Mirkwood was...sick.
As surely as Holly knew the lands under Beorn's protection, she knew that Mirkwood was diseased and dangerous and they'd long suspected that it might be particularly toxic to Holly and Sirius. But here and now, standing in a circle of horses and ponies at the forest's edge, Holly pushed all of that away and tried to focus herself.
The ponies and horses knew that she was leaving them to go through the forest that terrified each and every one of them. They wove themselves around her in a massive knot; whether in an attempt to stop her or to bolster her courage, Holly did not know. Sirius was lying at her feet as Padfoot, ears back and shifting anxiously every time he looked at the forest that awaited him.
She could feel it, despite the comforting solidity of her friends and companions around her, a chill like the cold of a hundred dementors, combined with a feeling that made her almost sick to her stomach. As they'd crossed the wardlines which marked out Beorn's lands, ones she and Sirius had placed four years back once they were confident enough with their staves, Holly had felt its presence on the horizon like a storm cloud, growing darker and more potent as they rode closer.
As Thorin started snapping at his company to form up, Holly pressed a hand against the shoulder of the pony nearest her, the touch making the pony butt her affectionately before lowering her head to blow out a breath over Sirius, who whuffed softly in return. One by one, the ponies said their goodbyes, until it was just Holly's horse left. Wina pressed against her side for a long minute before herding the rest of the ponies together and setting them off at a brisk trot.
Confused, Holly looked for Asco, who had been lent to Gandalf, but he was waiting patiently at the wizard's side, still tacked up and ready to go further. Drawing closer, Sirius tagging reluctantly at her heels, Holly arrived just in time to hear the wizard announce that he was leaving. Before she could say anything, he had leapt onto Asco and sent the pair of them careening off to the south.
"We move out!" Thorin ordered, the resemblance he bore to a storm cloud even stronger than usual. "Durin's day will not wait for the wizard, and neither will we! Woman! If you fall behind, you are lost."
Biting back a retort, Holly rested her hand on Sirius's head as her godfather shifted irritably, a rumbling growl building in his chest. He subsided, pressing his nose into her hand, and she fell in at the rear of the company.
Bilbo dropped back to walk with her, looking sympathetic. "I was halfling until just before we made it to your lands," the hobbit said conversationally. "All you'll need to do is save his life once or twice, then you'll graduate to your job title if you're lucky. More often than not, I'm the hobbit, which let me say is quite an improvement on his rudeness."
"I take it that halfling isn't a term of endearment in your lands?" Holly said, suppressing the shudder that wanted to shake her as she stepped under the shadow of the trees at the forest's edge.
"Good heavens, no." Bilbo said emphatically. "It's quite rude. Not even Lobelia would stoop so low as to refer to another as a halfling, and she's quite rude indeed. Why, if you can imagine..."
Bilbo's cheerful chatter about one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who seemed to be some sort of Draco-esque society lady, didn't abate for most of the afternoon, providing a distraction from the malaise of the forest pressing in on her from all sides. Sirius took to walking between her and Bilbo, tail between his legs, and she worried for her godfather. He'd grown to resemble the man who had laughed at her parents' wedding during their stay with Beorn, and she wasn't keen on seeing him return to the madman in the Shrieking Shack. And if there was anything in this world that could stand a chance of doing so, Holly would certainly believe it to be this forest.
When they stopped for the night, the company attempted to light a fire, but quickly extinguished it as strange moth-like creatures descended out of the darkness towards the light. Wrapping herself in her cloak, Holly wrapped her arms around Sirius and tried to dream of summer days in her gardens, Beorn and Sirius laughing around the table...peaceful, happy reminders of her home beyond the forest.
Bilbo was her constant companion during the first few days of their trek through the forest, the hobbit informing her that Gandalf's only advice had been to remain on the path without straying somewhere around the morning of the third day. He could talk for hours about Shire society politics, and Holly latched onto the offered distraction, noticing his hands tremble and his eyes dart about whenever he paused for breath and the stifling silence fell around them. None of the other members of the company seemed much inclined to speak, and Holly couldn't help but wonder if they felt the diseased forest as strongly as she did.
Sirius dreamed at night, she could feel him shifting and hear his faint whines from time to time. In the mornings, he would bolt to his feet, glancing around as if to assure himself of his surroundings, and then press his head against her chest so he could hear her heartbeat and feel her warmth. Holly held him tight when he did so, feeling as if she had to keep herself calm for him. They'd known the forest would be bad, would possibly invoke memories of Azkaban, and they'd all agreed that Sirius had best stay in his animagus form for as much of the journey as possible, trusting in its ability to protect him as it had in Azkaban.
A week passed, and then two. Holly's feet had developed blisters from being unused to walking such long distances in boots, and the blisters had healed. She'd removed her staff from the frame of her pack, leaning on it from time to time when the scrape of stocking against blister made her limp, but she kept pace with the company, glaring defiantly at Thorin every time he looked back at her place at the rear of their company, as if he'd expected her to fall behind.
By the middle of the second week, a few of the other dwarves had unbent themselves enough to join her and Bilbo in conversation. Bofur, she learned, was the one wearing the hat and was a skilled toymaker, though a miner by trade. He had quite a number of pub stories and jokes that made Sirius snap out of his forest-induced depression to growl at the dwarf when the stories got particularly bawdy.
Holly didn't mind the bawdiness, despite how it made her face as red as her tomatoes. Anything that made Sirius revert even just a little to his usual behavior was welcome, and she did her best to slyly egg Bofur on whenever the forest seemed to be getting to Sirius.
Oin was full of brusque questions about the ointment she was using on her blisters, poking and prodding at her feet and inspecting the small pot of ointment with a critical eye. He seemed to have reserved judgment on it, instead occasionally peppering her with questions about medicinal herbs in the area, only to be disappointed when she admitted that she knew very little about human or dwarven medicine, and more about veterinary medicine. Young Ori usually dropped back to hover nearby while Oin interrogated her, fingers twitching in the same way Hermione's had whenever she desperately wanted to take notes on something.
Bombur occasionally spoke with her as they sorted out rations for the group, asking about her garden and how they survived without any meat in their diet. Hermione would have had an entire lecture on proper nutrition available at the drop of a hat, but all Holly could do was mumble something about mushrooms, which invariably drew in Bilbo, who waxed rhapsodical about a farm in the Shire whose mushrooms were apparently the stuff of legends.
It was always worse when it was quiet. Holly came to loathe the night hours, lying awake while she listened to the snores of the Company. The thunderous din wasn't enough to drown out the whispers in her head, the soft voice of Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange's mad cackle, the screams of her mother as she begged for Holly's life. When she closed her eyes she saw Barty Crouch's raving face, Voldemort rising from the cauldron, Cedric staring lifelessly up at her from the grass of a graveyard.
