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Chapter Eleven

A Short Rest

The elves must have snuck in sometime during the night, for when Alison awoke the next morning, the pile of dirty clothes she'd left by the bath had gone, and so had the empty decanter of wine.

She didn't remember falling asleep; she didn't remember much of anything, really. She did remember the wine, and how after the first few sips it began to go down like water. She had no idea what was in elvish wine, but from the way her head was pounding, it was safe to say that they made it strong.

She cracked open her eyes to find that the sun had not yet risen over the cliffs of the valley; the only signs that it was morning were the birds singing in the trees and the pale sky, trapped somewhere between night and day with only a few stars to keep it company. She sat up and popped the cricks in her neck with a groan; she'd passed out on top of the covers and apparently hadn't even bothered with a pillow. She still wore only the thin robe, but she'd had sense enough to brush out her hair—so at least she'd been semi-productive in her drunken haze.

She dragged herself out of bed and stumbled to the washroom, grimacing at the throbbing pain behind her eyes. She didn't know how long they would be staying in Rivendell but decided that another bath wouldn't hurt, especially now that yesterday's activities had caught up to her. Her legs were so stiff she could hardly step into the bath, but when she did, she collapsed into the hot water almost immediately. She didn't bother with any oils this time; she just sat with her eyes closed, thinking.

That was what she'd done all night—think. And cry. The crust built up around her eyes was enough to tell her that. She reached up and rubbed them, the skin there tender to the touch. So, she'd gotten drunk and cried. Wonderful. She vaguely remembered kneeling on the floor and praying to the Valar to send her back home at one point, but obviously, nothing had happened.

She sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face. She'd thrown herself a pity party last night. Holed herself in her room and thrown a tantrum like a little girl because she wasn't getting her way. She cringed. What everyone must think of her… A great Ashburne, the supposed Seventh Hero, had gotten drunk and cried about how unfair her life was.

God, you're pathetic, she thought. Your life isn't fair? Your life? What about Thorin? Balin, Dwalin, and all the others? Their home was taken by a dragon and you think your life is more unfair than theirs? Grow up.

I didn't ask for this, a tiny voice argued.

Neither did they. But they lost a whole kingdom, and you were chosen to help them reclaim it. So, are you going to help them, or are you going to pity yourself some more?

I don't know how to help them! the tiny voice said.

Simple. Learn how to be a Hero, dumbass.

She opened her eyes and stared up at the high, vaulted ceiling. Learn how to be a Hero. An inkling of an idea formed in her head the longer she stared at the ceiling. Learn how to be a Hero…

Very well, she thought. If the Valar wanted her to be a Hero, then she would be one. Even if she did it only out of spite for them—for what they did to her.

She would be their next damn Hero if it killed her.


The sun was just peeking over the cliffs when Alison found her destination—the training yard.

Though her clothes had been taken away, she'd still managed to find a white linen shirt tucked away in one of the wardrobes, and she still had the extra trousers in her backpack that Gandalf had given her in Hobbiton. After sweeping her hair into a braid and putting on her boots, she'd left her room and wandered the halls of the Last Homely House until she'd stumbled upon one of the maids she'd sent away the night before.

"Lady Ashburne," the elf had said in surprise. "I was not expecting you to be awake so early."

Alison—acutely aware of her bloodshot eyes and haggard expression—had just grunted. "Couldn't sleep." She hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulders. "I have a few questions."

The maid nodded. "I will do my best to answer them."

"Where are my clothes?"

The maid gestured to another house. "I took them away to be washed. They will be returned to you early this afternoon."

Alison nodded. "Great. Does this place have any training grounds? Like archery, swords…"

Fortunately, the maid didn't ask her why. She just nodded again. "Yes. Follow this hallway to the next house, then take the first left, then follow the corridor there until you come outside again. The training yard will be immediately ahead."

"Thank you," Alison said, forcing herself to smile.

The maid dipped her head. "My lady."

Alison turned again to face her. "Do me a favor?" When the maid raised her eyebrows, Alison said, "Don't call me that. Alison's fine. Or even Miss Ashburne, if you have to be formal, but it makes me sound so old."

