Chapter 25: The Mirkwood Encounter Part II

When Fili's face faded as she slipped into darkness, it was as if she were waking up immediately. Only she was not lying on the forest floor of the Mirkwood. Instead, she had been transported to the other side of the world in a throne room that had seen better days. It was still immaculately decorated and crafted, but the signs of a failing kingdom were beginning to show. The floor did not shine as brightly from the lack of polish and the soldiers that stood guard looked hollow faced from lack of rations.

"Do it," came the hard voice of her uncle. "Break free."

Thyra tried to move but her numb hands failed to move properly after the hour of tight ropes binding them together. She lay on the floor her face pressing against the cold floor as she breathed heavily. It felt good against her heated face as sweat from exertion formed across her skin. With her eyes closed, she took in heavy pants as she tried to regain her strength.

A click of her uncles tongue caused her to open her eyes and look up at him from the corner of her eye. He stood above her with his arms crossed as he looked at her with disgusted disappointment.

"How do you expect me to help you control it if you cannot even summon it," he said harshly.

Thyra glared up at him as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I was a child the last time I did it. I hardly even remember what happened," she defended. With some difficulty with her hands tied behind her back, she stood up and took a step towards him. "You said you would help me control it, yet you can't even tell me how to release it." His eyes narrowed in warning but she continued. "I am beginning to think you don't even know how to control it, let alone call upon it. Are you sure you summoned the blood rage?"

His hand crossed her face in a hard strike, sending her head turning. When she looked back at him, he was holding a warning finger in front of her face.

"Careful little niece, those words border on treason," he threatened. "I have no use for treachery in my kingdom."

Thyra caught the crazed look in her uncles eyes. Knowing better than to speak, she merely nodded. For the past year now, since she had helped her uncle gain balance after the war, she had been becoming more and more aware of the possibility that she had made a gruesome mistake. In her time serving her uncle, she had yet to see him expose his ability to summon the blood rage, and his obsession with hers was all the more alarming.

He had promised her to teach her to control it and to understand its powers. But she had still yet to learn anything from him and her access to the vault of blood was prohibited. An archive dedicated to the hallowed power of their ancient leaders. Only the monarch could be granted such access, and she was no queen, she had given up the chance. Though if Aelle continued as he was, she felt she would be more and more inclined to change that.

Blood rage, while revered to her people, was also a mystery. Most of what she had heard and learned were borderline rumors with most likely hardly any truth. But there was one that had always made her fearful of the power. It was one of the reasons she was sent to the peaceful countryside of her grandfather. It was also the reason why she had sought Aelle's help.

There was a reason why people feared the blood rage just as much as they revered it. Rulers never had usurpers in the past because no one was willing to go against one of the blood rage. It was the mistaken ideology of her people's history to support such abilities completely. While united under their rulers, it was not necessarily always loyalty that kept them in line, it was fear. And Thyra believed fear was not a marking measurement for a person to be worthy to rule. No one should ever fear their ruler. It was inspiriting to believe she would have never abused her power. Had she accepted the throne and crown, perhaps life would be a lot different for their people. Perhaps her family would still be her family and maybe her people would not be mercenary slaves.

Unfortunately, honesty was a great trait of Thyra, even to herself. She knew herself well, she knew her weaknesses, and even better she knew her dark desires. As much as the blood rage was a god desired power, it was also a curse.

The proper name should be blóðþorsta, bloodthirst. Each time you enter the blood rage it becomes harder and harder to let go. A person can become lost and consumed by the power. It's addictive and intoxicating and can make the strongest of minds go mad with the desire of blood shed. She was nine years old when she first experienced it. She knew nothing of how to control it. It was one of the many reasons she was sent to her grandfather, so she would be away from violence and bloodshed. An environment that would be less likely to bring out the blood rage.

When Thyra came back to court, it was to mourn her father but instead she became ensnared in politics. She could have prevented the war. No one would have gone against her, knowing what she possessed. But she didn't want the crown. She was too fearful of the intoxication that she might experience once she had a taste of power.

It was just unfortunate she did not realize she could have prevented the war and not taken the crown from her brother.. All she had to do was stand by his side. Unfortunately, she was too weak and naive at the time, and she let herself be manipulated. Then power had tempted her and for a while she had chased it. She had thought she had been resisting it, but now she realized she had been seeking it out.