There was no peace in silence, no blessing in sleep, and as the days dragged on, she felt the memories weighing her down. The dwarves didn't know, she figured, since she and Sirius always settled a little ways away from the main group when they stopped for the night, and Holly hoped that Sirius didn't know how much she was struggling, how much she wanted to curl into a ball and cover her ears and scream for it all to just stop.
Even the warmth bulk of Padfoot could not soothe her enough to sleep, and Holly didn't know how she got up each morning and trudged onwards. Surely there was a limit to human exhaustion, surely there would be a day when she could not go forward?
A voice slipped inside her head as she walked, speaking to her of how easy it would be to use her magic, to leave the others behind and save herself the slow agony of the poisoned forest path. It whispered to her that if she did not leave, she would die along with them, and wouldn't that just be a waste?
To make things worse, she had been watching their rations carefully, and as they trudged through the third week of their journey through Mirkwood, she knew that they were running out. Despite the quiet rationing she'd watched Bombur doing, if their journey lasted even equally as long before they found safe foraging grounds, they would be well into starving.
Hunger was an old friend, and Holly set her jaw and cut her portions by half, sharing with Sirius as best as she could. Holly dared not set him on the odd looking black squirrels, mindful of Gandalf's warning to keep to the path, and of Sirius's own struggles with the forest's poison. She pushed on, letting the hunger pass from her mind as she stepped forward each day, keeping on until her focus narrowed on the next step, the next breath, the thread of light and hope and everything she'd left behind upon entering the forest that Bilbo kept alive in his stories.
When the voice spoke, she thought of Bilbo and his Shire and his ongoing war with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins over his tomatoes and silver spoons. When it whispered to her about leaving Sirius behind, she forced herself to remember that he had broken out of Azkaban to protect her.
He broke out to kill Wormtail, the voice sneered. It was never about you.
Stone-faced, she gritted her teeth and kept moving forward. It's just the forest, trying to sway you, she told herself firmly. Greater things had tried to break her, and she had shrugged them off.
Bow to Death Holly.
She'd very nearly lost track of time when they stumbled upon the dark waters of the swiftly flowing river, and all of her senses screamed at her that it would be a very bad idea to touch them. Grimly, Holly held Sirius back as she peered through the gloom, looking for a bridge, or at least a boat.
"There," she said, interrupting whatever argument the dwarves were having. Pointing, she said: "a boat, just across the bank there. Your archer should be able to run a line so we can draw it across."
She might have been able to summon it, might have been able to coax it to her, but the thought of unfurling her magic in this tainted forest made her feel sick to her stomach. So she watched as an arrow was fired, and the boat carefully towed over. In small groups they crossed, and Holly waited her turn on the bank until she and Sirius were ferried across, somewhere in the middle of the group.
On the far side, there was no difference in the malaise of the forest, and she stood and shivered as she waited for the others to cross. Yet, as the last group was towed over, she heard a thunder of hooves, and Padfoot barked joyfully, rushing out to greet the great white stag that burst out of the bush. Dimly, Holly was aware of the others shouting, but she had run after Sirius, first in worry, and then in joy.
"Prongs," she whispered as the stag slowed to a halt on the path, narrowly missing the dwarf exiting the boat. "Is that you?"
Padfoot was prancing excitedly around the stag's feet, barking joyfully as if he was trying to catch up after years of absence. Half-amazed, Holly reached out hesitantly, and closed her eyes as her fingers touched soft hair. Opening them again, she saw no recognition in the dark, liquid eyes that stared back at her.
This was not her patronus.
This was not James Potter.
"Sirius," she said, voice failing her. She cleared her throat, trying again. "Padfoot, Pads, stop."
He looked up at her and whined, as if to ask her what was wrong.
"It isn't him Pads," she whispered, feeling tears brimming. "It's...he's just a stag."
With a snort that sounded almost like agreement, the stag tossed his antlered head and stepped away from them, trotting off into the woods where he vanished from sight. Sirius started, as if to go after him, but she lunged for him, holding him tight.
He fought her for a moment, and then he stilled, as if realization was sinking in. Sitting down, he tipped his head up to the sky, hidden behind layers of branches, and let out a low, mournful howl that broke Holly's heart.
"Woman!" snapped Oakenshield from where he was bullying the company into moving. "Can't you make him stop that noise? He'll bring the weed-eaters down on us."
"Give him a moment," she snapped, feeling the tears springing to her own eyes and spilling down her face. "Just...give him a moment, and then we'll be able to move on."
They had known, Sirius and herself, that this wasn't the afterlife. That there was no chance of seeing her parents again. Radagast had confirmed that during their first meeting with the eccentric wizard, and all that they had seen and done and heard since confirmed it. Somehow by falling through the Veil, they had left their dimension and entered this one, and the only way that they would be able to see her parents again was if they died. But, seeing this stag...
It had made her hope, just for a moment.
In the midst of this dark forest, with its sickness and stifled air, she had thought she had met Prongs for the first time that she could remember. Sirius had obviously been of the same opinion, even though he had told her that James Potter's animagus form had looked enough like a true stag that he had very nearly been shot by hunters on at least one occasion.
As her tears stopped, Holly found herself flooded with an overwhelming rage.
She hated Voldemort for taking her parents from her. She hated her aunt and uncle for not telling her about them. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Moony...even Snape, for not realizing that she didn't know her parents' stories and taking the time to tell her. She hated Bellatrix for sending them here, and most of all, she just hated this damn, sick forest, and wished that she could rage at the Elvenking who was supposedly responsible for it.
Gritting her teeth, she stood up, and Sirius slowly rose to follow her, his howl having tapered off into silence. Dully, he followed her as she stalked off down the path, dwarves taking a single look at her face and stepping out of her way until she was just behind Oakenshield, who was leading the company.
Bilbo sidled through the group until he was walking next to her, quiet this time instead of filling the still air with stories of the Shire. She took comfort in his presence, and Sirius's apathetic pace beside her worried her, but the rage at the universe as a whole occupied the majority of her thoughts.
When they stopped for the night, Bilbo laid out his bedroll beside the one she shared with Padfoot, and she broke her silence, speaking so low that she saw him lean in to hear her.
"My father was a skinchanger," she said, staring across their camp on the path at Dori, Nori, and Ori settling their bedrolls for the night. "His form was a great stag. At times of great need, his spirit has come to me as a great white stag."
"And you thought it was him," Bilbo said, voice just as soft. "The stag on the path."
