Chapter Nine

Troubled Minds

Saf hated running.

Not because she wasn't good at it; Valar forbid that, after she had spent most of her life on the run. But it was that precise reason why she hated the activity in the first place.

In this particular situation, however, Saf was quite content to flee as the howls of the wargs drew nearer, and by the snarls and awful barking she could hear, she judged there to be about a dozen or so of the creatures – and that was excluding the orc riders upon their backs.

"Quickly!" Gandalf said, gesturing the Company after him as they sprinted across a fair golden plain, dotted here and there with large grey boulders that would provide sufficient enough cover for them, so long as they weren't seen or smelled.

This last part, of course, was all determinant on whether Radagast could successfully maneuver the orc pack away from the Company long enough for them to seek refuge…somewhere.

They came to a sudden halt behind one of the large boulders peppering the landscape, Gandalf holding his hand up to signal them to stop as thundering footfalls and vicious snarls could be heard, much closer than before.

Saf held her breath, flattening her back as close as possible to the rock and clutching her sword tightly in her hand as the orc pack raced by with Radagast leading in front on his rabbit-drawn sleigh. The pack was far too close for comfort for Saf, and she only breathed again when the last of the riders bounded after the Brown Wizard; she had not seen orcs or wargs for some years now, and she was not too keen on meeting any again, remembering only too well their rancid stench and gruesome intentions.

"Come!" Gandalf said.

Too soon, they had to take cover behind another boulder as Radagast whizzed past again, shouting challenges and insults at the pack as they pursued their target.

There was a sudden gasp from the front of the Company, and Saf looked quickly to see Ori lose his balance and stumble forward, out from behind the cover of the rock, just as the pack was passing.

"Ori, no!" Thorin hissed, grabbing the younger dwarf by the back of his tunic and yanking him back under the relative protection of their boulder.

Saf swallowed, waiting for the pack to come charging at them after Ori's slip-up, but fortunately, their growls were fading away slightly, and she switched her sword to her other hand, flexing her fingers after how tightly she had been holding it.

"Where are you leading us?" Thorin demanded of Gandalf, glaring at the wizard as he pretended not to listen, instead only gesturing them after him with another wave of his hand.

Saf heard Thorin's teeth gnash together with an audible click after the wizard's avoidance, but he ran after them all the same as they continued their mad dash across the plains.

Saf found herself staring hard at Thorin's back as they ran, his earlier accusations from the trolls' forest still bouncing around in her skull despite their harrowing predicament.

She was obviously quite miffed and angered by his insinuations of her betrayal, but all of that was currently being quelled by a new thought that was coming to the forefront of her mind.

First, there were the Watchers who had attacked Archet, and then the two she had seen patrolling the Great East Road the night before, and now, orcs and wargs were hunting the Company. Somehow, Saf knew these events had to be connected, but how? The Watchers were for her, she presumed, but the orc pack, and Thorin's Company? There was something at play here, two different forces vying for the same position, yet it was impossible for her to put a finger on why.

"Thorin!" Fíli's panicked voice called, and Saf glanced over her shoulder to see the blond prince pointing at something in the distance. "We've been spotted!"

Saf's heart dipped in her chest, and she whipped her head around to see a warg bearing down on them from across the plain, a huge, nasty brute of an orc snarling upon its back as they ran down the Company.

"Faster!" Thorin ordered, and they obeyed, Saf feeling as if her legs were flying as she flat-out sprinted to the boulder Gandalf and Thorin were leading them to.

They reached the rock just as the ground began vibrating from the heavy footfalls of the warg, and Saf practically threw herself against the stone, her lungs burning intensely and her muscles shaking from exertion as she gripped her sword more securely in her sweaty hand, praying she wouldn't drop it and accidentally impale herself upon it the next time they ran.

The Company pressed themselves against the boulder, scarcely breathing as there was the sudden sound of claws scrabbling on stone as the warg hauled itself atop the boulder above them, growling low as the orc sniffed loudly, trying to catch their scent.

