Tivan made his way along the narrow streets to the inn near the edge of town. As he reached the entrance he took a moment to admire the view of the mountains in the distance; up the river were the gates of Fahr-Sud the Dwarf city of the Grey Mountains. It was his sixth night in Framsburg, and he could not wait to be on his way south, the town made him increasingly uneasy. From the Iron Hills there were two ways to travel to Gondor, along the dusty wagon road from Dale, or down the Anduin from Framsburg, at the foot of the Grey Mountains. Tivan had been lucky enough to find a ride with a freight team on their last trip before the heavy snows hit, now he was just waiting for the barge captain to fill his holds before starting south. It had been easy to secure passage, one of the advantages to being a bard was captains were always glad to have someone aboard to entertain the crew.

Back in the Iron Hills on the night of the King's wake Tivan had remembered that Nain often talked about his desire to visit the archives in Gondor. In the great city of Men all the old records were kept, going back to the founding of the city in the Second Age. Nain had mentioned several times that he could not complete his research without going there, and he had been planning to spend several years going through the documents. Tivan knew Nain had been on his way to the Blue Mountains fifteen years ago, he had more than enough time to have visited all the Dwarf kingdoms. If he was still alive he was surely in Gondor, or had been there recently enough that Tivan could catch up to him.

This was Tivan's first time in the Ered Mithrin. In the cities of the Misty Mountains Dwarves and Men mingled freely, you often found them drinking and working together, but in Framsburg they kept themselves separate. The Dwarves rarely left their city and the few traders and smiths that lived in town stayed on the north edge of the settlement. The freighters had warned him to only seek lodging in that area, and when he ventured to other parts of the town the Men stared at him and whispered among themselves. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Tivan also noticed there were a large number of Dwarf soldiers about, keeping a watchful eye on the river traffic and patrolling throughout the town. Curiously, many of them were from the Blue Mountains. He had been debating asking why they were here, but did not want to draw unwelcome attention to himself.

Tivan pushed the door open, welcoming the warmth of the crowded inn after the cool night air. The place was full of tobacco smoke and laughter, and a large number of Dwarven soldiers. Kare, the old Dwarf who had invited him to play, hailed him from across the room. They played several sets together, with much singing along and shouted requests from the patrons. Some of the tunes were new to him, but he was able to pick them up quickly and he was surprised to have a couple of his own songs requested. He did not know his music had traveled so far. After they had finished playing, Tivan made his way over to the bar, eager for a pint. As he crossed the room a very large, somewhat tipsy soldier put a hand on his arm.

"You are good! I could use you to keep up the spirits of my troops on the march," he said, peering near-sightedly at the bard.

Tivan smiled politely, brushing off the man's hand. "I just accepted a commission in Moria, I am on my way south in the morning."

"Moria!" The soldier clapped him on the shoulder. "We will be there soon! Why not just come with us? Or don't you want to be on the winning side?"

At that moment, another soldier grabbed the Dwarf's arm. "Do not pay any attention to him, he's drunk," he told Tivan.

"I am not!" The first soldier protested, waving his arm to ward off his companion. Tivan stepped hastily back to avoid being struck and stepped on the foot of someone behind him. He quickly turned around to apologize and came face to face with a very familiar pair of violet eyes.

"Your maj-!" Tivan started to exclaim before she quickly clapped her hand over his mouth, giving him a warning glance. Tivan was so shocked he could barely speak, he muttered an apology before she leaned close to his ear.

"We need to talk," she whispered. "Outside."

Still reeling, Tivan made his way over to pick up his instrument and say his farewells to the other musicians. Shouldering his bag, he stepped out into the crisp night air, looking up and down the street. He saw the Queen standing at the corner of the inn. She was wearing a fur-trimmed leather coat over a set of men's clothes she might have borrowed from a miner, she was also armed with sword and bow. She had grown out the beard she usually shaved. Tivan had to admit the disguise would fool any Man, and maybe even a few Dwarves. She motioned him to follow her and led the way past the end of the street where they would not be overheard.