A small smile flitted across the elf's face. "As you wish, Miss Ashburne."

Alison sighed, but she smiled back before departing to follow the elf's directions. She'd found the training yard with no difficulties, and now she stood, uncertain where to start.

The yard was almost the size of a football field, its grass worn and short with years of use. Across from her, facing the cliffs, were several straw targets and painted canvases for archery practice. To her left was a rack containing varying sizes of wooden swords, spears, and shields, with a shed that looked like it contained bows and arrows. She walked to the shed and unlocked it, finding exactly that inside, the bows already strung and the arrowheads dull and blunt for practice.

She selected one of the smaller, shorter bows and dragged a bucket filled with arrows out of the shed and across the yard to the archery range. She wasn't entirely sure how to use a sword, considering she'd only had one lesson with Thorin that involved a much smaller dagger, but three summers away at an outdoors camp when she was in middle school had at least introduced her to the concept of archery.

The morning light had begun to flood the valley by the time she was set up. She'd counted the lines drawn in the dirt and placed her target at what she'd determined to be ten yards before going back and picking up the bow.

It was elegantly made, even for a practice bow; the carved wood was smooth to the touch, with a notched grip that made for easy holding. It was compact, too, which would make for better drawing with the limited upper body strength she had.

She picked one of the arrows out of the bucket and fit it to the bowstring, trying to recall the proper stances and placements she'd been taught so many years ago. When she felt she had it right, she drew the arrow back, aimed, and began to practice.

She was abysmal, as she soon learned. Of the five shots she'd taken so far, three had missed the target entirely, one had barely hit the corner, and her last was so far left from the bullseye it was almost laughable. But she kept shooting until her arrows were spent with not a single bullseye to claim before trudging into the short foliage to collect the ones that had gone rogue.

When she returned to her spot, she was brought up short when she realized she was no longer alone. Two people had entered the training yard, one a tall, willowy elf male with golden hair and the other a much shorter human boy.

Alison stared at the boy, wondering if she was hallucinating. She hadn't seen another human since arriving in Middle-earth (Gandalf, she'd decided, didn't count, since technically he was a wizard), but she had no idea why one would be in Rivendell, of all places. She looked for a sign of pointed ears under his mop of dark hair, but they were normal, just like her own.

"Hello," she said when the elf and the boy looked up. She waved awkwardly. "Um, I can leave if you need the yard."

The elf looked her over with fathomless green eyes. "There is no need." He stood, stoic and silent. Much like the feeling she'd gotten when she'd seen Lord Elrond for the first time, something in her gut told her that this elf was powerful—more so than others. "You are the Ashburne, yes?"

Alison frowned at being referred to as 'the Ashburne' but she said, "Yes, I am. And you are?"

The elf smiled without warmth. "Glorfindel. And this" —he gestured to the boy, who stared at Alison with wide eyes— "is Estel. My charge for the day."

Alison nodded to them. "It's nice to meet you both."

"Is it true the Ashburne Heroes are the greatest warriors that ever lived?" the boy—Estel—burst out.

"Er…" She snuck a glance at Glorfindel, who just watched. "Allegedly. Maybe my ancestors were but…not me."

Estel pointed to the bow in her hands. "But you're training, yes? All my teachers say that training makes you better."

"And discipline," Glorfindel said. "Training and discipline."

Estel waved him off, and Alison held back a snort at the look on the elf's face.

"Find your bow," Glorfindel told Estel. "Warm up. Meet me back here in five minutes."

Estel nodded and shot Alison a grin before he took off for the shed. He couldn't have been older than ten, and she found herself staring after him with an odd lump in her throat when she realized he was the same age as her own brother, Brandon. She only took her eyes off him when Glorfindel coughed slightly.

"Do not let us distract you," he said. "We will be working on the opposite end."

She held up the arrows clutched in her hand. "Not like you'll make me any worse than I already am." At his questioning look, she sighed. "I've never been formally trained in…well, anything." She gestured to where Estel had run off to. "He's probably better than me already."

Glorfindel frowned. "No one ever taught you? Not even in your own world?"

She shook her head. "I didn't even know who I was—who my family was, and what they meant to this world—until I got here."

