to drink whatever it was he prepared, "Do I want to know the bad news?"

A wry smile tugged at his lips, "The bad news is that your stitches will have to stay in for a few more days." A distinct air of solemnity washed over him, "I do want to take a look, with your permission of course, to your burns. When your father-"

A furious, scarlet cheeked Renieth flung the door open and marched into the room, ignoring the protests of the guards from outside and from Bronaduion, who stood perplexed for a second and then sprang into action. Lostoriel saw that murderous glare on her face and leapt from the bed.

"Renieth," he flung himself in front of her, standing like a brick wall between the two elleths, "whatever you're about to do, I implore you to first think and then act."

The warrior rolled her eyes, and stepped around him, nothing was going to stop her.

He whipped around, a fierce glare, "Captain! Do not make me call in the guards." His threat had no effect upon her as she just continued to stalk towards Lostoriel.

"You." She jutted a finger at Lostoriel and crossed the room in a few strides. Her dark eyes narrowed, "You."

Lostoriel backed away from the bed, inching ever so carefully to the window. She had seen that horrid stare and did not want to be under it, not even with a twelve-foot pole.

"Morning Ren." Lostoriel held up her hands, she gulped nervously.

Renieth stopped at the other side of the bed, jutting a finger at Lostoriel, who could practically see the steam rising off her, "Don't you dare 'Ren' me, Lostoriel. I have half the mind to take you down right here."

"And why would you need to do that?" Lostoriel tried and failed to come across as mildly irritated, for she flushed crimson and stumbled over her feet until she hit the side table.

"Why would I need to do that?" The sarcasm dropped like honey," why would I need to do that!" Her voice rose in fury and indignation with each word," You know damn well why I want to!"

"Renieth, wait, maybe you should listen to Bronaduion." Lostoriel had grown up with Renieth's fiery temper, she had been the victim of her wrath and irritation before. Especially after she had done something particularly reckless during a skirmish. Renieth had been her lieutenant, her most trusted warrior, and confidant and more importantly, though they were not related in any way, her sister. If Renieth could have had it her way then she would have fought Mandos himself and dragged Lostoriel's sorry soul from the halls itself. Which only made Lostoriel fear for her life in this moment than she had in any war or battle.

In a blink of an eye, Renieth leapt over the bed, grabbed Lostoriel by the front of her shirt and A resounding slap echoed through the room, followed by Lostoriel's cry of pain.

For a second, all she saw was stars and spots. Then, she smacked away Renieth's wrist, and pushed her back all in one motion.

"What the hell was that for you mad women?" Lostoriel held a hand to her cheek, cursing as her entire head reverberated with shockwaves.

Instead of answering Lostoriel's question she rolled her eyes and huffed. Renieth folded her arms over her chest and jutted out her hip whilst she glared at Lostoriel. Even without her ever present bow and quiver strapped to her back, Renieth still looked every ounce of terrifying.

"Why did you do it?"

Renieth smacked her on the arm and Lostoriel did not jump away in time to miss the thunderous impact of Renieth's flat palm.

"Why did I do what?"

Renieth cursed, stepping close enough to Lostoriel that she could smell the strong salve, "Don't play dumb with me Lostoriel. you know precisely what I'm talking about."

"Uhm no," Lostoriel shrugged irritated and mirrored Renieth," I don't Renieth. I've done quite a number of things over the past few months that would get me slapped. So please tell me which one of my many sins you've come to rectify."

"By the Valar, that mouth of yours will one day get you killed."

"Many have tried, mellon-nin, and many have failed."

Renieth glared at her even more fiercely than before, and Lostoriel took the opportunity to back away to the window. She should have expected this from Renieth. Once, after they had almost been killed whilst on their first patrol, Renieth had sworn that if Lostoriel died then she would bring her back to life just so that she could slap some sense into her.

Now as Renieth stood shaking with anger, those icy eyes melted, and her glower twisted until her eyes welled and her shoulders began to shake.

The dark-haired elf sighed into a strangled sob and all the anger and fire she held within her burned away, leaving behind only the smouldering embers of grief and heartache.

"Why did you leave," Her shaking voice rang through the heavy silence in the room. She couldn't meet Lostoriel's gaze, "Why did you go without me? Without saying goodbye. Why did you run, Lostoriel?"