She looked at her uncle with a hard expression. Honor, loyalty, it was what her people lived, breathed, bled, and died for. But now as she considered it, was keeping her oaths worth it all? Perhaps her disgrace of breaking such a thing, could be the saving grace of her people. It was a dangerous thought. As her uncle said, it was treacherous. But all the same, perhaps it was time to right her wrongs. Thyra did not like to believe she made wrong decisions, she always did what she thought was best, no matter the consequences. Giving her uncle the crown was a mistake that was a hard admission to swallow. As she stared into the spiteful eyes of her uncle that were hungry and envious, she knew what she had to do. It was time. She would go to her brothers. And if she was not beheaded instantly, she would break an oath to make an oath.

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She stood next to her uncles throne, hands folded behind her as she stared down at the cowering man who kneeled at the foot of the dais. As the man begged and pleaded for mercy, Thyra stood stone faced and unmoved. Within her body, her stomach clenched and she felt the sickening pity that she always did. But pity was a cruel thing to bestow upon a person. Already the man was disgracing himself with his groveling. It was not the way of their people, but then again, it was moments like these that truly tested those who were honorable and true to what they presented.

From the corner of her eye she caught the careless flick of her uncles hand. A silent command that Thyra did not need words to know what her bidding was. She had done this enough times that it nearly took no thought. It was a knee jerk reaction that muscle memory could perform.

Silently, she descended the dais. Her movements caught the crying man's attention and he let out a scream of protest as he fell back onto his bottom and began to shuffle backwards. It was a pathetic attempt of escape and only served to make this task, if but a little easier. The quicker she worked, the faster she could end his shame.

She pulled the blade from her back. It was shorter than the one she used now and far less precious. While not as valuable, it still served its purpose. In a swift clean cut, she brought it down, severing his head from his body and silencing his screams in an instant. Ignoring the droplets of warm blood she felt on her skin, Thyra wiped her sword clean and returned it to its place on her back. All the while, a maroon pool formed at her feet as a pair of guards came hesitantly to clear the body. They eyed her warily as if she were to strike them down at any moment. But their side looks and low whispers went ignored as she stood and watched them drag the body away.

Her eyes followed the red streak that marred the intricately tiled floor. As a child she used to play in the room, following the pattern of the floor around as if wandering a maze. The mosaic of the throne room had always been something she had admired, its grandeur always beautiful. Now she hated and despised this room. It had become nothing other than an execution block, and she, the executioner. Aelle's executioner, it was just one of the many names she was called these days.

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Dainsleif was the sword of swords. Wielded by Ragnar himself, the sword was said to possess a supernatural hardness and sharpness to its blade. Passed down from successor to successor since his rule, Dainsleif became an object that bordered on sacred relic. But unlike other relics, this sword did not get tarnished nor diminish from its original, pristine condition. After centuries of battles and raids, it was as sharp as the day it was forged. Dainsleif gave its victims wounds that never healed, and it was said that once it had been loosed from its scabbard, it must kill a man. Each wielder was bound to the blade, even in death, giving the new wielder the skill and valor of all previous holders before them.

Thyra watched as Aelle tossed Dainsleif onto the table as carelessly as he treated his kingdom. He rounded to the other end and sat himself before the meal that was a larger portion than a day's worth of food his subjects consumed in a day. As he tore into a chicken leg, Thyra eyed the sword that lay on the table.

That sword was one of the few things that gave him the power to do what he did. To some it might just be another sword, just an object, but to her, to her people, it meant everything. If someone else were to claim that sword, many would see it as a sign from the gods. If that sword had been held by Hvitserk at the beginning of the war, his army would have been twice of what it had been. But it had been Thyra who had managed to win the sword and foolishly present it to Aelle upon his kingship.

Now, as she stared at the sword, her mind began to run wild as her heart beat thunderously against her chest. King Maker, that was another of her names. Though hardly spoken aloud, it was common knowledge that Thyra, not Aelle, had made him king. So it was only fitting that she made a new one.

The sword, Hvitserk had said, if he no longer had the sword, he would lose supporters. And if Hvitserk were to wield it, who would argue his right to the throne? Can you get it, he had asked her, can you bring the sword? If you do, then you can come here.

Get the sword. That was all she had to do. Get the sword and she could leave Aelle's services. Bring the sword and she could finally be free. No longer would she slaughter her people, one starving citizen after another, always execution style. No longer would she be sent on assassinations and have to worry about Aelle finding out that her victims were always quietly smuggled out before she staged a dead body. And no longer would she continuously lie to herself, day after day, that she was okay, that she could handle it.