"Padfoot more so than I," Holly agreed, gently stroking Sirius's ears as he whined lowly. "I never knew my father; he died when I was one. But Padfoot knew him for many years, and they would run in the forest together."
They sat in quiet for several long moments until Holly said, the words tumbling out of her, just as softly and quietly as her previous comments: "I hate this forest."
Nodding without comment, Bilbo took a sip from the waterskin and passed it to her. After several more minutes, he said, just as softly: "I do not like the howls of wargs on the wind. When I was a child, the Brandywine River froze over, and wolves crossed into the Shire. They were just as hungry as we were, and far more vicious about it. Sometimes, under these trees, I can hear them growling, and, in the distance, the Horn Call of Buckland. If it were not for Gandalf, and the Rangers, many more of us would not have survived."
She didn't have anything to say in response, and she soon laid down in a vain attempt to sleep, only to find no comfort in the darkness. The voice whispered about power, about resurrecting her parents, if only she was strong enough to take it.
No, Holly told it, holding tight to Sirius as she lay in the hateful darkness of the forest. No.
And you will die, the voice crooned. Straight-backed and proud, the way your father died.
No matter how much she shoved it away, it was still there, the echoes of a cruel, high laugh ringing in her ears.
The days bled together after that, and she found herself listening for hooves in the dark shadows under the trees. Sirius seemed only half-aware most days, growling at anyone but Bilbo that got close to her, and shaking with nightmares every evening when they tried to sleep. Food was shorter than ever, and water not far behind, and finally, one day, when they heard the sounds of distant laughter, Bilbo was sent to climb a tree.
As she waited for him to come down, Holly found herself pressing her palms against her ears. She kept hearing whispering: a soft, slippery voice telling her how much easier it would be to just lie down, close her eyes, and sleep. How she could make it so much easier by just...giving up. It would be better the voice hissed, curling around her ears like a snake, if you did not fight so much.
Bow to Death Holly.
When he came down, he was dejected. "I cannot see the end of the forest," he reported dully, much to the dismay of the entire company. At this point, Holly couldn't summon the energy to be dismayed. Only a dull ember remained of her overpowering rage from the day they saw the stag.
Much as they had the past few days, they stopped when it was too dark to see, laying out their bedrolls on the path. The last of their food and water was shared around, Holly splitting her ration with Sirius. None of them spoke of how they would manage the next day, or what would happen if Bilbo's report was in fact the truth. Holly vaguely wondered if she would succumb before Sirius, and make him suffer once more through the death of everyone he held dear, or if she would have to watch him die. Cedric's death had been sudden and violent, not the creeping agony of starvation and dehydration...
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of lights in the forest. The others had seen them too, but before she could gather her wits to warn them, stories of bog lights and will o' the wisps coming to mind, they had taken off in pursuit of the lights. Holly dug her fingers into Sirius's scruff, making certain that he didn't decide to chase after the lights.
She lost track of time as they sat there on the path, listening to the shouts of the others fade, knowing that she should do something, but unable to summon the energy or will to overcome the apathy that overcame her.
A voice came from above her, and she looked up into a strange face. In her arms, Sirius whined, and she felt as if her thoughts were pushing through a fog as she tried to make her mouth move.
"Mum?" she managed, knowing that it wasn't right, that the red wasn't the right shade, and the eyes were all wrong, but it was the only thing that she could manage.
The eyes, brown, not emerald she reminded herself, widened, and then narrowed, the speaker crouching down to look at her. When she spoke again, it was slow, as if she had to think about each word as she strung them in a sentence. "Are you lost?"
Numbly, Holly nodded, the motion making her vision swim. Reluctantly, her fingers loosened on Sirius, but he seemed overcome by the same apathy that was threatening to swallow her whole. He whined again, nudging the stranger with his nose.
The stranger straightened, calling out what sounded like orders in an unfamiliar language, and Holly thought her vision was playing tricks on her as figures melted out of the trees. One of them approached her, and she found herself being picked up as if she weighed nothing. As they began to move away, she realized Sirius was not with her and struggled to reach back for him, hearing his whining grow in pitch and intensity.
"Pa'foo'," she slurred, unable to make her mouth shape the words correctly. "Bring Pa'foo'."
More of that strange language, and she heard Sirius yelp, but another stranger came up beside her, Sirius in their arms. She stretched out a hand towards him, and the stranger carrying her slowed so she could sluggishly twist her fingers in his fur. The familiar feeling settled her, and she felt everything slipping away, the movement rocking her into the darkness that had been threatening to overcome her.
She woke in a dimly lit room, and began to panic, unfamiliar with her surroundings. Shooting upright, Holly blinked her way through the rush of dizziness, desperately looking for Sirius. As her feet hit the floor, she realized that someone had removed her boots, and as she stood, it was apparent that they'd removed her clothes and done their best to wash off weeks of travel grime before putting a thin night dress on her that looked as if it had been meant for someone much taller. Hiking up the trailing skirt with one hand, she used the other to help her keep her balance as she headed for the only door she could see.
As she opened it, she nearly collided with a tall stranger who was carrying a tray. In a movement so fast she nearly missed it, the stranger moved the tray away from danger and caught her, easily supporting her with one hand. "You're not supposed to be awake yet, let alone out of bed," they said, voice strangely accented. "I'm surprised you're even standing."
Heedless of Holly's protests, the stranger steered her back to her bed and pulled the blankets up over her lap, arranging the tray so that Holly could eat and plumping up the pillows to support her. Surveying the tray, Holly saw a thin gruel and a small bowl of some sort of cut fruit. She tried to reach for the fruit first, but the stranger pressed a spoon into her hand and pushed the fruit away. "This first," they said, indicating the gruel, "and if it sits well, you may have the fruit. You're severely undernourished."
"Where's Padfoot?" Holly asked as she obediently ate a spoonful of gruel. "You didn't leave him in the forest did you? It hurts him."
"He's in the kennels with the rest of our hounds," the stranger said as they briskly drew back curtains, letting dim light into the room.
Mulishly, Holly put her spoon down. "I want to see him," she demanded, crossing her arms. "We don't do well apart."
"He's receiving the best care we have, just as you are," the stranger countered. "When you are better, we can talk about a visit to him."
"He's well-trained," Holly said, ignoring the pointed glance at the gruel. "He won't be any trouble if he's here."
"There are no hounds permitted in my healing ward," the stranger said, sounding just as indignant as Madame Pomfrey often managed to be whenever the Twins had sent someone to the Hospital Wing with some strange malady. "If you wish to see him, you will obey my orders and recover."