"Ren, I didn't have a choice." Lostoriel found the strength to speak. Seeing Elrohir and Elladan again had been so different. It had been painfully dramatic, but at least she could face them. Though Elrohir had taken several days to dry his tears, and ease the grief weighing upon him, she had managed to hold him, to be with him. But this, being home. This was something entirely different. And she had dreaded it for months.

"You damn well did Lostoriel!" Renieth jabbed an accusing finger at Lostoriel.

Lostoriel watched helplessly as tears rolled down Renieth's face, and as her voice cracked.

"I didn't Renieth. There was no choice, not for me." Said Lostoriel breathlessly, "My father would not help the dwarves, but I could, and I wasn't going to let him stop going. It might have been foolish and rash and selfish, but someone had to lend a helping hand."

"But that didn't have to come at the cost of your life! Why will you not see that?"

"It had to Ren. Smaug had turned his gaze westward, he wanted to burn our forest, our home." Lostoriel's nostrils flared and she wasn't sure when she had started shaking, nor when her vision had turned misty. "What is one life lost in the pursuit of saving many, Renieth?"

"No." Renieth pushed dark hair from her face, her voice rose with every word. "Don't you dare pretend that you running off into the flames of a dragon- that your death was nothing! Don't you dare act like you didn't leave behind people who loved you, who needed you!"

The room reverberated with silence.

"You should have sent for me." Renieth wiped furiously at her eyes, "I would have come with. I would've followed you into flame and death, but no!" She walked to the window, her boots clanging on the stone, "You had to go running off with your pride and self-righteousness, not needing the help of anyone else!"

"Renieth, please…" Lostoriel tried to reach out to her, but even now it felt like reaching out into fog only to have it slip through her fingers.

A cold wind sent her clothing rustling and her voice dying down to a whisper, "If I were there maybe you would have survived. Perhaps you would have come back home, and I would not have had to endure these horrible years without you."

"Oh...Ren." Lostoriel placed a hand on her shoulder, but Renieth stepped back, her anger still smouldering even as embers. Renieth looked straight into her eyes and for a moment Lostoriel saw halls washed in grey and silver, and a lone figure standing and watching a dim sunset.

"You left me to take your place as captain of our battalion. What the hell were thinking? You were meant to survive. To fight for your life. You were meant to come home. To come back ...to all of us. To... To me. So, why..."

Renieth's voice broke and Lostoriel closed the distance between them, gathering her friend in her arms and holding her tightly as Renieth sobbed into her shoulder, snot and all. It twisted her heart to see her closest companion this way. That cinderblock of grief pulled her down and Lostoriel allowed herself to grieve with Renieth. She had not thought of the impact that her death would have. So often had she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what would happen if she should go. She knew that the world would move on around her, but her heart had never allowed her to think of how her family would cope.

"I'm here now Ren..." She ran hand over her friend's soft hair, shifting so that Reneith's deathly grip on her didn't squeeze her to death, "I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Finally, Renieth let go, wiping at her face with her sleeve. She could have punched Lostoriel, but her friend was injured and she could never do that. Renieth looked Lostoriel up and down and warned her, "Don't you ever dare do anything so idiotic again you idiot."

"I'll bring you along if I do."

"Damn right you will." Renieth pulled her into an embrace again, "You're a reckless, fool-hardy clotpole with a death wish, you know that?"

Lostoriel snorted, her tears forgotten as she rested her forehead against Renieth's, the practice ingrained in them since childhood, "I love you too, Ren."

"Now," said Renieth, tugging her tunic back into place, "If you'll excuse me I have some councilmen to terrify. Please don't do anything reckless before lunch."

"I won't"

Lostoriel shook her head, smiling wryly whilst Renieth crossed the room, apologising to Bronaduion for storming into his wards as she went.

"You won't do what?" Asked Legolas from where he leant against the doorway.

"Do anything stupid, or life endangering before noon." Answered Renieth

Lostoriel collapsed onto the edge of the bed, cursing loudly when her muscles squished together and her wound pulled in pain. "I make no promises."

"I'll see you later." She smiled at Lostoriel and on her way out gave Legolas's hand a squeeze, "Remember that the council starts soon."