"Well," he said, "you chose a most auspicious day to come here, then. I can train you and Estel both."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You'd do that?"

He hesitated, looking out to the cliffs bathed in sunlight. He was beautiful, like all the other elves in Rivendell, but touched by something darker in his eyes, as if he'd already seen what the world had to offer and been disenchanted by it.

"Yes," he said after a long moment. He turned his gaze back on her. "I knew several of your ancestors, but perhaps Eleon the First and his siblings and the Second Hero the most."

"The Second Hero," she said, frowning when she tried to remember where she'd heard it before. "Jonathan Ashburne, right? He fought in the—what did Gandalf call it? The War of the Last Alliance?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Indeed. He was a brave warrior—a Man with a noble heart and a desire to do good in this world. I admired him greatly. It is for that reason that I will help you."

"And Eleon?"

A shadow clouded Glorfindel's face for a moment before it was gone. "He was blessed by the Valar for a greater purpose. That is what he will be remembered for."

Alison nodded, sensing that that was all he would say on the matter. "Right. So, uh, archery… Got any tips?"

He quirked his lips. "Hit the target."

She shot him a look but grinned slightly when she realized he was just joking. Perhaps this wouldn't be as dreadfully mortifying as she thought it would be.

She held up her bow. "All right, then, Blondie. Let's see what you got."


Glorfindel had a lot, apparently.

His skills were impressive, and Alison had to remind herself to close her mouth on several occasions after witnessing the sheer ease with which he shot the bow, especially when he loosed a number of arrows in the space of a blink and had all of them find their mark.

He was a good teacher, too, she had to admit. He was patient and kind, adjusting her feet when needed and keeping a calm tone whenever he instructed her to lift her elbow higher—which was constantly. Estel was leaps and bounds ahead of her already, but he never laughed or made snide remarks like her own brother would have done, for which she was thankful.

The morning passed quickly in their company, and she was surprised to see that it was already mid-afternoon when Glorfindel called for a break.

Glorfindel handed her a skin and she gulped down the water inside it greedily; the summer heat—though not as stifling and miserable as Texas—made her sweat, and combined with her hangover from the night before, she was already dehydrated. She was so intent on drinking that she didn't even notice the others entering the training yard until Glorfindel huffed beside her and muttered, "Must they?"

Alison lowered her skin and turned, immediately choking when she saw the dwarves clustered at the other end of the yard, some of them choosing to have forgone shirts. Óin, Glóin, Dori, Ori, Bifur, Bombur, and Balin were thankfully still clothed, but Bofur, Nori, Fíli, Kíli, and—to her utmost horror and embarrassment—Dwalin and Thorin seemed perfectly at ease (and perhaps even smug) at being half-dressed in the elves' home.

Glorfindel thumped her on the back when she kept sputtering and coughing.

"Whatever is the matter?" he asked her, but she waved him off.

"Wrong pipe," she rasped.

He stared at her for a moment before turning back to the dwarves. Bilbo and Gandalf were nowhere to be seen, and Alison began to wish she was with them when the dwarves caught sight of her standing with Glorfindel and Estel like a deer caught in headlights.

Thorin gestured at her to come over. Even across the yard, she could see his lip curl back when he took in the elf at her shoulder, and she hoped he wasn't mad about her choice in companions as she walked toward him, clutching her water skin nervously.

"Hey," she said when she reached him, keeping her eyes fixed on his face and nothing below. Dark ink drawn in some form of runes stretched across his left pectoral, only just discernible beneath the thick black hair that covered his abdomen. The concept of tattoos on dwarves shouldn't be new to her—after all, Dwalin had quite a few visible on his forearms and the top of his bald head—but seeing them on Thorin felt like she was intruding on something intrinsically private. "What's up?"

"I didn't look to see you here," he said. Behind him, the other dwarves pretended not to listen as they warmed up their muscles and swung their weapons around. "Especially after your conspicuous absence last night."

She cringed under the weight of his stare.

"Yeah, about that…" She scratched the back of her neck. "Um, I just needed some time alone. To…sort things out."

His blue eyes swept over her critically, though he didn't feel the need to ask why. He jerked his chin over her shoulder. "Who are they?"