Tivan bowed low. "Your majesty, what are you doing here?"

Freya put her hands on her hips. "I am following you, of course. How could you leave me a letter saying you know where to find my son and not expect me to go after you?"

"I expected you to stay at home and protect your throne!" Tivan was shocked. It had never occurred to him she would leave the Iron Hills. "From what I heard at the King's wake I thought you would be preparing your armies for war."

Freya waved her hand dismissively. "Trond said the same thing, but he can do that very well without me," she said. "And we are staying in touch through the ravens. I am actually glad I came, now I see more clearly the danger Durin guessed at. So, where is my son?"

Tivan shifted his feet, keeping his eyes down. He had so wanted to bring Nain back to the Iron Hills by himself. "I believe he is in Gondor. He often spoke of research he needed to do there."

"Of course, that's where he would find all the old records," Freya said, nodding slowly. She met the bard's eyes. "So, you are going south down the river. That is why you came here."

"Yes," he nodded. "The last barge of the year is set to leave tomorrow."

"Very well, I am going to Gondor with you," the Queen replied. "Do you have a cabin arranged?"

"Yes, but…," Tivan stopped, biting his tongue. He had been on the verge of saying something he really shouldn't. "You can have my cabin, of course. There should still be space on the deck."

"In this weather? Surely the cabin has room for two!"

"My queen, it would not be appropriate!"

Freya frowned at him, then gestured at her attire. "Do I look like I care about appearances? Anyway, you can just tell the crew I am your mother."

Tivan stared at her, he could feel the heat creeping up his face. "I couldn't possibly…I…," he stammered, trying to order his thoughts. Freya crossed her arms and waited for him to go on. "I don't know if it is even large enough for two, your majesty."

The Queen smiled at him. "You are going to have to stop calling me that," she said gently. "Call me Freyr. I am a simple miner now, on the way to Moria to join my kin." She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you? Why do you think of me as some blushing young girl, when everyone else sees a hundred and thirty-year-old mother of two children?"

"Perhaps it is because I have seen you blush," Tivan replied, starting to regain his composure. "And I would not want to share a cabin with my mother, in any case."

"If I am looking for my son, at least I feel like I am doing something," Freya said. "At home I can do nothing but worry."

"I wish you would return to the Iron Hills," Tivan sighed. "But if you are determined, meet me at the docks at six bells and we will make the arrangements."

Freya nodded, then turned and walked down the back street into the night. Tivan watched her go, still not quite believing she was actually here. And they were about to spend days together, possibly in the same cabin, floating down the Anduin. He worried he would not be able to spend so much time in close company with his Queen without revealing how he felt about her. He walked back to his inn debating whether he should just tell her, and wondering if she already knew.

A light snow was falling the next morning as Tivan made his way down to the river. The crew was securing the last of the cargo to the barge. Freya was already there, watching the Men work. With a bag slung over her shoulder and a wide-brimmed hat to hide her face she looked the part of a traveling miner, a Dwarf off to seek her fortune. The soldiers gave her a close look as they started up the ramp, but did not stop her. This far from her kingdom it was almost impossible that she would be recognized. The barge captain grumbled at him bringing another mouth to feed, but relented when Freya put two gold coins in his hand.

"You'll have to make do with the one cabin," he said. "The rear deck is already full." His was the last barge of the winter, so everyone who wanted to go south had piled aboard, claiming space on the pallets with their bedrolls.

The cabin was at the very front, and Tivan was glad to discover it had a second bunk that pulled out from under the first. The captain had obviously given him the smallest cabin, but since it was built for Men there was quite enough space for two Dwarves. After stowing their things they went back up to the deck just as the barge began to drift away from the dock.

"I think I never have been so glad to leave a place," Tivan said thoughtfully, watching the town disappear through the falling snow.

"I agree," Freya said. "These are dark times for the Ered Mithrin."