Holly studied the strange healer for a long moment before sighing and picking up her spoon. Despite the relatively small bowl, she barely managed to finish the portion before her stomach felt overfull, and while she looked wistfully at the bowl of fruit, she sank back into her pillows and pushed the tray away for the healer to take.
"Very good," they said briskly, picking the tray up and moving over to the door. "Now, you try to rest, and I will be back shortly."
The door closed behind them, and Holly contemplated trying to get up and sneak out, but held back. To start with, she wasn't certain if she'd even be able to find the kennels, and then there was the further challenge of simply getting her legs to work. A pitcher of cool water was waiting on a stand next to her bed, with an empty cup, and her arms shook as she poured herself some.
As she sipped at the water, she wondered what had happened to the others. After the sounds of their flight from the road had finished, there had been no sign of them, and while she didn't particularly like most of them, barring Bilbo, Bofur, Oin, and Ori, none of them deserved whatever evil death the forest had to offer them.
After an indeterminate time, when she had finished her water, the door opened again. The healer was back, with another stranger, who looked vaguely uncomfortable as they took a seat on the chair next to her bedside.
"Mae govannen," the stranger said as the healer busied themself at a workbench in the corner. "That is how we say hello in the Woodland Realm."
"Mae govannen," Holly echoed, knowing that she couldn't manage the inflections as properly as she should, but the attempt at least drew a slight smile out of the stranger who she strongly suspected was here to question her.
Hopefully they would be willing to give her information as well.
"My name is Feren," the stranger said. "What is your name?"
"Holly," she said, twisting her fingers in the blankets. "Where am I?"
"You are in the halls of Felegoth, the heart of the Woodland Realm," Feren said, obviously trying to soothe her. She suspected that her age was being underestimated, and scrunched down, trying to look even smaller if she could. It wasn't hard, given how tall both Feren and the healer were. "Where are you from?"
"I lived between the mountains and the forest," she mumbled, glancing around the room. "Me and Padfoot."
She saw Feren glance over towards the healer, likely looking for an explanation. Whether he got one or not was unknown, but he nodded after a moment. "How did you end up in the Woodland Realm Holly?"
"Padfoot and I were traveling to Esgaroth," she said, letting her lip wobble a bit. "We got separated from our companions..."
"Who were your companions?" Feren hurried to ask.
"They were dwarves," she said, as if she was confiding in him. "My uncle helped them out after they lost everything in the mountains, but he wanted them to take me to Esgaroth in return."
"Why Esgaroth?" the healer asked, drifting over. "Do you have family there?"
"I dunno," Holly said, feigning tiredness as she hid her amazement at how easily she was managing to act like Dudley when he wanted something from Aunt Petunia. She was reasonably certain that these were elves, though she'd never met one before. Radagast had mentioned that the Woodland Realm was the elvish realm in Mirkwood. "Maybe? I've never been, and it's been a long, long time."
Both elves looked briefly puzzled, and then the healer seemed to catch on, and patted her hand gently. "I am certain someone will be waiting for a nice young girl like you," they soothed. "Do not worry."
Feren nodded as he caught on. "Do you know why the dwarves were traveling?"
She bit her lip. "They said they were visiting family," she said, remembering muttered conversations about some sort of cousin to the east. "I dunno more than that. They didn't like to talk to me."
The elves exchanged a brief murmur in their own language, and then Feren stood. "I hope you recover well," they said awkwardly before nodding and leaving the room.
"Can I see Padfoot?" Holly asked the healer, deciding to see if her pout gained her any traction on that front.
"Maybe in a few days," the healer hedged. "Do you need to use the toilet?"
As she thought about it, Holly realized she did. Pushing back the covers, she swung her legs over her bed, only to find the healer carefully supporting her.
"I can walk," she said crossly, trying to shake off the firm hands that were guiding her to a curtained alcove she'd ignored earlier.
"For a moment," the healer said, guiding her into the nicest bathing chamber that Holly had seen since the prefect's bathroom during the Triwizard Tournament. The sunken pool, the carved sink with water trickling into it...but she was escorted past them towards a small door, which turned out to be obscuring a toilet. The healer frowned as Holly tried to close the door.
"You have nothing I haven't seen before," the healer said, holding the door open. "And you're still recovering from the worst case of starvation and dehydration I've ever seen."
"All I'm doing is sitting," Holly grumbled, finding that the healer's words didn't do anything to help her sort out elvish gender stereotypes. She thought the healer was female, and that Feren had been male, but the both had somewhat ambiguous androgynous features that made her not willing to make snap judgments.
The healer eventually conceded, and Holly was allowed to close the door and sink down on the toilet in private. She let her head fall into her hands, braced on her knees, and took several deep breaths, the vestiges of the initial panic she had felt upon waking with none of her companions nearby slowly leaving her body. Then she hiked up her long gown and took the opportunity to realize that somehow she'd managed to lose enough weight that you could once more count nearly every rib on her body, and she suspected if she turned around, one could count each knob of her spine.
Knowing that she was probably taking too long, she finished her business and exited, bypassing the healer to wash her hands in the basin against the wall. Drying them on a soft towel, Holly allowed the healer to lead her back to bed and draw up the covers.
She catnapped for the rest of the day until she was woken with another tray of gruel for her supper, and then somehow she slept through the night once more. When she woke, the gray half-light before dawn was peeking out from behind the curtains, and she felt significantly stronger.
When the healer entered, Holly had rolled up the trailing sleeves of her gown, drawn back the curtains, made the bed, and was in the process of deciding whether or not she dared take a bath.
"I see you think you're feeling better," the healer said, setting a tray down on the bedside table. "Let's see how breakfast goes."
"If I eat it all, can I see Padfoot?" Holly asked, picking up the spoon and pulling the bowl closer. She was determined to eat the fruit this time.
"Perhaps a bath first," the healer hedged, and Holly rolled her eyes when their back was turned.
"Are you going to insist that you help?" Holly whined, still privately glad that she'd found a use for all of the times she'd witnessed Dudley manipulating adults. How the elves were still believing that she was young enough for the manipulation to be unconscious, she had no idea, but she suspected that none of them had any experience with humans, given how formal and stilted their language was with her.
"You are not fully well yet," the healer said briskly, mixing up something at their workbench. "I would be neglecting my duties if I were to allow you to take such a risk."
"But I'm a girl."
"And?" The healer glanced over, and then seemed to understand. "Ah. I am Nestrien, which in my language means daughter of healers, as my parents were healers as I am. Have no fear child, you are in no danger from me."
Holly bit her lip, as if she was contemplating this, and then returned to her meal. "Alright I guess. But I want to see Padfoot after."