It had been two years since she had gone to Hvitserk and pledged herself. And it had been an unwelcome reunion. She had been bound and thrown into prison. Her younger brothers had cried for her head while as the rest of the camp pleaded that they be granted to perform a thousand cuts upon the Great Valkyrie of their age. It was a title she had been known by Aelle's subjects. Valkyrie with clipped wings was what the rebels called her, as she was nothing but a lap dog in his service. And they had been right.

Before a decision had been made, Hvitserk had come to her in the middle of the night and made her an offer. She could earn a place by his side, so long as she played spy. She would have to remain close with her uncle, gain his confidence. And while she did that, she would leak information. After she agreed, he released her, making it look as if she had escaped on her own.

It had been a long two years which had changed her greatly. Many things had changed since she left the tranquil seaside of her grandfather's home. Oh how she longed for the innocent years again. The things that she had done since then had been too easy. It disturbed her how naturally it came to her. Her fighting skills, her knowledge on the battlefield, it was second nature to her just as breathing was. And she was ready to no longer need it.

Thyra stared hungrily at the sword. That piece of metal was her ticket to freedom. It was her redemption. No matter what, nothing would prevent her from bringing it to her brother, the rightful king of the Régínn.

Everything was muffled when she came to. Her body was no longer numb but she was still unable to move it. The more she came out of her dreams and became more aware, as the effects of whatever had knocked her out wore off, she began to notice the tightness that was constricting her movement. Within the cocoon of her bindings, Thyra began to panic.

She had not always been like this, but over the years, she had learned to hate small spaces. She did not like the feeling of being trapped, physically or mentally. Her heart jumped into her throat and she began to thrash around. Her mind went into full survival mode as she struggled to think past her panic.

"Thyra stop moving," came a muffled voice. "I need to cut away the webbing, hold still before I cut off a finger."

Webbing, she questioned in her mind, was that what she was bound with? It was enough distraction, along with the promise of her release from her bindings, that she was able to calm her mind and hold still. As soon as she was motionless she felt the snap of tension being cut away as whoever was releasing her worked expertly.

Fili came into sight when the sticky and tangled webbing was cut and pulled away from her face. Armed with one of his many daggers, he helped her sit up as he began to work at cutting the silk net that constrained her. His skill was meticulous, not a single thread of her clothing was severed as he worked at the webbing. But it was also slow. Too slow for Thyra's liking. She needed to be free, she needed to be able to move, to run, to no longer be captive.

As soon as he freed one of her arms she began to take over. Ripping and pulling at the webbing, she tore away the silky spindles with her bare hands. When Fili got in her way, she pushed him aside and savagely tugged at her bindings until she was free. Immediately she stood up, taking a few steps to the side of the group disoriented dwarves as they pulled webbing from their clothing and collected their gear.

As she pulled away the remaining fibers from her clothing and hair, she took in shaky breaths as she tried to calm the tremors of panic within her. Closing her eyes she spoke to herself in her mother tongue, quoting a children's rhyme that her grandfather always recited to her on the nights she had night terrors.

"Thyra are you okay?" She felt a hand fall on her shoulder as his question sounded quietly in her right ear.

She turned to look over her shoulder and was greeted by Fili looking at her with concern. His hand felt warm on her skin, having grown cold and numb from the lack of circulation. For a moment she quietly stared back at him and for a moment, she gave in and basked in the regard for her well being.

And then she remembered herself, and her brow hardened. "I'm fine," she replied in Régan.

She pushed his hand away and moved over to where Sigurd was checking over a weary looking Balin. Fili watched her go, studying the way her fingers clenched tightly to hide the quake that she was doing her best to hide.

The group had retrieved their supplies and were reforming, when all of a sudden, a spider jumped down onto Bombur. The fat dwarf fell to the ground wrestling with the spider's pincers and doing his best to keep it at bay.

"Quickly grab its legs," said Dwalin while taking a hold of a leg himself.

Several within the group joined him and together they pulled tightly on each individual leg. They managed to stretch the spider out until there was an unsettling squelch as the legs were ripped from the spider's body. Those who were pulling fell down to the ground and the body of the spider fell heavily onto Bombur, who let out a deep grunt. Sigurd watched as slimy goo dripped from where its appendages used to be. Feeling sick she turned to look away only to see three more spiders coming their way.

"There are more coming," she shouted.