"Oh, the boy is Estel," she said, following his gaze to her companions. Estel waved when he saw her, and she waved back. "He's a sweet kid. And the elf is Glorfindel, but I like to call him Blondie."

Thorin's mouth twitched. "You were training with them?"

She nodded. "Archery. I would've been practicing with the dagger you gave me, but I…kinda lost it yesterday."

Thorin glanced sidelong at her. "I heard. Fíli said you threw it at an orc to buy him time to retaliate."

Her face flushed. "I didn't think. I just—did it."

"Still," he said, "I owe you my thanks. Fíli could've been injured were it not for your actions."

Despite her burning face, she managed a weak grin. "Is that a compliment?"

He turned away, but she saw the faintest smirk on his face when he said, "Do not let it go to your head." He went to rejoin the others after adding, "You'll dine with us tonight. We have matters of import to discuss."

She nodded at his broad back and would've replied had she not caught Dwalin's eye just then. At the sight of the burly dwarf and his massive chest (also covered in tattoos and hair), she hurried away without another word, back to Estel and Glorfindel at the archery range.

"Alison!" Estel said when she returned. (The boy, at least, had no trouble calling her by her first name.) "I thought of a game we could play for this next round."

"Oh?" she said, trying to keep her eyes on him instead of the dwarves who had begun sparring in the yard. "What game?"

He pointed to the target. "Each ring is worth a certain amount of points. Whoever scores the most points wins."

She nodded, already dreading her inevitable defeat at the hands of a ten-year-old. "All right. And what does the winner get?"

Estel thought for a moment, his nose scrunched in concentration. "What do you want if you win?"

She grinned at Glorfindel, and the elf narrowed his eyes at her.

"Whatever it is you are thinking," he said, "leave me out of it."

"Too late," she said, turning back to Estel. "If I win, you get to ride on Glorfindel's back for the rest of the day."

Estel laughed while the elf sighed.

"You are cruel, Ashburne," he said.

"And what would you like if you win, Estel?" she asked the boy after shooting Glorfindel a wink.

"A story," he said. Her eyebrows rose. "One from your world."

"Deal," she said, shrugging. At the mention of a story, however, she glanced back to the dwarves with a small frown.

Fíli and Kíli were wrestling in the grass while the others looked on, shouting advice and encouragement to the two dwarves as they grunted and rolled. They'd tied their hair back, revealing their large, round ears, but Alison only noticed their muscles as they grappled. Both princes were built like barrels and equally strong, but it was Kíli her eyes latched onto, with his darker skin and chest hair and the runic tattoo on his right shoulder.

She jumped when Glorfindel scoffed beside her; she hadn't realized the elf was standing there until he followed her gaze with a bemused frown.

"Jesus, dude," she said, glaring up at him. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to sneak up on someone like that?"

He turned back to her with a vaguely disgusted expression. "I said your name, but you weren't listening." He looked at the dwarves again as they cheered on Fíli and Kíli. "I'm now trying to understand why those dwarves would seemingly appeal to you so much. They look like bears."

"Keep your voice down!" she hissed, swatting at his arm. "Do you want them to hear you?"

"I do not care if they hear me," he said with mild distaste. He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. "But you do, apparently."

"Are all elves so nosy?" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Mind your business."

He grinned, amused. "Life gets boring when you're immortal."

"Then get a hobby," she retorted.

And with that, she marched toward where Estel waited for her, ignoring Glorfindel's musical laugh behind her and her blazing face.


Kíli hadn't wanted to go to the training yard, but since Thorin had informed them that they would be staying in Rivendell until the end of the week, he'd also insisted that they not remain idle.

Once he'd gotten over his initial reluctance, he could admit that his uncle had had the right idea; the warmth from the sun felt wonderful on his bare skin, and the opportunity to loosen up his muscles without the added strain of armor and baggage was one he was now glad for.

The others must have agreed, for it was the first time since they'd left the Shire that Kíli had not heard them complain about aching backs or sore joints. They still grumbled about the elves, of course, but they were dwarves—hating elves was in their blood.