There was a movement from Saf's left. Thorin gestured with his head to Kíli, then his bow.

From next to Saf, the younger prince nodded in confirmation before pulling an arrow from his quiver slowly. He notched it to his string with a deep, slow breath, before propelling himself off the boulder and taking aim at the orc above.

He let the arrow fly, and it sank into the orc's shoulder as the beast let out a bellowing roar, sending itself and its warg tumbling to the ground at their feet as Kíli nocked another arrow.

The orc got to its feet and charged at Kíli, raising a massive machete before Dwalin stepped in front of it and swung his axes, the orc's head decapitating as easily as butter and sending a spurt of black blood into the air that splattered across Saf's chest and most of the others in the vicinity.

"Ugh, really?" Saf grumbled, ignoring the stench and raising her sword to help with the warg as Bifur and Thorin both engaged it.

The screech of weapons and the warg's snarls were a cacophony of noise, and Saf knew they had alerted the rest of the pack as more howls drew closer. Cursing, she nimbly dodged both Bifur and Thorin, slicing her blade across the warg's muzzle before plunging the tip of her sword into its neck as it reared back, exposing its throat.

It died with a disgusting gurgle, and Saf turned back to the Company, flinging blood off her sword as she yelled, "The rest are coming! Run!"

There was no need to tell them twice. The Company took off again across the plains, and Saf fell into step behind them after exchanging an unreadable glance with Thorin, who ran ahead of her before she could say anything.

They dashed across the plains, the pack hot on their heels, and Saf chanced a glance over her shoulder to see them gaining, the lead orc close enough to where she could see its disgusting leer as its warg pounded over the grass. She chanced another look and realized that the pack had split up, and now they were approaching on both of their flanks, effectively cutting off their access for escape.

"We're surrounded!" Dori cried, and the Company came to a stop in front of a large spire of rock that jutted from the landscape, unsheathing weapons and forming a perimeter as if on some silent command.

Saf slipped into a place in between Ori and Kíli, standing close, but not overly so in the need of a fight – for she realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that there was no way they could get out of this unscathed.

They watched the pack slink closer, their circle tightening around the Company as they sat, penned like animals before the massive rock and the pack closing in on them.

Saf didn't think the situation could get any worse, as she quickly counted their odds – thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard, and herself against a dozen orc riders and their wargs – but she was terribly mistaken, for just then Fíli cried out, "Where is Gandalf?"

Sparing a few seconds to look away from the orc and its warg that were prowling her down, she turned her head and scanned the Company quickly, realizing with a sickening shock that the Grey Wizard was nowhere to be found.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin growled, and though Saf didn't want to believe it, she had to accept the truth – Gandalf was gone.

Gritting her teeth, Saf turned back to the orc before her and twirled her blade menacingly, which only made the creature leer at her, its slimy black tongue poking forth to circle tauntingly around its scabbed lips, its cruel yellow eyes boring into her with the promise of violence as she stared back, undaunted.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin's voice roared from behind her. "Kíli, shoot them! Now!"

Kíli obeyed, notching an arrow and firing it into the orc ranks, catching one in the throat and sending it sliding to the ground, dead, as its warg yapped, confused.

The orc that had been prowling closer was nearly upon them. Ori used his slingshot to fire a stone at the warg, but it bounced harmlessly off its snout and only caused it to snarl, creeping closer as the orc hissed out a rusty laugh.

"Behind me, Ori," Saf said, and though the dwarf gave her a surprised look, he heeded her order as she raised her sword, sending a silent challenge to the orc as the pack around them leaped, engaging the Company on all fronts as weapons clashed and terrible cries and yells rent the air.

The orc facing her leered again, raising its crude spear, before suddenly turning and charging for Kíli, his unprotected back facing the orc while he continued to shoot at the attacking swarm of wargs and their riders.