To her shame, she didn't think to ask after the dwarves until she was in the halls, being accompanied by a clearly uncomfortable Feren. Nestrien wasn't eager to see her leave the sickroom yet, but Holly had pushed her with an impromptu tantrum that had the healer caving reasonably quickly. Sniffling slightly still, she trailed behind Feren in a clean, overlarge dress that had been belted thoroughly with a sash and a long cloak that trailed along the floor behind her like a train.
"What happened to my dwarves?" she asked, realizing that other than Feren's questions the day before, there had been no word of her companions. "Are they okay?"
Feren looked deeply uncomfortable. "They ran afoul of the spiders," he said in his stilted fashion. Holly wanted to ask more, but he quickly headed off her questions by announcing that they were now near the stables and asking if she wanted to see the horses.
She did, of course, missing her companions from Beorn's, and spent a short time greeting every horse in the stables and learning that the elves who tended them were good masters, if not over demonstrative. Then he whisked her off to the kennels, where she picked up her skirts and hurried down the line of kennels, falling to her knees next to the one containing a large black Grim.
"Padfoot," she breathed, pressing herself against the bars. "Padfoot, it's me."
He whined, but didn't turn to look at her.
"You're safe," Holly said, but he didn't move. Looking up at Feren, who had come up behind her with another elf she suspected attended to the hounds, she tugged at the door, unsurprised to find it locked. "Please, please, open it," she begged, fingers clutching at the bars. "Please, he doesn't do well with cages."
Sirius never talked about his time in Azkaban, but Holly remembered how he had looked in the Shack, remembered how he had been when confined to Grimmauld Place, how antsy he got when winter storms trapped them inside for days on end. She heard the elves conversing behind her and kept trying to reach through the bars, frustrated at how short her arm was compared to the depth of the cage.
Feren gently picked her up and moved her aside as the other elf opened the cave, undoing a latch she hadn't noticed, and then she squirmed free, darting into the cage before either could stop her.
"It's me," she whispered, burrowing her face into Sirius's coat. "I'm here, I'm here. You didn't lose me. You're not back in that hellhole again. Please, please." Her voice caught on a sob, and she tangled her fingers in his coat.
She felt him give a heavy sigh, and then his heads craned over. Holly felt a few tears slip through at the look of devastation and disbelief in his eyes as he saw her, but she held her hand out for him to sniff, knowing that her scent would do more to convince him than anything else.
Carefully he sniffed, before practically bowling her over in his attempt to get closer. Holly let him, falling back onto the straw covered floor, hands wrapping around him. He was too thin, like she was, and she vaguely recalled seeing barely touched water and food bowls near the entrance.
"Child," Feren said, stooped awkwardly at the front of the kennel. "Come out of there."
"Not without him," Holly said, tightening her grip on Sirius. "He's perfectly trained, can't he stay with me?"
"A hound in the infirmary?" she heard the keeper mutter.
"He's well trained," she defended as Sirius whined. "He won't be any trouble, I promise!"
The keeper looked torn, but Feren simply looked resigned. "You'll have to convince Nestrien of this course, but I dare not separate you if what I have seen is any indication."
Slowly, she and Sirius emerged from the cage, and obediently followed Feren back to the sickroom she'd been occupying. Mostly she tuned out his conversation with the healer, sitting on her bed and stroking Sirius's soft ears.
It reminded her of being in the Hospital Wing after the Third Task. Her arm ached in sympathy from where Wormtail had taken her blood, her leg twinged where the Acromantula had gotten it. Holly found herself clutching Sirius tighter in an attempt to separate herself from the memories of that night.
She hadn't been able to hold on to Sirius that night. That was the difference.
"Are you cold child?" Nestrien's voice broke through her thoughts, and Holly looked up, puzzled.
"You're shivering," the healer said, tugging a blanket up over her shoulders absently. "Have you taken ill? I knew I shouldn't have let you out of the halls..."
A cool hand against her forehead made her flinch, and Holly very nearly scuttled out of reach, which would have sent her toppling to the floor since the bed wasn't wide enough to put enough distance between her and the healer. Nestrien's only response was to purse her lips in thought. "You have taken ill," she declared, glancing down at Sirius, who had sunk down onto the floor next to the bed. "This was an ill-advised trip."
"No, he's better here," Holly said, scooting so that she could reach down, her fingers barely brushing Sirius's fur. "We're better together." It was true. She couldn't hear the voice that had been plaguing her since the river, and Sirius's presence helped drive the memory of it further and further away.
Nestrien looked doubtful, but Sirius let out a great sigh before tucking himself neatly under the bed, as if to show how he'd be out of the way. Holly let her arm hang down so he could smell her, and his wet nose brushed the inside of her wrist.
"Very well then," the healer said sternly, and Holly couldn't help but think she sounded like Professor McGonagall. "But one incident, just one! And he goes back to the kennels."
It was about two weeks, by Holly's reckoning, when Nestrien set her free from the infirmary. In that time, Feren had visited twice, and she'd managed to worm only a smidgen of information out of him: Thorin's Company was ensconced in the prison cells after a run-in with some spiders, which nobody would explain about, and nobody had ever heard of Bilbo.
Immediately after she was set free, Holly found herself presented with a clean dress, clearly rapidly taken up at the hem, and her boots, cleaned of forest grime for the first time since she'd left Beorn's. Dressing quickly after a rushed bath, she found a redheaded guard waiting for her, and squinted. The elf turned, and the hazy memory came back. "You found me in the forest," Holly blurted, and then slapped her free hand over her mouth. Sirius whuffed in amusement from where he was standing next to her, his head pressed up against her other hand for mutual comfort. "I mean, thank you, and I'm sorry for not making sense..."
"It is nothing," the guard said lightly, stepping away from the wall. "I was patrolling, as was my duty. You were very ill when we came across you."
"Thank you," Holly repeated, feeling as if the words were inadequate. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name?"
"I am Tauriel, one of the Captains of the Guard," the elf said, gesturing for Holly to follow her. "King Thranduil wishes to speak with you."
"Oh," Holly murmured, twisting her fingers in Sirius's fur. She'd heard of the Elfking from Beorn, who said that he was less wise than such revered elves as Elrond of Imladris, but less mystical than Galadriel of Lothlorien. Radagast had said that Thranduil was a good king, but insular, looking only to the defense of his woods and his people.
What Thorin and his companions had said about the Elfking was hardly complimentary and likely incredibly biased.