At high noon, several servants came to the yard and set up a small table, filled with cheeses, fruits, bread, and vegetables, with several pitchers of water. Kíli much would have preferred ale or even wine, but he sucked down several cups, all the same, using one of the napkins they'd been provided to wipe the sweat from his brow and shoulders.

"What does your tattoo mean?"

Kíli looked to see the boy Alison Ashburne had been training with earlier standing beside him, his grey eyes solemn but curious. Though he was young, he was very nearly Kíli's height—Kíli could already tell he was going to be a tall Man.

He followed the boy's gaze to his right shoulder, where the black ink etched into his skin formed rigid lines and symbols. He hadn't gotten it very long ago; the ink was still fresh, not nearly as faded as Dwalin's, or even Thorin's.

"This is my sigil," he said, tapping his shoulder. "It's my symbol as a Son of Durin. I chose it for myself when I came of age."

"It's very kewl," the boy said. He frowned at the strange word and repeated, "Kewl."

Kíli blinked. "What?"

The boy sighed. "It's something Alison taught me. Hold on." He turned and called, "Alison!"

She'd been standing near the end of the table and talking to the golden-haired elf who had been teaching her how to use a bow, but at the boy's voice, she came over to him with a puzzled frown.

"Yes, Estel?" she said, keeping her eyes on the boy and not even glancing in Kíli's direction.

"What's that word you said earlier?" Estel asked. "You said it was something you say in your world when something's great or interesting. Kewl."

"What?" She stared at him blankly. "Are you talking about 'cool?' C-O-O-L?"

"That one!" Estel said. "Sorry—your accent is just really odd."

Kíli grinned into his cup when Alison said, "Thanks?"

He nodded solemnly. "You're welcome." Kíli had to turn away to keep from laughing at the look on her face. "Now, can I hear that story about the Dragon Queen since I won?"

"Another time." The elf Alison had trained with breezed over to them, his hair glinting white in the sun. "You have other lessons to attend this afternoon, Estel. Best not be late for them." Estel groaned, but the elf silenced him with a look. "None of that. Go on, now."

Estel turned back to Alison. "I still want to hear your story. You should tell it in the Hall of Fire at the Midsummer's Eve feast we're having at the end of this week. You're all invited," he added, grinning at Kíli.

"Sounds good," said Alison. "You should go with Blondie now before he gets too impatient. Wouldn't want him to stick me with an arrow for keeping you."

Kíli snorted when the elf fixed her with a hard stare.

"Watch yourself, Ashburne," he said, steering Estel away. "You are not as charming as you think you are."

She rolled her eyes at his back, though she watched Estel leave with a fond smile on her face. Kíli cleared his throat.

"Glad to see you're making friends," he said.

Her eyes darted in his direction. "He's an immortal asshole, but he helped me a lot this morning."

"Any particular reason why you decided to take up archery?" he asked.

"It's like I told you before." She shrugged. "I want to learn how to defend myself."

He frowned. "You know we would protect you, aye?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the spot where Estel had disappeared. "You can't be there all the time."

He swallowed back his reply, conceding that point to her. "You could've asked me, at least." He grinned sidelong at her. "I'm not too shabby with a bow myself."

Her lips quirked. "I know. But I had no idea where any of you were."

"Ah, there is that." He took another sip of water. She still didn't look at him, now chewing on her lip thoughtfully and staring at the grass. "Is something wrong, Miss Ashburne? You haven't looked my way once this whole time. Have I done something to offend?"

Her face turned red and he frowned, puzzled.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," she said hastily. "It's just—ah…" She waved her hand at him. "The whole shirtless thing…"

He glanced down to his bare chest. "Ah, I see." He chuckled. "I didn't realize I was that out of form. My apologies, Miss Ashburne."

She groaned. "Alison, please." She finally looked over at him. "It's just Alison. No 'miss', no 'lady'; nothing. Alison." She bit her lip. "And, uh, you're not. Out of form, that is. Er, quite the opposite, actually."

He stared, bemused, as her face bloomed even redder. "Thank you…Alison."

Before he could ponder more on her words, Fíli came up to them, holding two green apples in his hands.

"Kee; Miss Alison," he greeted.