"Kíli!" Saf cried, throwing herself forward as the orc charged atop its warg, and Kíli turned quickly, notching another arrow, but Saf knew he would be too late.

With a gasp, she hurled herself in front of the warg and slashed her blade up, catching the orc off-guard as she went under its spear and sliced across its gut, hearing it shriek as its intestines bloomed from the open wound with a cascade of oily blood.

Saf had no time to watch the orc die, though, for just then an exploding pain ripped up her sword arm as the warg clamped down on her forearm, its canines piercing her flesh as she cried out, dropping her sword.

The warg bit deeper, and Saf reacted instinctively, knowing that if she didn't stop it, the warg would do serious damage to her muscles and nerves – if it didn't decide to rip her arm off entirely first.

Grabbing for a dagger at her waist with her free hand, she stabbed the blade up and plunged it into the side of the creature's neck, twisting it sharply so the warg let go with a pained yelp.

She ripped her arm free of its jaws and fell back just as an arrow pierced through its eye and it fell, dead, at her feet.

"Saf, are you all right?" Kíli yelled, sprinting over to her as she clutched her arm, hissing in air through clenched teeth as blood began to soak the grass beneath her.

"I've been better," she grunted, flexing her fingers and finding to her relief that, despite being excruciatingly painful, all her muscles and nerves seemed to be performing functionally.

Kíli had no time to answer, for just then a thundering voice that was unmistakably Gandalf's bellowed, "This way, you fools!"

They both whirled to Gandalf standing at the spire of rock, and they watched in bewilderment as Bilbo descended into some sort of hole beneath the wizard, the Company following closely behind.

"Do you need help?" Kíli asked, and she shook her head as she got to her feet, wincing from the pain lancing up her arm.

"I can manage a short sprint," she said. "But if you could be a gentleman and get the lady's sword…?"

She gestured to Adûnabel, lying forgotten in the grass, and Kíli nodded quickly, scooping it up as the pack gave pursuit to the Company, and Saf figured they wouldn't have much time before they turned on them as the stragglers.

"We need to go," she said, and he nodded again, handing over her sword, which she took in her uninjured hand, wondering if she would even have the strength to use it; she was losing blood, and fast.

"Come," Kíli said, and they began to run for the spire of rock, Saf half-jogging, half-stumbling as they went, her leaden arm throwing her off-balance as blood continued to trickle down her fingertips.

They weren't even halfway there before the pack slowly began to turn in their direction, no doubt having smelled the stench of blood, and she realized with a start that there was no way they were going to make it before they were overrun.

"Kíli," Saf said breathlessly. "Go on without me."

"What?" he hissed as he traded his bow for his sword, watching the pack close in around them.

"I'm only slowing you down," she insisted, ignoring the dark glare he sent in her direction. "You can make it to the rock without me; go to your kin. They need you."

"If you think for a second that I'm leaving you to get torn apart by orcs, then you are horribly mistaken," he growled, brandishing his sword as the first warg neared, and Saf shook her head in frustration.

"So the Valar help me—" she snapped, but the rest of her sentence was cut off as suddenly a clear, piercing horn sounded in the air, echoing in the valley around them.

The pack stopped, orcs and wargs turning about, trying to determine where the sound was coming from, and Saf felt her blood chill as the horn sounded again.

"What in Durin's name…" Kíli muttered, looking around wildly, and Saf used this opportunity to shove the prince in front of her, cradling her bleeding arm to her chest as he looked back at her in shock and anger.

"Go," she grunted as thundering hoof beats began to quake the ground beneath them. "I will be safe."

"Saf—" Kíli protested, but his voice died in his throat when about two dozen white horses came charging up the ridge of the valley, each equine carrying a silver-armored figure armed with swords, bows, and spears as they rode for the orc pack.

The orcs broke ranks immediately, squawking in fear and spurring their wargs away from the charging cavalry as they began to slay the beasts.