She reached up, grabbed an arrow, and sent it flying. It stopped in one of the approaching spiders' eyes. Despite the high pitched screech of pain, it did nothing to slow it down, it seemed to only anger it more. Sigurd reached up for another arrow but before she could let it loose, the spider was on top of kicked at it with her heavy boot, keeping its nipping pinchers just a few inches away from her flesh. But the spider was heavy and she was growing tired. As her legs began to give out, an arrow suddenly protruded from its head. She twisted her body just in time to see Kili notch another arrow and send it flying as he dashed towards her.

The scuffle seemed to end almost as quickly as it started as the group spread out and took care of the attacking spiders quickly and efficiently.

"Are you okay?" Kili asked Sigurd as he looked down at her foot. "Is your foot okay?"

Sigurd shook her head then looked past him to see Thyra, followed by Fili and Thrade walking briskly towards her. "Poison?" Thyra asked as she bent down and began to look at her boot, expecting it for any puncture.

Sigurd shook her head. "No," she replied. "I am fine, Kili brought it down before it could do anything." Sigurd looked to Kili and gave him a warm smile that made his ears turn red.

"It was nothing," he said casually. "However, the size of those spiders was something," he commented, looking around to Thrade, Fili, and Sigurd. "Do you suppose there was some sort of spell cast upon them to make them so big?"

Thyra stood up from the ground. "They are the spawn of Ungoliant," she said to Kili. "Now you understand why I...dislike spiders."

Kili's eyes widened. "You have seen these before?"

Thyra nodded. "Yes but the more ancient ones are much bigger."

"You mean they get bigger than this?" Kili exclaimed. "How much bigger?"

Thyra smirked. "You do not want to know."

Kili opened his mouth to question her further but Thorin's beckoning voice called over to them and grabbed the group of young dwarves' attention. "Quickly now, before there are more," said Thorin. "Master Baggins which direction do we need to go?"

Bilbo was slightly dazed at first as he fidgeted with something in his pocket. But once Thorin repeated his question gruffly he seemed to recover from whatever shock he had just gone through. "Oh right, it is this way, follow me," he said taking off in the direction that he had seen the mountain above the treeline.

Unfortunately, it did not take very long before more spiders began coming down on the company again. They fought them off as a group while still moving in the direction of the mountain but even that was soon put to a quick stop. Kili looked ahead and watched as Thorin came to a halt with his sword raised and eyes attentive to something above them.

Kili followed Thorin's line of sight, looking for what had stalled him. At first he saw nothing but numerous spiders descending on them, but then he saw what had really caught his attention. A tall slender figure gracefully ran along the tree branches. In fluid motions he withdrew and arrow, notched it, and let it lose. In the time that it took the arrow to hit its target, he had another arrow ready to be let loose. As he watched with awe and envy of the archers skills, Kili began to notice several other figures mixed in the tree branches, all moving quickly towards them.

"Elves," whispered Thrade who was standing next to him.

Kili looked to his side to see Thrade and Sigurd standing and watching with awe as well, as the elves made quick work of the arachnids. As the final eight legged corpse fell down to the ground with a heavy thud, a tall blonde elf came down behind it. He landed lightly on his feet with barely and effort in grace with his bow pulled back and aimed for Thorin.

"Do not think I will kill you dwarf," said the elf. Thorin gave the elf a hard look but did not dare move a single muscle. As the remainder of the elves gathered down around them, the blonde leader gave out another command. "Search them."

As they finished surrendering their weapons. The blonde elf scanned his piercing blue eyes around the group, stopping when he noticed that there was one left to give up their arms.

Thyra stood defiantly in the back, her sword held close to her body with the hilt clutched firmly to her chest. He moved fluidly towards her, giving her a calculated look before he wrapped his thin long fingers around the shoulder of the sword. He narrowed his eyes once then began to pull it away from her body. It was obvious he expected her to instantly let go but her arms followed along with the blade. The elf had managed to pull it four inches from her body before he was met with resistance.

He glared at the small Régínn as she firmly held the blade in her hands. He moved to jerk it away but made little progress as she continued her firm grip, adding her second hand to grip strongly to the blade itself.

"Thyra," prodded Thrade from behind. "Give it up."

His words went unheard as she set her eyes firmly in defiance.

"Let go," commanded the elf.

Thyra pulled the sword back towards her, then the elf pulled it towards him. This action continued until each of their forces of pull evened out and it turned into a silent and fractional game of tug-of-war.