"What is happening?" Tivan turned toward her, leaning on the rail. "I see many Dwarves from the Blue Mountains, the residents are holed up in their city. Why we have heard none of this in the Iron Hills?"

"I do not know the whole story, and I did not want to risk going to Fahr-Sud to find out," Freya replied. "It is Borin's cousin Vidar, who rules here. Some calamity has struck the kingdoms of the Blue Mountains, and Vidar brought the people here. He seems to inspire a fierce loyalty among his followers, that is why we have heard nothing of this. Now he wants the throne of the Iron Hills as well, I think he means to rule all the kingdoms."

"Can he do it?"

Freya smiled. "If he thinks the children of Thorin Oakenshield will give up without a fight, he is in for a surprise."

From Framsburg the Anduin flowed nearly due south for hundreds of miles, the sharp peaks of the Misty Mountains rising on the west, the looming expanse of the Greenwood to the east. Freya had never journeyed by boat before and found it quite enjoyable. While Tivan was gambling with the other passengers on the back deck or practicing his music she would often find a quiet spot and watch the scenery go by. The crew were Men from Gondor and after one of the Dwarves aboard explained she was a woman she got quite a few curious looks. She remembered once hearing that Men were under the impression there were no Dwarf women, though she had never believed that. Where did they think the children came from? That they emerged full-formed out of stone?

Aboard the barge they were quick to find a routine. Tivan was very attentive and always made sure she had everything she needed. The first night was cold, and he found her an extra blanket, a button fell off her coat and she later discovered he had sewn on a new one. He made sure she had enough to eat and was always asking if there was anything else he could do for her. She mostly had the cabin to herself, Tivan would come in late after he had finished playing for the crew, and quietly let himself out before she got up. Freya pulled his bunk out in the evenings before she climbed into her own, and rolled out his bedroll. She was a very light sleeper so he invariably woke her when he came in, but she pretended to be asleep so he would not think he was disturbing her. With all that was on her mind she did not sleep well and was awake through the early morning hours. She would lay on her side and watch Tivan sleep in the grey light, in their little cabin he was closer than she and her husband had been the times they shared a bed. She studied his fine features, straight nose and strong cheekbones, the elaborate braids he wore in his tawny golden hair, wondering why he wore his beard short, though she always forgot to ask him. She found herself fighting the urge to reach down and touch his bare shoulder, run her fingers over his skin. Then she would roll onto her back and remind herself that to lust after a man half her age was ridiculous, even if she did get the impression that the attraction was mutual.

On the fourth day on the river a scribe joined them for dinner at the table with a few of the crew. A small, unhealthy-looking man in worn robes. As they ate he kept looking at Freya and Tivan curiously.

"Please excuse me, but are you from Erebor?" He asked at last.

"Yes," Freya answered. "Are you from Gondor?"

"I am," the Man nodded. "I could not but notice you look very different from the Dwarves in Framsburg, it made me curious. We do not see many Dwarves in Minas Tirith."

"You are from the White City?" Tivan asked. "Are you by chance a scribe in the libraries there?"

"Indeed. It has been my life's work."

"Is that what brought you to the north?" Freya asked.

"No. Unfortunately a scribe cannot support himself solely with research," the man smiled. "I have been keeping accounts for a trading company, my contract just ended. Now I have enough to continue my work for several years, I cannot wait to get back to it! I could not face another winter in the north."

An idea suddenly occurred to Tivan. "Do you know any Dwarves in Gondor?"

"There is one I know well," the Man replied. "Arrived in the archives six years ago, one of the sharpest scholars I have ever met."

"I have a kinsman in Gondor," Freya said, trying to keep her voice light. "What is this Dwarf's name?"

"If your kinsman is writing a history of your people, he is one and the same," the scribe studied her closely. "His name is Nain and, I must say, he looks rather like you."

Tivan and Freya exchanged glances. "Is he still there?" Tivan asked.