"Kíli, go now!" Saf yelled over the sudden sounds of battle, and she snarled when the prince still hesitated. Her head was beginning to swim and her knees shook with the strain of holding her up, and she knew that she did not have the time for this.

"Please," she said, resorting to her last method as she sank to her knees, her vision going black around the edges, though she held Kíli's panicked and conflicted gaze. "Please, go."

After what felt like a century, Kíli finally yelled out a curse and turned away, and over the ringing in her ears, Saf thought she heard him say, "Don't you dare die on me!" before he was gone.

Saf held her arm tighter to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to clear the fogginess out of her head, but it was no use; she was slipping into unconsciousness, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The last thing she was aware of was a pair of strong arms wrapping around her chest before she was pulled up and away into darkness.

TA 2930

She slipped quietly through the dark, winding streets of Minas Tirith, keeping her head low beneath her hood and her footsteps quick as she hugged the walls of the buildings hedging her on either side.

For the City of Kings, one would imagine the place to be nigh impenetrable, but all it had taken Saf was a few coins and a silk caravan and she was in – though where she was to go from here, she had no idea.

She had spent the last thirty-five years roaming the vast lands of Eriador and had finally decided to move on from the small villages and wilderness she was inclined to inhabit and take a chance with arguably the most powerful city in the realm, despite no king having been crowned for many years.

Here also was her legacy, she presumed, but that was another matter entirely that she did not want to deal with. So her strategy so far was to keep low and stay out of things that didn't concern her until she could find a room and perhaps a job, depending on how long she wanted to stay for.

Of course, staying low was an option fortune never kindly bestowed on her, so it was only with some small degree of surprise and a majority of resignation that she felt when a rough hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder and shoved her up against the wall, her cheek chafing on the stone as she reached for the dagger at her belt before that hand was pinned, as well.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that pushing ladies up against walls in the dead of night was something decent humans never did?" she asked, her voice muffled by the wall, but the hand spun her around before pushing her back against the stone, the fingers pressed up beneath her jaw now.

Oddly, her attacker was not cloaked in the slightest as she was brought face-to-face with him, and Saf wondered if he was so arrogant to think he didn't need to hide behind anything as she studied his features quickly.

She deemed her notion of arrogance correct in less than a second, taking in the man's confident smirk and cold green eyes, sparking with a hint of mirth. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw, complete with sweeping dark hair that fell over the pale skin of his forehead.

"Ladies I have the utmost respect for," he replied easily, his voice slow and smooth, like cream. She tensed, however, when the hand that had been pinning her wrist traveled down to her fingers, pulling her hand between them and holding it up so the silver surface of her ring caught the faint moonlight from above.

"But Rangers," he continued, smoothing one long finger over her ring, "are another matter entirely."

"And why is that?" Saf asked, watching the man study her ring thoughtfully before he looked up again, his face alarmingly close to hers.

"Many of them aren't trustworthy," he said. "And as a protector of this city, it is my job to know whether you can be trusted here."

Saf jerked her hand out of his grasp, sliding her fingers toward her daggers as she said coldly, "As if a vigilante has any right to determine a man's honor to begin with."

The man merely smiled, still holding her gaze as he said abruptly, "Can I trust you?"

Saf blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in his approach. "What?"

"Can I trust you?" he repeated patiently, his green eyes still searching hers, and she hesitated before nodding slowly.

"I forsook the title of Ranger long ago," she said cautiously. "All I want is to have a life of peace."

The man nodded before reaching up and casting back her hood, her face heating as he studied her, feeling as if his eyes were seeing a lot more than just her face as he looked.

"Well." He released her and backed away, and Saf stared after him, bewildered. "I'll be in touch soon."

Then he turned and began walking down the street, in the opposite direction Saf had been traveling in, leaving her standing, alone and utterly confused, against the wall.

"Oh, and one more thing," the man said, turning back around and fixing her with his piercing eyes. "My name is Garem, for the next time we meet."

He winked at her before he slipped away into the shadows, his voice calling out one last time.