"Thyra give it to him," Thrade said as he approached her.

Fili watched as Thrade grabbed Thyra and attempted to pull her free from the sword as the elf continued to pull the blade from her fingers. This only served to cause Thyra to tighten her grip and a flow of blood began to glisten across the blade.

"Thyra!" Thrade shouted with a tone of worry. "You're hurting yourself! LET GO!"

Thyra shook her head jerkily as she wriggled within her captors arms. Fili watched as the blood began to drip in a more heavy flow. If she continued this, she would end up slicing her own fingers off. He was just as disgruntled to lose his own blades but he knew there was a point when fighting was hopeless. He did not understand why she was resisting this so much.

As two elves began to make their way over to assist their captain, Fili knew he had to step in before Thyra lost not just her fingers but her hands when an impatient elf decided it would be the easiest way to extract the weapon. Moving quickly Fili grabbed both of her wrists. The moment he made contact he saw her look at him. He met her eyes and saw the familiar glare that he once got on a daily basis when they had first made acquaintance. Her brow narrowed as her jaw set and he felt her muscles shift beneath his hands as she tightened her grip. Several more red lines of blood began to drip down the pristine blade.

Fili did not try to pull her hands away, that had already been proven futile by Thrade. Instead he let his thumbs glide across the inner wrist to a certain point then pressed hard. He saw the alarm flash in her eyes the moment he hit the pressure point. She did her best to resist her hands from opening but it was only for a moment before they began to uncurl against her will.

The moment they loosened enough, the sword was snatched away. Thyra moved forward but Fili was already prepared and grabbed her before she could take a step. She wrestled his arms but he held her firmly as her eyes followed the sword being added to the collection of weapons. As soon as the blade was added to the collection, the elves holding them began walking away.

The moment they were out of sight, Thyra twisted her head to look accusingly at Fili. He hated the look but then he caught sight of her blood covered hands, and he knew he had made the right choice. Thyra was a shield maiden. Her fingers were essential. Letting his grasp loosen on her, she quickly pushed his arms away as she moved away from him. He watched her as Sigurd moved next to her and tried to examine her hand but she refused to let the healer even have a glance of the wounds hidden within her clenched hands.

The deeper beneath the rocky cavern they were led, the colder and danker it became. After they were taken captive, they were herded like sheep for quite some time until they reached a large chasm with a swift river that flowed within. An ached stone bridge crossed the gap, connecting the forest and the high doorway of the elven kingdom.

From there they were separated from their leader. Thorin was taken to the elvin king while the rest were forced to take an alternate route. Through a maze of carved passageways and stairwells, the company was led to the lowest part of the elven kingdom. Finally they reached the kings dungeons where they were led to a large cell and one by one, the elves pushed them towards the cell door and roughly deposited them into the cell. All of them except one.

As soon as the time came for Thyra to enter the large cell, she began to fight. It was as if something snapped. Throughout the entirety of their being captured and taken prisoner, Thyra had been relatively compliant with the exception of giving up her sword. She had obediently followed in line, not uttering a single word or giving even a threatening look. But now, as the elf began to push her towards the barred prison cell, she began to thrash around as if she were headed to the chopping block.

She dug her heels into the ground causing her guard to come to a fast halt. Just as his grip on her shoulder was lost, she ducked down and spun away from him. Immediately the male blonde who had been in charge, Legolas as they had learned in the journey of the captivity, looked over the the direction of the commotion.

"What is going on?" he called out to his command. "Control her."

Two elves were now doing their best to hold onto and restrain the wild Régínn, with the extra effort of a third one joining in, they managed to bring her down to the ground. Pinned to the stone floor, Thyra's body became constrained as her face was pressed down onto the cold floor.

Fili watched as her eyes, always so calm and calculative, wildly moved around in panic. She let out a vicious growl as she tried to push up with the one arm that was not pinned beneath her body but one of the elves quickly grabbed it and twisted it behind her back. For a moment, as he stared at her between the bars, she locked eyes with him and it was like watching his memories being played out before him. He had seen that look in her eyes before, it was a dull look that was on the verge of a person about to give up. The look of defeat. But Thyra was not like other people, Fili knew this. She was not about to give up, she was about to go to her last resort.

As her eyes began to fall closed, Fili knew that he had to do something, he had to stop her. If she went into blood rage, she would be killed, quite possibly they would all be killed. He turned to Sigurd who was calling out to Legolas to stop. Tears poured down her cheeks as she shouted out to deaf ears.