Wordlessly, she followed Tauriel through the well-carved halls of Felegoth, taking in the craftsmanship apparent in every arch and beam. She was led into a wide open room, with a throne perched well above it, forcing her to look up to see the elf seated on the throne. She had a momentary thought that he looked like Lucius Malfoy, and pushed it away before she could grin. His hair was a pale blond that bordered on silver, unlike the pure white-blond that Malfoy had borne, and Malfoy would not have chosen to adorn himself with a crown of autumn berries and leaves. Though, Holly allowed herself to reflect, even Malfoy would envy the grace with which Thranduil lounged upon the throne, his silver-gray robes draped with careless ease.
"Hail King Thranduil," Holly said as she curtseyed as best as she could, and was proud that she did not wobble. "Thank you for your hospitality and kindness."
"My Captain tells me that you come from the lands between the Hithaeglir and Eryn Galen," Thranduil said impassively, looking down at her. "Is this true?"
"I come from the lands of Beorn the Shapechanger," Holly said promptly. "I have met Radagast the Brown, who might be willing to vouch for me if needed."
"Beorn the Shapechanger is known to us," Thranduil said, picking up a silver goblet dismissively. "But his lands are far from our borders. What brings you to the heart of the Woodland Realm?"
"I am mortal, your majesty, and my youth passes quickly," Holly said, bowing her head and tightening her fingers in Sirius's fur as he shifted warily. "There are none near our lands who I would take as a companion, but Esgaroth is not so far as to be unreachable. When Beorn came upon a group of travelers who intended to take the old Forest Road, he traded provisions and shelter for safe passage for me along with them. He is not one to leave his lands, and my solitude concerned him."
"You speak of Thorin Oakenshield," the king said, exchanging glances with someone who must have entered the throne room behind her. "And his company of dwarves."
"I have never met a dwarf before, but Thorin and his companions have been honorable in our acquaintance," Holly said, casting her eyes down.
"Honorable," Thranduil spoke the word as if it was poison. "Tell me, what reason did Oakenshield give for his journey?"
"There is a cousin to the east of Esgaroth that they intended to visit," Holly said, fighting to suppress a shrug. "From what little I gathered from their conversation, much had gone astray on their journey from their home, and they had not intended to take the old Forest Road but for the need to be there before a celebration of their people. There was not time to take the safer routes to the south, or the dubious route to the north."
"Is that so?" the Elfking drew out the words dubiously, but Holly didn't fall for it, only nodded. She had no idea what the Company was really after, though Erebor had come up several times, only for the speaker to be hushed.
Silence hung between them for a long moment, and then the Elfking sighed. "Very well then. I will have one of my patrols escort you to Esgaroth after the upcoming festivities."
"And what of my companions?" Holly dared, even as Sirius shifted next to her. "They are a rough sort, but they gave their word to escort me. I would not have them be judged honorless because we encountered unexpected difficulties on the road. Beorn is not predisposed to look kindly on dwarves, but I would not have all of their kind tarred by this."
Thranduil sighed heavily, an elegant frown on his face. "You speak a great deal of the honor of dwarves," he said contemptuously, "but I will allow them to depart with you, only so that it cannot be said that I played a role in their own dishonor. They are quite capable of doing that themselves. But they are not to set foot in my lands again, under penalty of death, and I will make that quite clear to them."
"You are most gracious, your majesty," Holly said, curtsying again, as deeply as she could manage. "Your kindness is unparalleled."
"My son will escort you to the room in which you will stay until your departure," Thranduil beckoned lazily, and Holly turned to see an elf step forward from the doorway, one who closely resembled the Elfking. Curtsying once more, Holly turned to follow the prince, Sirius at her side, and she thought that red-headed Tauriel was following them as well.
The prince said very little as they moved through the kingdom, inclining his head politely in acknowledgment of the bows of those that they passed. Holly quickly gave up on trying to keep track of which way they were going, hoping that Sirius or an escort could get her from place to place.
"Your rooms are here," the prince said stiffly, stopping outside of a door in what seemed to be a quieter part of the kingdom. "I hope they are to your liking."
"Thank you, your highness," Holly murmured, bobbing a curtsy to him as he opened the door. She stepped through carefully, Sirius at her side, and nearly stopped in amazement.
The room was clearly not standard guest quarters, considering that it seemed to be a suite. She was standing in a spacious living area complete with a small dining table and a hearth around which a settee and armchairs were set invitingly. She suspected that if she took off her boots, the rug in front of the hearth would be soft and luxurious under her feet, and Sirius would likely be spending several hours sleeping there.
"The garden is quite private," the prince said, gesturing at one of the doors, the one set between two windows that were letting in the morning light. "It was assumed that your hound would need easy access to the outdoors."
Touched by his courtesy, Holly curtsied again. "Thank you, your Highness, that was quite thoughtful. I'm sure Padfoot will be very appreciative."
"Your meals will be brought to you, as well as anything else you might ask for," the prince said brusquely, but Holly could have sworn that she saw a light dusting of pink on his cheekbones as he turned away. "There is a bell pull near the hearth that will summon a servant if you have need of one."
Without another word, he closed her door and walked off, leaving Holly alone with Padfoot. Feeling a bit weak in the knees, she sunk into the settee, absentmindedly rubbing Padfoot's ears as he lowered himself onto the rug with a pleased grunt.
"We've certainly gotten ourselves into something, eh?" she murmured, watching the flames dance in the hearth. Sirius whuffed in reply before settling himself more comfortably, and Holly tucked her legs up under her, planning on just resting for a bit, as her eyes closed without her permission...
She woke to a polite rap at the door, and Sirius's startled growl, and as the door opened, she scrambled to sit up, brushing helplessly at the wrinkles in her dress.
An elf maid, or at least she thought it was an elf maid, entered, bearing a delicious smelling tray, which she set on the dining table. With brisk, efficient movements, she set out several dishes, ended with a dish placed on the floor, clearly for Padfoot. A gesture made it clear that Holly was expected to take her seat at the table, so she rose and shuffled awkwardly to her place.
Much to her surprise, there was a lovely salad of mixed greens, a delicious smelling mushroom soup, and a dish of mixed berries sweetened with honey. It was a far cry from the infirmary food she'd been consuming, though the portions were still fairly small. Seemingly satisfied, the servant left, indicating with a gesture that Holly was to pull on the bell if she needed anything.
Investigating the pitcher that had been left on the table, Holly found clear water, as cool as if it had been drawn from a well moments before. Pouring herself a goblet, she glanced over the dishes, wondering where she wanted to start.
"That looks rather good," a voice said, and she startled, Padfoot's head snapping up from his own plate with a growl. A moment later and a weary looking Bilbo shimmered into view, tucking something into his trouser pockets. Confused, but willing to go along with it for now, Holly indicated the other chair.