"I hope you'll remember me."

Present Day – TA 2941

Saf jerked awake, a pair of glittering green eyes flashing across her vision before they were gone, taking the remnants of the memory with it.

She waited for her heart to calm before sitting up, immediately grasping for her forearm as it throbbed spectacularly, her fingers grazing only gauze and bandages as she took in her surroundings.

She was currently situated in a small but comfortable cot, propped up by many fluffy pillows and covered with a light but warm blanket. Her clothes were gone, she noticed with some alarm, and she was dressed in only a plain white shift, her arms left bare to accommodate the swath of bandages wrapped around her right one.

She was in some sort of healing house, she presumed, and her heart sank, suddenly knowing exactly where she was, even if she had rarely ever needed to venture to the healing house herself.

"Mae athollen, gornil," a melodious voice said, and Saf sighed heavily upon hearing it. "Glass nín le gen achened."

Saf slowly turned to look at the speaker, swallowing tightly when she recognized the dark-haired elf, his features stern but beautiful, and his dark eyes wise and unreadable as he stared at her evenly, his lips curling faintly in a smile.

"Hîr nín Elrond," Saf replied slowly, her Elvish not as good as it once was as she stared back at the Elven-lord. "Anann le gen ú-gennin."

"Seven years, it would be," he said, reverting back to Common as he clasped his fair hands before him, holding her gaze as he raised a fine brow. "I must say, though, I did not expect your return to involve so much…"

He trailed off, and Saf arched a brow.

"Excitement? Drama?" she offered, and the Elven-lord pursed his lips.

"Mystery," he said finally, and Saf guessed he had run into Gandalf and the Company already as she winced.

"Ah," she said. "So Gandalf told you?"

Elrond stared at her impassively, his lips turning down in a frown now.

"Mithrandir has yet to tell me anything, and I sense that he is reluctant to," Elrond said, staring out the latticed window behind him as his frown deepened. "Whatever he is doing with those dwarves will remain a secret, I fear, where the Grey Wizard is concerned. Gandalf has always been known to do things his own way."

Saf said nothing, merely fiddling with a loose piece of fabric on the blanket, wondering what the Elven-lord wanted from her.

When he said nothing, she took a deep breath. "Um, thank you, by the way. For, you know, patching me up."

She raised her bandaged arm half-heartedly, and Elrond turned back to her with raised brows.

"A healer by the name of Feros was the one to heal your arm," he said. "The wounds were deep, but not enough to do any serious damage. Out of the seven puncture wounds, only three needed to be sutured; the rest were merely cleansed and wrapped."

"When next you see him, please pass on my thanks to the healer," she said, and Elrond only accepted this with a curt nod before turning back to the window.

Saf winced, the tension in the room building with each passing minute, yet still, Elrond said nothing.

She sighed, placing her hands in her lap. "My Lord…"

"I did not expect to see you in this valley again," the Elven-lord said, cutting her off, and Saf flinched at how flat his voice was.

"After fleeing in the dead of night, with naught a word but three letters left behind, I accepted your decision and did not question it, despite your family asking me for answers I did not have, as to where you went, or why you had left."

He turned to face her again, his expression somber, and his dark eyes bored into her with an intensity that made a shiver go down her spine.

"They were devastated, Safavael," he said quietly. Guilt churned her stomach, hot and heavy, as he spoke. "And I feared for your safety and your fate as much as they."

"I had no choice," she said, dropping her head as tears stung her eyes. "I had done…terrible things. I did not want them to become a part of that, for my deeds…to stain their memories, should they ever catch up to me. I did it to protect them."

Elrond remained silent, and Saf fought to get her emotions under control. She had always intended to return to the House of Elrond, to Rivendell, but never did she expect it to be under these circumstances; injured and in tears, sitting under Elrond's indecipherable gaze as he questioned her disappearance from so many years before.