"You need to stop her," Fili declared as he grabbed her shoulder and turned her towards him.

"I-I'm t-trying," she choked out in a stutter. "B-but t-they w-wont l-list-listen."

Fili was slightly taken aback by the severity of her stutter but the urgency of stopping Thyra took precedence. "I am not talking about them," he said pointing to the guards. "You have to stop her," he emphasized, pointing to the pinned Thyra. "She won't listen to me, she is angry with me. But she might listen to you."

When Sigurd's quiet and stuttered words failed to reach past the bars, he looked over her head to see Thrade starring helplessly at Thyra.

"Thrade," he called with authority. The older dwarf looked towards him and Fili pointed in Thyra's direction. "You have to command her to stop." Thrade opened his mouth as if to protest but Fili threw a hand against the bars which gave out a loud rattle. "I am not asking," he said firmly.

"I can't have her me mad at-"

"She is already angry with you!" Fili cut it, "So what difference will it really make if she has another reason. I know you care about her. If you do not want her to die, tell her to stop before there is no stopping her."

Thrade did not seem to like the way in which Fili addressed him, but the golden prince did not care. If Thrade hated him for the rest of his life, then so be it. He could live with it. However, if Thyra died, that he would not be able to live with. Knowing he could have prevented it and done nothing. That he could not, would not, live with. So it was with great relief that Thrade turned back to Thyra and with a commanding tone, spoke for her to submit under the authority of her life debt.

For a long bated breath, Fili watched as Thyra's body went rigid. Silence and an unnatural stillness fell upon the dungeon and the elf guards that were pinning her down looked at eachother with confused expressions. Finally, ever so slowly, Thyra opened her eyes and Fili was more than relieved to see the usual darkness instead of the haunting deep voids that had raged the last time he had watched her enter the blood rage.

With hesitant movements, her captors began to ease up. At first Thyra did not move but after another command from Thrade she picked herself up and stiffly walked to the prison cell. She stopped just past the threshold where the door was slammed shut behind her. The loud clanging of metal seemed to vibrate through her as her body twitched at the loud clatter. She remained standing there with her head bowed and loosened hair curtaining her face.

Sigurd was the first to approach her. "T-Thyra," she stuttered out. "Are y-you o-okay?"

Thyra's head jolted up when Sigurd's tender hand reached out to gently touch her arm. In a swift movement Thyra slapped her hand away and muttered several sentences of her mother tongue that Fili did not understand. Whatever she had spoken to Sigurd, had an immediate effect on the sweet and gentle healer. With each word, the dark haired girl seemed to physically flinch as more tears welled up in her eyes. The stream of Régan was cut off abruptly when Thrade interceded.

Physically grabbing onto Sigurd, he passed her off to Kili as he stood in front of Thyra. "Thyra how can you-"

He was cut off as Thyra pushed past him. Thrade, looking like a kicked puppy, moved forward to follow after her but Fili caught his arm. "Don't," Fili instructed. "Let her be."

Thrade's hurt look turned into one of anger as he pulled his arm free from Fili's grasp. "You may be a prince, but you are not my prince," he spat. "Order me like a subject again and I swear…"

"I wasn't ordering you," Fili defended. "I was looking out for Thyra."

Thrade narrowed his eyes. "She doesn't need you to look out for her, she has me. And when I am not around, she knows how to protect herself from dangers, so stay away from her."

Fili let out a scoff. "I am not doubting she can keep herself safe from outside threats. That is not what I was worried about. It's herself that she needs protecting from. And your infatuation with her blinds you to that."

Thrade stepped closer to him. "You think you know her so well? You have known her for what, a couple of months?" He let out a skeptic snort. "I have known her for years, don't you dare lecture me on nothing you know of."

"I am not trying to compete with you Thrade," Fili said calmly. "I am just looking out for this company. Had she killed or injured one of them or even continued to resist, they would have killed her, possibly all of us. She was endangering us and she needed to be stopped. You were the only one present who had that power over her. I had you command her for that reason only. We are on a quest, we have a mission. I will do everything in my power to see that it is a success. If you can't put your emotions aside, and do what is best for everyone for the sake of preserving your good graces with Thyra, then you don't know her at all. And if you cannot see that, then maybe you should not have come on this quest."

Whether it was because he knew Fili was right or because his anger had rendered him mute, Thrade said nothing in return. Instead he turned away with a huff and took a seat down by a crying Sigurd who was being consoled by Kili.