"I know, I'll see you there." He sighed, but Lostoriel caught that distant gleam in his eyes as he stared into Renieth's eyes. It still set her stomach twisting when she thought of them together, but then her heart panged, and she longed to see Elrohir.

"Legolas," A familiar voice brought with it the wiry form of Faelon, along with the stone-cold expression that, over the years, had been cultivated to scare off absolutely anyone who had stood in his way. In his eyes all she could see was a warning, stark as daylight and though Faelon seemed small in stature, Lostoriel knew that he could snap any foe in half without even trying, if he was so inclined.

Faelon bowed his head, first to Legolas and then to Lostoriel, his hand stretching from his heart to her, "My Lady."

His lips twitched to the sides, a smile that he could not quite hide peaked out behind those clouds of mist, Lostoriel could not help but think of him as a fox gauging its prey before it pounced.

"I owe you my sincere gratitude for saving my life Faelon." She held out her hand and he clasped her forearm. Those dark eyes searched her face for any sign of cowardice, any hint of betrayal and Lostoriel knew that they would all be watching her. Her smile wavered, "If it were not for you, I would be dead."

Finally, with a grin like the sun peeking out the clouds, Faelon stepped towards her and flung his arms around her, trying to not jostle her wound as he squeezed her.

"You need not thank me." He sniffed, "You really have to stop giving me opportunities to save it."

Once Renieth was out of earshot Lostoriel smirked, "When are you going to ask her to marry you?"

Legolas spun towards her, "When are you going to think before you act?"

They both stared dumbfounded at each other for a long moment, shocked at what the other had asked.

"I thought that by law you're not supposed to be here?"

"What the council does not know will not hurt them and stop trying to change the subject." He snapped, adopting the same sour expression of annoyance that starkly reminded Lostoriel of their father.

She rolled her eyes, "You know, if you keep scowling like that, you're going to get wrinkled."

Legolas ignored her quip and gestured to the satchel he carried in his hands, "I brought you some clothes, and something to read. If you need anything more just ask."

"Thank you." She said awkwardly, drying her face with a small towel. She was well aware that he and Faelon had been outside the entire time that Renieth had been here.

Legolas shrugged and left the bag on her bed, he stepped back and reluctantly met her eyes. Lostoriel knew that look. Her brother only ever wore it when he was hiding something or had come to deliver bad news. He gestured to the chair and she nodded. Lostoriel watched as his eyes roamed about the room and then settled onto his boots. He sat like that for some time, the hush of the rain filling the quiet, until Lostoriel's patience wore thin and she could handle the silence no more.

"What is it Legolas?"

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. Dark lines had settled under his eyes, his usually lively face seemed gaunt, and in his shoulders Lostoriel could see the worry rising and falling like waves crashing onto the shore.

This was all her fault.

Lostoriel wanted nothing more than to embrace her brother, he was annoying and a giant irritant in her backside half the time, but she had missed him. He had always been there for her, had always had her back no matter how much trouble he got her into. And now, now there was a mighty distance between her and Legolas.

He looked up at her, dread colouring his features as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, holding it out for her to take.

From the navy-blue ribbon and the silver seal, Lostoriel already knew that it was from the High Council. She had been expecting this for several days now and was rather surprised that it had been delivered so late. She carefully turned the envelope in her hands, her stomach dropping the moment she noticed the silver leaf entwined with golden branches, stamped onto the front of the envelope.

It was the symbol of the Amarath, the most elite force within the King's army. Dread rose in her throat and Lostoriel squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears that threatened to fall away. Behind it lay the stamp of the king. When she had run out of the palace the day the dragon attacked, she had still been on active duty in her father's guard. Lostoriel, though she was one of the highest- ranking captains in the army, had deserted her post without the permission of the king. And as such, she was to be punished accordingly.

She did not bother with breaking the seal, for Lostoriel already knew the charges that she would face. "How bad is it Legolas?"

Her brother sighed again and ran his hands through his hair, "You are to appear before the King's Council two days hence on accounts of attempted sedition upon the crown, suspected high treason against the king and…"

He hesitated, his lyrical voice thickening and hardening. Lostoriel hated it when Legolas did this, when he became the soldier instead of her brother, "Attempted kinslaying."

She whistled softly, "They really had their pick at it this time."