"We can certainly split it," she said, pushing the basket of bread rolls that had been next to the pitcher, and the fruit bowl, towards the hobbit. After a moment's thought, she shoved the berries over as well, and the hobbit only hesitated a moment before seating himself and reaching for a roll.
"This is far better than where the others are," he said after a mouthful of berries. Holly frowned, but finished the spoonful of soup she'd lifted to her mouth before replying.
"I heard they were in prison."
"They are, and quite unhappy about it too," Bilbo said nonchalantly, as if they were at one of his teas in the Shire. "But they're being fed, even if it's mostly bread and dried meat, and there's water aplenty. Even Thorin's conceded that Thranduil isn't a cruel gaoler."
"He's going to let them go soon," Holly confided, causing Bilbo to splutter on his next spoonful of berries. "I told him that they were escorting me to Esgaroth, and that it would be a shame if their honor was ruined because of a little forest incident."
"Well then," Bilbo cried softly, glancing at the door. "That's fine news indeed! I've been searching all over for a way out of this place, but haven't found anything."
"The king wasn't very pleased, but he conceded," Holly added conspiratorially. "But a group of guards will escort us, and I've no doubt they'll be watching."
Bilbo worried at his lip as he buttered a roll. "They won't like that at all," he murmured with a frown. "But it's far better than anything I've come up with. When is this to take place?"
"After a celebration," Holly said with a shrug, finishing her soup and pulling the salad close to her. "I don't know when that will be though."
"Not for a few days I think," Bilbo said, finishing his roll and the berries and looking longingly at the fruit, but not touching it. "Maybe a week?"
"Oh dear," Holly said, and Sirius huffed in amusement from next to the table where he was finishing his bowl. "They're going to be very pleased about that."
The hobbit snorted, and pushed away from the table. "They're not guarding your door, so I'll slip out before anyone comes back," he said, rearranging the dishes the way the servant had set them up. "Look for me at breakfast tomorrow, once I've had a chance to pass the word. Maybe they'll stop trying to dig an escape tunnel or whatever madness they're up to now."
After Bilbo's departure, Holly explored her suite. The inner door led to an equally spacious bedroom, with a large four poster bed that looked incredibly soft and comfortable. There was a small wash chamber adjacent to it, with a steaming natural pool that made Holly contemplate taking a bath right then and there.
The gardens, as promised, were empty of any other visitors, and Sirius trotted through the paths, passing in and out of the bushes as Holly meandered behind him, taking in the late autumn sun. Her pack had been waiting in the bedroom, along with her staff, to her great relief, and she had done a quick inventory to make sure that nothing had been taken. Certainly someone had rifled through it, but nothing was missing, just out of place.
A different servant brought her supper, just as silent as the other one had been, and Holly found herself with nothing better to do than take her bath and retire early. After a quick scrub in the basin to get the most of the dirt off, she sunk happily into the spring to let herself soak until she felt positively like an overlarge prune. Then, she let her hair out of its braids and washed it until her scalp tingled. Clean, happy, and dressed in a soft white shift, she crawled beneath the covers of the big bed, feeling it sink slightly as Padfoot settled in by her feet.
In the morning, she was awoken by the first rays of dawn filtering in through the windows, since she'd forgotten to draw the curtains. Feeling well rested, she slid out of bed and dressed quickly, Padfoot lifting his head lazily to watch her go. Holly found herself out in the dew-touched gardens, taking joy in the feel of damp grass under her feet and the chilly touch of autumn sun on her face as she walked barefoot among the wilderness garden that had been so carefully crafted.
The servant who brought her breakfast was maddeningly silent, even as Holly tried speaking with him, but Bilbo was there, and they split her breakfast as he filled her in on the dwarves' reactions to her news. Unsurprisingly there had been a lot of shouting, but even the surliest of them had admitted that it was better they go freely than be pursued.
Bilbo left with the servant who came to clear away the breakfast things, leaving Holly feeling at loose ends. She mended what had been damaged in her travels, but that only took her to mid-afternoon. Boredom brought her out into the garden again, and she sat and combed out her hair as Padfoot rested on the grass beside her.
"Goheno nin," a voice said, and Holly startled and looked up to see the prince coming around a bend, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
"I apologize for intruding," he said after a moment, as if the words were strange on his tongue. "I did not think that you would be here."
"I'm used to being outside at home," she said, reaching out to soothe Padfoot, who had startled just as badly as she had. "And I have rested enough the last few weeks that I refuse to rest more."
"I will leave you to enjoy the gardens then," the prince said, turning to leave, and Holly couldn't help but call out:
"Wait, please!" As he stopped, she added hurriedly: "Your Highness. Please, why do none of the servants speak to me? Have I done something wrong?"
"Oh no," he said shaking his head firmly. "There are few in this kingdom who speak Westron these days. The border guards do, as do my father and myself, but most have not had any need of it, and few leave our borders. If you speak to them in Sindarin, they will speak back."
"I'm afraid I don't know any," Holly said, glancing down at the comb in her lap. Sirius had carved it for her, the handle shaped to resemble a stag's antlers in subtle reference to her father, from whom she'd inherited the Potter hair.
The prince frowned slightly. "I had forgotten that this is your first time meeting any of the people of the Woodland Realm. My apologies, my lady."
"I'm no lady," Holly said, shoving Sirius when he whuffed out a snort. "My name is Holly, your Highness."
"And I am Legolas," he said, doing a formal looking gesture and bow. "While I cannot help with the language barrier, is there anything else I might do to help ease your stay?"
"Are there books I could read?" Holly asked, knowing that Ron and Hermione wouldn't believe her if they'd heard. But five years without a book beyond what she could trade for on their scant trading trips made her thirst for the expansive libraries she'd known in her original world.
The prince hid his surprise poorly, and Holly bristled. "I can read," she said, frowning at him. "Humans aren't animals."
"I meant no offense," he hurried to said, bowing politely to her. "My only experience with edain is those of Esgaroth, and unfortunately few there learn beyond their letters and what is needed for trade. It was different in the days of Dale, but everything east of our lands has fallen upon hard times."
"Since the dragon came," Holly said softly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes to see his reaction. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he looked away.
"Aye," he said softly, looking to the east. "Since the dragon Smaug came and laid waste to the City of Bells."
"Tell me of it?" Holly asked softly, and then realized what an imposition it would be. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume upon your time. You must be very busy."
"I have the time," he said, and carefully seated himself on the grass nearby. "There is little for a prince to do in these days but guard our borders, and I have only just returned. I am not due to ride out for a fortnight at least, and preparations for the Mereth Nuin Giliath are well underway without need of my assistance."