The Man shook his head. "No, he left just before I took this job two years ago."

"Do you happen to know where he went?" Freya asked, feeling her chest tighten.

"I can't remember if he named a specific place," the Man looked thoughtful. "I know he had started on his book, a history of the Dwarves. I must say, I am looking forward to reading it. He said the last part was devoted to Thorin Oakenshield and there was still some research he needed to do. I know he was going west, to Eriador."

Freya felt her heart sink. She had been so sure they would find her son in Gondor, now that hope had been dashed. Tivan touched her shoulder and she looked up to see he was smiling. After this the conversation turned to other things and as soon as they could politely excuse themselves Tivan and Freya rose to take a turn on the deck.

"I must go talk to the captain," Tivan said, when he was sure they would not be overheard. "We have already passed the ford at the Forest Road, we need to ask how soon he can put me ashore."

"You know where Nain is?" Freya asked, turning to face him. She tightened her grip on his hand, surprised to find she was holding it.

Tivan smiled. "You must know the songs about your father as well as I do. Don't you remember Bilbo Baggins?"

Freya gasped. "He is in Bilbo's land? What is it called…the Shire? Are you sure?"

"I can't know for certain, but that is where I must look next," Tivan said. "It will be a hard journey over the mountains, the snow will already be deep. You must return to the Iron Hills."

"Absolutely not," Freya frowned at him. "I am going with you. I have already come this far, I am not turning back now."

"Somehow I knew you would say that," Tivan sighed. "But I am only concerned for your safety. Will you not reconsider?"

"My mind is made up," Freya said. Looking down she saw they were still holding hands, she thought about letting go but found she didn't really want to. "I want to find my son," she looked up at him with a little smile. "And I am fortunate to have such a good friend on the journey."

She saw Tivan's eyes change, taking on a kind of sadness. He reached to move a wisp of hair away from her face. "Will you ever think of me as more than a friend?" He whispered. Then, eyes widening, he quickly stepped back, bowing his head. He almost went down on one knee but stopped himself. "I am sorry, your maj-…ah, my lady. I should not have said that."

Freya clasped her hands and looked at him. She opened her mouth to respond but could not find the right words. "Apology accepted," she said at last. She did not tell him the touch of his fingers on her cheek had made her realize how desperately she wanted him. She ached for him to take her in his arms, to feel his lips on her skin. But that could never happen. "Now, let us go and talk to the captain," she told him, instead of all the other things she wanted to say.

The second day on the trail after leaving the barge dawned brilliant and clear, the snow-covered peaks of the mountains standing out in sharp relief against the blue sky. The sun was warm on their faces, the air crisp with the scent of fall, a perfect day for traveling. Tivan and Freya walked north along the river, toward the pass that would lead them west over the mountains, hoping to reach the small settlement at the East-West Road by the evening.

Tivan had wondered at first how the Queen would fare walking all day, but soon discovered she was more than up to the task. Freya set a fast pace and walked tirelessly for hours, even insisting he let her carry some of the supplies. The barge captain had given them eight days worth, if they managed them carefully it would be enough to get over the mountains. Tivan had already noticed the Queen ate like a bird, so little he worried about her, he even tried to tempt her with fresh fish from the river.

"You sound like my mother," she told him, picking at her fish. "'You need to eat more, no man will want you unless you put some meat on your bones!' I got so tired of hearing that."

"She told you that?" Tivan was shocked.

"I would remind her that Kaylea Wolf was thin as a rail and all the men wanted her," Freya chuckled at the memory. "Then she would refuse to speak to me for a couple of days."

Tivan laughed with her, thinking it could not have been easy to grow up between two such strong-willed women. It was in moments like these, seeing her smile and laugh, hearing these little anecdotes from her childhood, that Tivan felt closest to her. He had spent years admiring his queen from afar, now he was sharing meals with her under the open sky. At court their roles were very clear, but out in the Wild the lines became blurred. On the barge it had been easier to maintain a semblance of their accepted roles, they took meals together and an evening stroll on the deck, but otherwise he was able to mostly keep himself apart from her. Here it was different, here they were equals, just two people moving through the vast landscape, needing each other to survive.