Her stomach dropped. She had known that it would come down to this. But kinslaying? Even she knew that it was an impossible charge, impossible but necessary. Lostoriel had worked her way up only to stoop to the level of Feanor and her blood turned cold at the thought. She had done what she had done, now she would have to pay the consequences, Thorin and his company would rot in the dungeons and the shadow would only grow in the east. She had failed before she could begin.

"And what about the military charges?" She coughed when her voice caught in her throat.

"Forfeiture of your captaincy, colours and status, dishonourable discharge for truancy and deserting your post and duty during a time of war."

Leading her troop had been the honour of her life. The possibility of it being stripped away left her coloured with shame. Renieth had always been more of a captain than she had. Lostoriel knew that she would have to face her soldiers at some point, to apologise for leaving them without so much as a word. A part of her wanted to hide away, that part that screamed in her mind that she had failed, and thrown away those endless, painful days of training and fighting like it was nothing.

Dishonour was not something that the soldiers in the Greenwood's army took lightly. They lived too long to not have the title and the job seep into themselves. Their armour had become their bodies, their weapons an extension of themselves and the people they served with their family. They would not take into account her fighting Smaug or aiding the dwarves. Perhaps she should have been more hopeful, but she had been interrogated by the people she loved, not believed by her father and had been imprisoned in her own home.

There was not enough that she could defend herself on, not enough that she could do to get herself freed, but maybe she could get the dwarves out.

"Ada wants to see you before then, he"

"No." Lostoriel snapped, inhaling sharply at the deep throbbing coming from her side, "He can see me afterwards. I don't want to- Legolas what he did was… Unacceptable, I know that he was doing what he had to do as the king, but as our father." She could already see the defence mounting up in Legolas's mind and she rolled her eyes in disbelief, "Don't you dare try to defend the fact that both he and Merenon held a sword to my throat. Astordil treated me like I was a disgrace."

Legolas paced around the room, Lostoriel's eyes following him when he marched to the window and leaned against the sill. If she had been beside him perhaps, she would have seen the tears that pricked at his eyes, his hands shaking like leaves in a breeze.

"Do you know what she said to me before then?"

Her brother huffed quietly, a steady anger rising in him. His sister might have been missing for a time, but she had not changed.

"You're going to tell me anyway," He muttered under his breath.

"She said that there was no place for me here," Lostoriel's tone reminded him too much of a child complaining and seeking sympathy. "That there was no place for a traitor amongst the trees. I didn't mean to-"

That was it, he had had enough of her complaining, Legolas tried to rein in his temper. But his chest and shoulders rose with every breath. He had been doing this for years; watching his sister get herself into trouble with their father and then having had to keep the peace, to act as a negotiator between two foes who were so similar in demeanour that it was often a menace to even try.

"Stop," Said Legolas, his knuckles white, but Lostoriel didn't keep going on for herself. "Please, just-"

"Lostoriel!" He snapped and whipped around, red-faced and scowling like a mountain lion before it caught its prey. "Will you just, for a moment, shut up!"

His boots echoed over the thunder that roared outside, "I understand that you're hurt and in pain and ashamed for what you have done. And I understand that you're still furious with Adar, and with Merenon and Astordil and I do not for a second blame you for feeling so."

Finally, the clouds burst.

"But when, just when are you going to start taking some responsibility for what you've done? When are you going to stop having such a smart mouth and actually think before you act? Huh?"

The accusing finger he pointed at her did nothing to ease the growing lump in her throat. She could handle being screamed at by a dwarf, having Renieth slap the daylights out of her. But this, having her big brother scold her was too much to bear. Suddenly they were children again, and Lostoriel had broken the pretend bow that Legolas adored.

He started pacing again, his hands flying all about him whilst he spoke, "Would it have hurt you to stop and think of the implications before you fired that arrow? I know you Lostoriel, you could never willingly hurt anyone you love. And you would never dream of hurting Ada or myself, but you did what you did and," Legolas pulled a chair from the window and stuck himself in it, "I want to believe you when you say that you intended to ward him off. But that's not what I'm angry about Lostoriel."

"Legolas," Lostoriel reached for him.

"No," he stood so abruptly that the chair wobbled on its back legs, "Let me finish. You do this every time."