After a few minutes, there was a soft rustle, and Saf looked up to see Elrond grace to her bedside, sitting down by her feet in a flutter of golden robes. Hesitantly, he took her hands in his own, being careful not to jostle her arm too much. He stared down at her hands for a moment, not speaking, before he looked back up at her with his solemn gaze.

"I do not know of these deeds you speak, and I have never asked you to tell me unless you were ready," he said quietly. "But you were under my care for a time, as well, and I felt partly responsible for your disappearance."

He paused, and Saf listened closely, discreetly drying her tears on the shoulder of her shift as he continued.

"It is a matter of the past, and I deem it wise to leave it there," he said, before suddenly smiling slightly. "But it is good to see you again, Safavael Tinnuhiril."

"As it is you, Lord Elrond," she said quietly, and he patted her uninjured hand with a feather-light touch before getting to his feet once more.

"Dinner will be served in the twilight pavilion in an hour," he said, his regal air returning once more, and Saf made a face, knowing what that entitled. "Your, er…companions, will be there, and your family, as well. Even if you made only a brief appearance, I think that would set everyone's minds at ease."

Saf leaned back against her pillows, grimacing. "I'll think about it."

Elrond gave her a dry look, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go."

He smirked, looking amused as he breezed over to the door.

"I will send some maids to help you prepare," he said, opening the door before stopping on the threshold. "And do try to be on time for once."

"No promises," Saf grumbled before the door shut and the Elven-lord was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her guilt as she tried to figure out a way to get out of this mess.

Thorin twirled the silver fork in his fingers thoughtfully, debating on whether sitting through a dinner with a high and mighty Elven-lord or stabbing the utensil in his eye would be more painful.

He was disgruntled, to put it nicely, to find out that after everything they had faced within the past two days alone, the wizard had had the audacity to go directly against his wishes and seek refuge with elves, out of all other entities in this world. By this point, he was almost willing to take the trolls over being trapped in this place.

Of course, that was only the thinking of a petulant child. Though reluctant to admit it, he was actually grateful for the brief respite in Rivendell; they had had some very near brushes with death recently, and he knew the Company needed a well-deserved rest.

However, Thorin's mind was not as idle as his body. Despite being wound tight from the proximity of his enemies, his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman that had imposed herself on his Company once again, despite parting ways before.

He had heard from Kíli in the tunnels on the way here that she had told him to leave her before passing out, but before his nephew could go back for her, she had been lifted onto a horse and carried away.

This had raised several questions and concerns from the others, but when they had reached Rivendell and Gandalf had spoken to Lord Elrond, he informed them that she had been taken here, and was recovering in the healing house.

Kíli had also told them about how she had jumped in front of a warg and its orc rider to save him from being killed, and that the warg had bitten her, and though Thorin's suspicions could hardly be quelled, he did have time to ponder on her actions.

Why would she have tried to save his nephew's life? There was no one else who would have betrayed him beside her, but even his own accusations of her loyalty were sounding more and more feeble. Perhaps the attack by the warg was to make her look more convincing, to earn Thorin's trust… but for what? She had made her intentions very clear that she wanted no part in the Company. So what would her purpose of betrayal be?

Thorin shook his head, his thoughts running so fast he could barely keep up with them, and he downed a large gulp of the Elven wine before him, immediately puckering his lips at the sour taste, though the alcohol helped clear his mind some.

He sat back in his chair, scowling at how high-backed it was compared to his shorter frame, drumming his fingers on the fine-clothed table as he looked around the pavilion they had been led to for dinner after having been shown first to the bathhouses.

The pavilion was spacious and round, made of the same ivory and grey stone the rest of the Homely House was built of, with statues depicting fair elf-maidens and warriors circling the edges, though leaving the far side clear so as to give an unrestrained view to the valley beyond, with its high cliff-faces and floating waterfalls gilded in gold from the light of the setting sun.