With his departure, Fili suddenly felt weary. He let out a heavy sigh and leaned against the the metal bars that he stood by. As soon as his back hit the cold metal, he was sliding down to the ground. It was strange, but for the first time, he felt like a commander, a leader, an heir to the throne.

Thorin was still absent, he had panicked at being separated at first as Thorin was the leader. But there was something about watching Thyra and knowing what she was going to do, knowing what the consequences could be, and knowing exactly how to prevent it, that made him feel...powerful. Like he could handle the burden of such things.

For some odd reason he found this humerus and he let out a light huff and laughed to himself. He closed his eyes as the mirth began to die down. He must truly be delirious to think such things. And with that thought, he drifted off into a light slumber.

When he opened his eyes again, Thorin was still gone, but it seemed the guards had brought food and drink for them. As he looked around the company, he saw that several of them were still eating while others were now lying down, taking advantage of their idleness and full stomachs to catch some sleep. They all seemed to be well off giving the circumstances. Thrade still gave him a hard look when they met each other's eyes but Fili had a feeling that would linger for awhile. Sigurd looked to be at least a little more cheered but even as she gave a small smile to Kili, who was doing his best to lift her spirits, there was a sadness to her eyes each time she glanced in the direction of Thyra.

That finally brought him to Thyra. It seemed she was the only one who had not found herself some food, or even moved for that matter. She was sitting in the farthest corner where she had isolated herself. Fili caught sight of her blood crusted hands and realized that no one had seen to her wounds yet.

While he was tempted to let her sit and sulk, he knew he needed to make sure the company stayed together and well in Thorin's absence. He was no healer, but he knew Thyra would not let Oín see to her wounds and with Sigurd's feelings hurt, he was not about to subject her to Thyra's harshness so soon. And besides, he had some of his own words that needed to be shed upon her.

After retrieving a few supplies from Oín, as he did not want to bother Sigurd, Fíli walked over to the corner where Thyra sat with her knees drawn up to her chest and arms folded on top as she rested her head against her forearms. Fíli knew that she was going to refuse what he was about to do but she needed to attend to her wounds before they became infected.

She did not even lift her head when he lowered himself down in front of her. He grabbed one of her arms and tried to pull it free but she retracted it. Pulling her arms back to rest between her stomach and chest as she finally looked up at him.

A week of wandering through a dirty woodland, battling oversized arachnids, and rustling with elves had left her face caked in dirt, sweat, and grime. The dark kohl that usually rimmed her eyes was smeared and smudged, emphasizing the dark shadows of exhaustion that most like adorned everyone's face.

However he was taken aback by the clear track marks running down her cheeks that had obviously been washed away by tears. He had thought he caught tears building up in her eyes earlier but never did he think she would shed them. It was not the first time he had seen her cry, but it was still a foreign experience.

She suddenly looked more normal than he had ever seen her. There was something humanizing about the fact that see could in fact feel an emotion that could push her to shed tears. Perhaps they had been tears of anger but whatever the reason, he felt a small twinge of guilt. But he quickly suppressed it. He and Thrade had done what was best for her. She could hate him and he could care less, because at least he would not have her death or crippling injury on his conscience.

He pulled at her arm again, and again, she resisted. "Give me your hand," he said with an annoyed tone.

She shook her head and he saw her pull her arms tighter to herself. Fíli let out a huff and roughly grabbed her arm and pulled. He was met with an angry glare but she eventually gave up pulling against him and surrendered her hands to him. With the back of her arms resting on her knees with her inner arm exposed, he gently uncurled her blood crusted fingers to expose her palms.

Fíli cringed at the sight of them. Two deep gashes on each hand. One running along the middle of her palm and the other along the joint line of her fingers and thumb. He could see the meat of her palm, the exposed muscle raw, red, and swollen. Dirty blood layered the sides of each wound and Fíli wondered how she had managed to hide such a painful looking injury.

He let out a sigh and decided that cleaning away the grime and blood needed to be first. Using a handkerchief he had found in his pocket and a bowl of water from the rations that had been provided to them, he began gently dabbing away the bloody mess.

She sat silently with her head bowed, not looking at him as he worked. The occasional twitch of a finger or shift in her wrist was the only reaction he received while cleaning the wounds. Each time he noticed movement he moved more cautiously to clean the wound.