"It's just Alison," Kíli said, tossing a cheeky grin in her direction. Her face had now turned so red he wondered if she was going to burst into flame. "She was quite insistent on that."

Fíli glanced between them. "Er, right." He held out an apple to Alison. "Here."

She took it. "Thank you, Fíli." But when she went to bite into it, Fíli shook his head.

"That's not for eating," he said. "That's for throwing."

She paused, lowering the apple from her mouth. She looked to Kíli when he snorted.

"Fíli has a theory," he explained to her. "That dagger you threw yesterday; he reckons that it was impossible for you to hit the orc with your size and lack of training."

She made a face. "You know, I've played sports before. It's not like I'm unathletic."

"Humor me," Fíli said, smiling kindly and tossing the apple in his hand. "One simple test."

"All right; fine." She rolled her eyes. "What do you want me to do with it?"

Fíli pointed to the opposite end of the grounds, about twenty yards away. "Just throw it as far as you can. I'll go first."

Alison and Kíli backed up as Fíli prepared to throw. Kíli leaned over to Alison and whispered just loud enough for Fíli to hear. "He used to do this all the time to impress the dwarrowdams who would come to watch us train."

Fíli gave him an affronted look over his shoulder. "I did not!"

"Is that why you're still shirtless, Fee?" he asked, grinning.

"You're one to talk," his brother retorted.

"Let's be civil, boys," Alison said, though she looked highly amused by their banter. "Whenever you're ready, Fíli."

With a last glare at Kíli, Fíli turned and brought his arm back. He launched the apple with a grunt, and they watched it soar through the air before landing in the foliage bordering the yard, well past twenty yards. He turned back to them with a cocky grin.

Kíli clapped sarcastically and Alison snickered.

"Well done, Brother," he said. "You've truly proved your worth."

Fíli ignored him, gesturing to Alison. "Your turn."

She stepped up beside Fíli with a skeptical glance.

"You know, I'm not sure what this is going to prove," she said, holding up the apple. "You're a dwarf; you're already much stronger than me. How would you even know if I can throw farther than average?"

"Let's find out," he said with a shrug. "Aim for that tree there." He pointed to a tree several yards farther from where his apple landed.

With a last dubious glance, Alison cocked her arm back and threw the apple. Kíli watched, shocked, as the apple launched itself with a speed that should have been impossible, becoming a green blur until it hit the tree Fíli had pointed out and exploding upon impact, pieces flying everywhere.

There was a moment of silence where Kíli and Fíli exchanged a dumbfounded look. Alison's jaw had dropped, and she stared at the place where her apple had been obliterated with wide eyes.

"Dude," she said, talking more to herself than the brothers. "I'm the freaking Hulk."

Kíli stared at her. "Have you always been able to do that?"

She shook her head, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"I'm the Hulk," she repeated, giddy.

"Great," Kíli said, turning back to Fíli. "You broke her."

Fíli just raised his eyebrows, smug. "I told you I was right. What Gandalf said about Hero blood has to be true now."

They both looked back to Alison, who was giggling and saying, "Hulk smash!" in what must have been a rough imitation of a deeper voice.

Kíli just watched her, a smile playing on the edges of his mouth. Though she hadn't been with the Company for long, this was the first time that Kíli had seen her genuinely happy and playful. She held her stomach, still laughing about whatever odd thing she'd said earlier, her face scrunched up and her pale green eyes shining with mirth when they met Kíli's. And it was then that Kíli realized how much he liked hearing her laugh, and how nice it was to see her smile.

And it was then that he also realized how much trouble he was about to be in if she kept looking at him like that.


Alison walked back to her rooms with Kíli beside her, the two passing through the House of Elrond in amiable silence.

After the departure of Glorfindel and Estel, she'd decided that she'd had enough training for one day, especially now that her pointer and middle fingers on her right hand were smarting and beginning to blister from where they'd held the bowstring, as she hadn't had the hindsight to use gloves while practicing. And now with her new revelation—that she had somehow become stronger than she was normally—she had a new goal in mind.