"I do what every time?"

"You and Ada have some sort of disagreement, or you go and do something reckless and downright foolish, which leaves him distraught and then I'm left to clean up the mess you both leave behind! I'm the one who has to keep the peace so that our family doesn't suddenly implode. I'm the one who for so long has defended your every action, your every mistake and you continue to make them." He sat back down in the chair, and muttered almost to himself, running a hand over his face, "One day you're going to do something that I can't help you fix, Lostoriel."

Rage boiled within her, choking her until all she could feel was her clenched hands and the blood rushing in her ears. How dare he pretend that he had done nothing that she had to fix just so that he wouldn't face the worst of their father's anger. Sometimes, Lostoriel wondered if Legolas remembered how reckless and arrogant, he had been in their youth. He was not wrong in what he was saying, but Lostoriel did not want to hear it. Furious, bitter words rose like venom and she was ready to strike. But then his shoulders slumped, and his voice sounded so broken that the anger left her as quickly as it had come.

He met her eyes with tear-streaked cheeks, two pairs of blue glistening like the rain, "After our search for you failed, he locked himself in his chambers and didn't emerge for months, unwilling to speak to anyone, to eat. It was almost like when naneth went, but this time it seemed like he truly had given up. I thought that I was going to have to rule permanently, that by the time the winter ended he would be too far gone." His shoulders shook uncontrollably, "Even now that anger that ate at him is still rife, Lostoriel."

Lostoriel had no more tears to shed, no more anger to feel, and sat staring numbly at her brother.

"So please, put aside your anger and face what is to come, go and apologise to Adar because I do not think that I will be able to handle this fallout alone," he whispered, "not this time."

In a flash, Lostoriel's arms were around him, her head resting on his. Somewhere in the back of her mind she forbade the valar from ever touching her again if this is what would happen to her family. She was done pushing everyone away. She needed her brother, and he needed her. "I'm truly, truly sorry for what I did, 'Las," she mumbled into his hair, she hoped that he would not mind the tears falling into his hair. "I will go to Adar and I will make this right with him and you, I promise. Just please, don't hate me."

He gently pushed her arms away from him, bringing her up with him as he stood. Legolas held her at arms-length, and as if seeing her properly with her cropped hair and thinner face. She looked older than she had when she went missing, but Legolas still saw her as the little girl who left her stinking socks everywhere she went, and stole all his sweets. He pulled her into a fierce embrace, "You're my little sister, Lostoriel. I could never, ever hate you," even as he said the words, Legolas knew it was true, "you know, that right?"

Legolas stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head briefly. She had missed her brother more than she had missed anyone else if she was being honest. They had always been at each other's necks as children, but he had her back, and she would always have his. "I know, Legolas," her voice came as a squeak, "I know. Thank you."

"I've missed you, squirrel." He laughed.

"I've missed you too, you absolute sheep." And Lostoriel couldn't help but join in. She tried to knee his shin, but Legolas anticipated the movement and moved his leg just in time.

As they stood watching the rain cascade from the grey skies and trees singing against the tune of the wind, with Legolas's arm around her shoulder, Lostoriel felt for the first time since she had left Imladris, that perhaps things were going to turn out just fine. She would find Bilbo, free the Dwarves, and kill the dragon. She didn't know how or when, but somehow, they would find a way.

But for now, she was content to watch the rain knowing that her brother was by her side.

---

Hi there everyone!

That was a hell of a long chapter, and full of angst ( sorry, but not that sorry.) I rewrote this chapter a few times until i was happy with it and honestly, I'm rather proud of this teary, emotion-filled mess. This chapter is very elf heavy, long but we will get back our favourite dwarves in the next one! and the pace should be picking up soon.

I'm sorry that this chapter took so long to post, life caught up with me, but I'm going to try, (emphasis on try), to post on a more regular basis from next week.

Thank you soooo much to lancealot2point0 for beta reading and editing this chapter, I appreciate it!

Thank you for the kudos and the comments! They mean a lot, and i really do enjoy hearing from you all!

Until next time, stay safe!

Ro781727: Your comment made me laugh! Thank you! I too hope that Gandalf knocks her over the head with his staff. Lostoriel is getting too frustrating for me these days.

Remisparklez: Thank you!