There were only three tables set, with elves playing flutes, lyres, and harps around them – two for the Company down below in the pavilion, and one high table where Thorin was sat some steps above them, the only other person accompanying him so far being Gandalf, who hummed along serenely to the shimmering music playing around the pavilion, the other four seats vacant.

"I apologize for the wait, my friends," Lord Elrond said, sweeping suddenly into the pavilion with a swish of golden robes, the circlet upon his head gleaming with the last of the rays from the sun, giving him an unearthly appearance as he came to the table.

Gandalf waved the Elven-lord off while Thorin grunted low in his throat, his stomach beginning to rumble for food.

Elrond looked amused before gesturing with a slender hand behind him. "May I introduce some of my guests?"

Thorin looked around the Elven-lord and raised his eyebrows as a human woman stepped into view, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut as he studied her.

She was tall and willowy, with a proud set to her shoulders as she ascended the stairs calmly, a gown of deepest red billowing around her, giving a regal air to her, and Thorin had to wonder if she was royalty as he took in her strong jaw, dark, calculating gaze, and elegant features underneath an up-do of dark curls.

The uneasy feeling did not leave Thorin, even when the woman smiled and embraced Gandalf dearly, her features turning quite warm. "Mithrandir! It has been a long time, my friend."

"Indeed, my Lady," Gandalf said jovially, clasping her hands before she turned her gaze to Thorin.

"Thorin Oakenshield, this is the Lady Gilraen," Elrond said, stepping up beside her as Thorin rose from his seat, inclining his head.

"Well met, Lady Gilraen," he rumbled lowly, and the woman bowed back to him.

"And you, Master Oakenshield," she replied, fixing him with an unsettlingly piercing gaze that was quite familiar before it suddenly hit him why he thought her unnerving – she was an exact image of the barmaid, Saf.

Thorin's fingers chilled, wondering what this could mean before he was distracted by Elrond saying, "And this is Estel, Gilraen's son."

A boy of about ten winters had come bounding into the pavilion just then, dark curls framing his fair face, so like his mother's, yet even more unnervingly like Saf's, as he had the same grey eyes as hers if only a few shades lighter.

After greeting Gandalf, the boy turned to Thorin and bowed, saying in a solemn voice that was somehow befitting of him, "Well met, Master Oakenshield. I'm Estel."

Thorin couldn't help the small smile that twitched at his lips; it was strange for a boy so young to be so serious, but it reminded him of himself some as he said, "Well met, little one."

With introductions aside, those at the high table took their places, with Gandalf and Thorin on one side and Gilraen and Estel on the other. Elrond sat at the head, his lackey Thorin remembered from earlier as Lindir standing stoically behind him, leaving the other seat opposite the Elven-lord empty, which Thorin was beginning to wonder was a mistake, as it seemed no other people were coming as servants began to bring out the dinner.

As Thorin watched in dismay at the greenery and bread being passed around, he vaguely heard Gandalf saying from his left, "Kind of you to invite us to join you for dinner. I must say, though, I am not quite dressed for the occasion."

"Well, you never are," Elrond said dryly, and Thorin grimaced when a bowl of salad was placed in front of him.

Small talk ensued at the table, Thorin only occasionally nodding and grumbling in agreement as he picked at his food. It didn't help that the topics of conversation were as boring as one of his council meetings back in Ered Luin; the only interesting thing Thorin had heard was when they talked of Estel's swordplay, which had led to a twenty-minute discussion between the king-in-exile and the boy debating on the best swords and their fighting styles, and how many battles Thorin had seen so far.

"Speaking of swords," Gandalf broke in, taking advantage of the silence Estel had fallen into as he stared at Thorin in awe, the dwarf having just recounted the Battle of Azanulbizar, and the two both looked over to the wizard grudgingly as he removed the sword he had taken from the troll hoard at his waist and passed it to Elrond. "I was hoping you would be able to tell us the origins of these."

He gestured for Thorin's blade, as well, and he unsheathed it from his waist and placed it in his lap, waiting as Elrond examined Gandalf's blade with thinly veiled interest and surprise.