She'd bid the princes farewell and told them she would see them at dinner that night, but Kíli had offered to escort her back to her rooms. She'd accepted, trying not to be weirded out by it; though she and Kíli had gotten off to a rough start, he seemed willing to make up for it, so she didn't mind. He was also one of the younger dwarves, like Fíli and Ori, and was pleasanter than the older dwarves to talk to. He'd put his tunic back on, fortunately, though she still had flashes of his bare chest in her mind's eye that she swatted away forcefully, chastising herself for even thinking about the relative attractiveness of dwarves when she should be thinking about keeping this same dwarf alive.

"I'm curious," Kíli said as they passed through an open-air corridor, the silk curtains fluttering in the breeze and brushing their ankles when they walked by. "The boy from earlier—Estel—wanted you to tell him a story. Something about a Dragon Queen." He raised an eyebrow. "Is it something from your world?"

She nodded, smiling politely at two elves who walked in the opposite direction as them. They graced her with shallow dips of their heads but otherwise said nothing.

"It is," she said. "It's one of my favorites, actually. One part in an even greater story, but I told Estel he'd get to hear it if he beat me at archery. Which he did. Spectacularly." She grinned at him. "Apparently, Hero strength doesn't extend to being any good with a bow."

He chuckled. "You'll learn. From what I saw, you already retained the movements well enough. You just need to improve your accuracy and consistency." He hesitated. "I can train you if you'd like. I know Thorin's helping you already, but…"

"No, I'd like that," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled at her, and they came out to another walkway spanning the length of two houses, a gurgling stream running beneath.

"I expect payment, though," he said as they crossed. She shot him a panicked look, but he laughed. "Not coin, don't worry." He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. "I like the idea of stories. We can trade off; one from your world, and one from here." He gestured with his chin around them, and she took that to mean from Middle-earth as a whole.

"I think I can do that," she said. "I know a lot of stories."

"Like the Dragon Queen?" he asked, and she nodded. "How do you even tell if the dragon's a female one?"

"She's not actually a dragon," she said, snickering at his confusion. "That's just what she's called."

"Well, who is she?"

"Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen," she said. She waggled her brows at him. "Catchy, right?"

He frowned as they came upon her rooms. "I guess. What did she do to earn the title of Dragon Queen, though?"

Alison smiled mysteriously as she leaned against the door to her room. "You'll have to wait and find out on Midsummer's Eve, remember?"

He groaned, and she laughed, reaching up to brush a loose piece of hair from her face that had escaped her braid.

"What happened to your fingers?" he asked.

She looked down at her two red, blistered fingers. "Oh, yeah. That whole archery thing." She shrugged. "They'll be fine. I just have to build up callouses first, right?"

He shook his head and held out a hand. "May I?"

Suddenly nervous, she put her hand into his own, her palm up. His skin was warm, and his hand was double the size of hers, making her feel like she'd just placed it into an oven. He bent his head to examine her fingers, shrinking his height until he was a couple of inches shorter than her. His dark hair fell across his brow and face, long and black, and she winced when the pads of his fingers ran over her own.

"You should've wrapped these," he murmured, looking up at her with dark brown eyes. "Or at least worn gloves."

She had to focus on his forehead as he straightened, becoming her height again. "Yeah, probably." God, she hoped she wasn't blushing.

"Here." He reached into his pocket and brought out a roll of thin, tightly bound leather. "Next time you shoot, wrap your fingers with this." He smirked at her mystified look. "I always carry extra, just in case. It'll save you from a lot of discomforts later on."

She nodded, taking the roll. "I'll take your word for it. Thank you."

He bowed in an exaggerated manner. "At your service, Alison."

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics, but she couldn't help smiling all the same. "I'll see you at dinner?"

"You'll see me." He shot her a wink. "Just look for the handsome dwarf with the black hair."

She pretended to deliberate. "Thorin or Bifur?"

He pressed a hand over his heart, hurt. "You wound me, Alison Ashburne."

She snickered, shaking her head. "Go find the others. I need to clean up before dinner."

"As you wish." He winked again before leaving her at the door, his hands in his pockets once more as he began to whistle, walking through the corridor.

Ignoring the heat in her face, Alison shut the door behind her and leaned against it.

She wished she had more wine.


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