Quietly he spoke of a city founded in a valley created by a bend in the Celeduin, or River Running. The center of all trade in the north, since goods flowed up and down the river: precious stones and metalwork from the kingdom of Erebor, fine silks and spices from the south, the rich wines of Dorwinion, even the fine leatherwork and smoked meats from the Woodland Realm. Dale itself fed much of the surrounding countryside with its rich river farms, and the fish caught in the Long Lake.
"On clear days, the bells could be heard in these halls," Legolas said wistfully. "Their sweet music was like the running of clear waters and the singing of forest streams. The largest bells, they said, sang like the waves upon the shore of the sea, though I have not ventured there, and cannot say if it is true."
He spoke of a merry town where toys for children were crafted and traded, the creations of skilled men and dwarves alike. "There was a contraption in one of the city's lawns," the prince recalled, fingers brushing idly in the grass, "some type of suspended swing. The swings themselves were all marvelously crafted animals, and the laughter of children could be heard as they spun round and round."
To her surprise, he continued until dusk was falling over the garden, and Holly shivered with the onset of night's chill. Courteously, he helped her to her feet and escorted her to the door of her rooms. After an afternoon of conversation and stories, she did not mind the silence, and that night she dreamed of laughter and bells.
The voice had been strangely silent since she'd woken in the infirmary, but Holly felt as if she could feel it, lurking on the borders of her mind as if waiting for her to leave the safety of whatever enchantments lay upon Felegoth. Yet the absence of its cruel tempting, the echo of Voldemort's laugh, was such a relief that she couldn't bring herself to think beyond the borders of her existence at the moment.
Bilbo came with breakfast the next morning, and this time he stayed until lunch, taking advantage of her private bathroom to wash and take a brief nap on her settee while she kept watch for him. Padfoot was still struggling to hear the elves as they came, but he was getting better and better and catching the moments of tell-tale sounds that most of the servants weren't able to avoid wholly, enough to give Bilbo enough time to work whatever magic was keeping him from sight.
After lunch, Holly returned to the gardens, and sometime in mid-afternoon, the prince returned, meeting her on one of the winding paths. Instead of stopping to talk with her, he fell into step beside her, telling her about the gardens and the plants included.
"These are for our most distinguished guests, as the gardens are adjacent and shared with the Royal Family's gardens," Legolas told her as they stopped to examine a beautiful climbing rose, still heavy with blossoms despite the waning of the year. "They are rarely used, so I have become accustomed to having them to myself, as the gardeners often enter late at night or before the dawn to ensure guests have full enjoyment without need of disturbance."
"I shouldn't be here then," Holly said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. "I'm nobody, really."
"Your hound does far better when he is with you, and none of the other guest accommodations would have made that easy," Legolas said gently, watching as Padfoot stopped to investigate a section of the encircling hedge. "You have not displaced any other guests, as we have none this season. These rooms were intended to be used, and it is a shame that they have not been."
The next day, the redheaded guard was with him, and the three of them sat in the open area beyond her door and spoke lightly of the forest, and the upcoming festival. Holly learned that it was the Feast of Starlight, intended to celebrate the harvest and anticipate the clear starry nights of the coming winter. From Tauriel, Holly had confirmation that Bilbo's reports of Kili's flirting with the redhead were in fact truth, though Bilbo was clearly unaware that the young dwarf's flirting was not entirely unappreciated.
"We will lead the patrol that sees you to Esgaroth," Tauriel told her, indicating both herself and the prince. "We are often the ones to deal with the bargemen, and they will recognize us."
"What is Esgaroth like?" Holly asked, since Bilbo had reported none of the dwarves had any recent information on the lake town that was relevant after the dragon's arrival.
"It is very poor, even for a city of men," Legolas said carefully. "They do what they can, but there is little trade this far north in recent memory. Most fish to feed their families, and what excess there is trades for what cannot be obtained locally."
"The Master of Esgaroth is a cruel man," Tauriel said lowly, eyes flashing with irritation as her lips tightened. "The bargemen speak of him with fear and scorn; the taxes he levies they say to be too high. None can leave, because to do so requires more than they have available. They say he feasts the raft-elves of our realm while children starve in his streets."
"Tauriel," Legolas said softly, and she subsided, but was clearly still upset at the mention of the man. Holly, for her part, found herself thinking of Fudge, for the first time in many years. If it became known who she was traveling with, she suspected he would either drive the dwarves out of town, or attempt to drain the treasury of Erebor in return for whatever hospitality he offered them.
"I have no immediate family in Esgaroth," Holly said, watching the two elves from beneath her eyelashes. "Beorn had hoped that I would find a companion to share my days with there, as none of those nearest us would suit. But I find that your words do not inspire hope."
"There are still those in Esgaroth that are honorable," Legolas assured her, though she thought she could see unhappiness flash across his face. "In truth, it is called Lake-town, as Esgaroth proper was set aflame by the dragon when he descended. Lake-town houses those who survived the sack of Dale and of Esgaroth alike, and while those of Esgaroth were a fair people, it was those of Dale who were greater. Some of that people yet dwell on those shores, and even the line of Girion prevails."
"Girion?" Tauriel said, glancing at her prince. "I had thought he perished in the flames of Dale?"
"He did, trying to bring down the dragon with a Black Arrow," Legolas said, bowing his head in a moment of tribute to the fallen lord, "but his wife and child led the survivors down the Celeduin to Esgaroth. That child grew, and beget a child of his own. You have met him: Bard, whom the men call the Bowman."
Tauriel's face cleared rapidly, and she nodded. "He is a good man," she informed Holly. "His son Bain is not much younger than you, if I measure the years to be right. I met the lad when his father took him hunting on our shores last autumn and our paths crossed. Seek him out, and he will aid you."
"And if you find no companion there and wish to return to your lands, I will come to the forest's edge where we will part in a few days when the spring leaves appear on the trees," Legolas said softly, drawing a glance from Tauriel. Clearly this hadn't been discussed. "If you wish to return to your home, I will see you safely through the forest and to the lands protected by the Skinchanger."
"You are very kind," Holly murmured, a lump in her throat. The forest had consumed her so much so that she'd nearly forgotten that her journey's end was nearly upon them. Esgaroth, or Lake-town, and hopefully someone who she might be inclined to marry.
What need have you of a husband, the voice in her head sneered, the protective magics of Felegoth seeming to falter. You are far greater than any that you may find in that snivelling town of cruel existence.
Shut up, she thought fiercely, glad that Tauriel and Legolas had broken into a flurry of conversation between themselves for a moment and forgotten her. A simple life is no hardship or burden.
The voice said nothing, but she could feel it sneering at her.
NOTES:
Goheno nin: forgive me (S)