"This is Glamdring," the Elven-lord said finally. "The Foehammer, made for the King of Gondolin in the First Age."

At his request, Thorin handed over his own blade, and Elrond's eyebrows arched higher. "This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver. Forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin."

As he handed back over the sword, he fixed the two with a sharp gaze. "How did you come by these?"

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road," Gandalf said, and Thorin shot the wizard a look that he ignored.

"A troll hoard?" Gilraen said, looking concerned. "However did they end up there?"

"An apt question," Elrond agreed. "And what were you doing on the Great East Road, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf opened his mouth, and Thorin gritted his teeth, but he never had the chance to answer, for suddenly there was a clattering of dishes from the dwarves below, and they all turned to see Bofur climbing atop a pedestal set in the center of the pavilion, raising his arms in a gesture of grandeur before launching into a rowdy drinking song popular in the Blue Mountains.

The other dwarves quickly joined in, beginning to throw around their food at each other, and Thorin grinned to himself, sneaking a glance at his table and stifling a snicker as he saw Elrond and Gilraen frozen in their seats, while Gandalf continued to eat beside him and Estel looked on with childish glee, his eyes shining at the sudden chaos.

Thorin's grin faded quickly, though, when he looked over Elrond's shoulder and noticed a familiar figure lurking in the shadows of the hallway leading out onto the pavilion.

"Excuse me," he said abruptly, getting to his feet and edging out of the pavilion. His departure was hardly noticed beneath the guise of disaster, and he took the opportunity to step into the hallway unseen.

Saf the barmaid stood halfway behind a vine-wrapped pillar, her eyebrows furrowed and her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she gazed into the pavilion, not having noticed him yet.

She looked vastly different from the last time Thorin had seen her; earlier, she had been covered in orc blood and grime, wearing simple traveling clothes with her pinned hair in a disheveled array about her sweat-streaked face. Now, she was wearing a pale blue gown that draped over her slim frame, and Thorin wondered if the woman ever ate as he examined how small she really was, though what took him aback the most was her hair; no longer pinned up, it hung in wild black curls down to her waist, and he realized now why she must wear it up at all times – hair that long was undoubtedly impractical at that point.

Thorin cleared his throat, and she spun around in surprise, her eyes widening and then narrowing upon realizing who he was.

When she said nothing, Thorin inclined his head to the pavilion. "I would not go in there if I were you. Unless dodging honey cakes sounds appealing."

She quirked a brow, the rest of her expression carefully neutral. "Well, this is certainly a surprise. To be accused of betrayal one moment and then treated like a companion the next. Please do make up your mind before I lose mine."

There was a crackling silence between them as she looked back to the pavilion, and Thorin debated on whether he wanted to rise to her bait before he followed her gaze and found it fixed upon Gilraen and Estel, their backs to them as the revelry continued.

"That woman," Thorin said slowly, watching Saf carefully to gauge her reaction, but when only the corners of her eyes tightened, he continued. "She is the spitting image of you. Who is she?"

"A very old friend," she said stiffly, and Thorin had to refrain from scoffing.

"Is she your mother?" he pressed, and this time, her nostrils flared angrily, a dark look passing over her features before they became blank once more.

"No," she growled, her voice tight. "I wouldn't bestow that accursed title on anyone."

Thorin's brows rose at her words, but he thought it prudent not to press her any further on the matter for the time being.

He cleared his throat once again, suddenly uncomfortable. "I wish to discuss my earlier words with you. I have been thinking, and—"

"Another time," she interrupted, her eyes still dark as she stared into the pavilion, and Thorin saw something almost wild in her gaze, like a caged animal terrified of its bars before she looked away. "I think I've had quite enough excitement for one day."

And without a backward glance, she turned and whisked away, leaving Thorin alone in the twilight shadows as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon.

Thank you for all the kind words and encouragement! I appreciate them!