Finally as he finished cleaning away the last of the crusted blood to reveal the full extent of her wounds he opened a small canister Oín had in his pocket that had not been confiscated. It was a simple healing balm, nothing for the pain but Fíli was confident that would make no difference to Thyra.

"That was really stupid of you," he finally said as he began to lightly dab the creamy ointment onto the palms of her hands. "You won't be able to hold your sword properly anymore."

She did not give an immediate response but when she did, it was dull and full of a defeated tone. "I will be fine," she said before adding, "it matters not anyways seeing as I no longer have my sword."

Her last words had a bitter edge to them and he glanced up to see her head lifted just enough for him to see her eyes glowing with unspoken accusations. "I am not going to apologize for what I did," he said, going back to applying the ointment to her second hand. "Weapons can be replaced, your life can't."

"Not that one," she said more to herself than him as she let her head fall back down.

"Why is it so special?"

She gave no answer and he gave no effort to try and pry it out of her. He knew enough about her that if Thyra did not want to answer, there would be no changing her mind. He finished treating her wounds by wrapping them with a few torn strips of fabric from the undershirt he wore. It was not exactly a clean bandage but it was better than nothing. As he tied off the last one, Thyra pulled her hands free of his grasp and folded them back to her chest.

"Your welcome," he said sarcastically.

When she gave no answer he interpreted it as a dismissal but he lingered. Sensing his presence still before her, she glanced up at him. Her right brow lifted quizzically as if to ask why he was still there.

"I won't apologize for what I did and neither should Thrade," he reprimanded. "Those elves could have easily killed you when they tried to take your sword and then again when you resisted in the hall. You are acting like a child throwing a temper tantrum for us saving your life."

Her eyes narrowed. "So I should thank you that I am currently locked away without my sword?"

"Would you rather be gutted and tossed aside because the elves did not want to deal with your inability to know when to comply with a captors wishes."

She flashed her gritted teeth at him in a silent snarl. "You have no idea what you did. That sword is worth more than my life. It is not as you said "replaceable". You know nothing Feelig."

His eye twitched at each syllable of the nickname. "Fine," he spat. "The next time I won't bother to interfere."

With that he got up and stomped to the opposite end of the large cell. He settled into his own corner and when he chanced a glance towards her form he noticed she had gone back to resting her head against her knees. Had it not been for the moment where Bombur paused in his snoring he would not have heard the faint sniff and noticed the slight shaking in her shoulders as she cried again.

Hours passed, possibly days, it was difficult to know when there was no sight outside. One would think that as a species, dwarves would have natural internal clocks, but when you are weary, caged, and confined, it's difficult to hone in to once instincts.

Thorin had yet to return and Fili was getting worried.

Everyone was asleep now. Everyone except him. He couldn't bring himself to give into the temptation. Not when Thorin was still not back, not when Bilbo was accounted for, not when morale of the company was dissipating with every hour that did or did not pass by. He looked around at those confined within the cell. Their snores and occasional twitches brought a small amount of peace. Kili and Thrade each lay next to Sigurd keeping her small frame warm from the coldness of the dungeons between their combined forces of body heat. Dori, Nori, and Ori were all lined against the wall from oldest to youngest. Bifur, Bofur, and Bomber were spread out in the middle of the cell, each of them lined up from largest to smallest. The others were spread out sporadically. And Thyra, remained in her corner.

Despite his declaration of not caring, she had been the one he had been worried about the most. It was like she was breaking. Something about this place and these events had rattled her. It was disturbing and the pressure and urgency of getting her, getting all of them out of this cell began to weigh upon him.

Like a gift from Mahal, the next thing that happened was an answer to his unspoken prayers. Bilbo showed up out of seemingly nowhere. After several surprised cheers from the waking dwarves who rejoiced to see Bilbo holding up the keys and declaring Thorin was safe in another cell, they all looked to the small hobbit expectantly.

"Well, what's the plan?" They all choired.

Some more background history with Thyra. I hope the small glimpses of her past made some sense. We have Fili stepping up a bit a being more of a leader. To those still reading I hope you enjoyed this and I will try to be a little more frequent in working on this story. Had a few new followers and I want to thank you for giving this story a chance. As always let me know what you think and how you are feeling! What do we need more of, what are you wanting to see. And again as always let me know what scenes from the book and/or movie do you want to see. As you know sometimes I do some big time skips so if there is something you want to see for sure let me know! And again, thank you to all those who gave feedback from before, it really helps me know where to go with this.