In the afternoon they came to a place where a ridge of rock jutted up in front of them, marching down from the mountains into the river. The trail they were following zig-zagged up the side and along the crest, but as they came to the spot where it began to descend the other side they found a section of the rock had slid away, leaving a sheer face with a jumble of rocks at the bottom where they could see the trail pick up again, almost forty meters below them. It had obviously been this way for some time as previous travelers had rigged a couple of ropes. One was fixed, the other went through a pulley and could be used to lower things down by someone at the bottom.

Freya looked at the ropes nervously. "I am not very good with heights. I don't know if I can do this."

"You will be fine," Tivan told her. "I will go first and get the packs down. Then you can tie the rope around your waist and I will lower you as you climb down."

"I don't know," Freya bit her lip, looking at the rocks below. "Perhaps we can go back and see if there is another trail."

Tivan could see she was scared. He looked into her eyes. "You can do this. I will not let you fall. Do you not trust me?"

"I know you will take care of me," Freya said. "But it still scares me, stepping over that edge." She looked at the ropes again. "I am too old for this," she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

"Age is just a number, my queen," Tivan told her. "Your own father undertook the dangerous journey to reclaim Erebor when he was far older than you, he did not think himself too old. You will never convince me a daughter of Durin could do any less."

Freya straightened up, meeting his eyes. "You are right," she said. "If this is the way forward. I must master my fear and do it."

Tivan smiled at her, he pulled up the end of the rope that went through the pulley and made sure Freya knew how to tie a bowline knot. When he was sure she could do it confidently he turned and descended the fixed rope. Freya tied each of their packs to the rope first, as soon as Tivan had lowered them it was her turn. She tied the rope around her waist then took hold of the fixed rope, he watched her hesitate, steeling herself to step over the edge.

"I've got you," he called to her, taking up the slack. She was so light he knew he could easily lower her the same way he had the packs, but he wanted her to walk down the rockface, to know she could do it on her own. After a long moment he saw her step out, holding the rope tightly, and take a hesitant step down. "That's it!" He told her, feeling her weight on the rope in his hands. "Don't look down, just look at the rock in front of you!"

Freya lowered herself slowly at first, then a bit faster as she felt Tivan holding her. He watched her gain confidence as she descended, and he could almost feel her sigh of relief as her feet touched the ground. Just as she reached the bottom she stepped back and the rock shifted under her feet, throwing her off balance. Tivan quickly stepped forward and caught her. Freya laughed, flush with her triumph of conquering her fears, she turned in his arms and then he was kissing her. Tivan later could never remember how it happened exactly, just that it was more amazing than anything he had ever imagined. Her lips were soft as velvet, her mouth tasty earthy and sweet, her slim body alive in his arms. He had no idea how long the kiss lasted, only that he could feel he was not the only one who did not want it to end.

"That was a very long time coming," he whispered, as she drew back.

Freya was fingering the buttons on his shirt. "Do you really think age is just a number?" She asked softly, not looking up.

"You know I do not say things I don't mean," he put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to meet her eyes. "I love you. And while I have long wished for this moment, I want you to know what happens next is entirely your decision. You are as far out of my reach as the stars themselves, and even if you do share my affection I know you have many excellent reasons not to act on it."

"Thank you," she replied. "You must know that I… I must be careful, particularly now. I just…need more time to think."

"You shall have all the time you need, my queen," Tivan said, then glanced quickly at the sky. "We should get moving if we want to sleep indoors tonight."

Freya looked up at him coyly. "Will you kiss me one more time before we go?"

"Your wish is my command." Tivan pulled her against him, he felt like his whole body was vibrating when his lips touched hers. The taste of her was intoxicating, he knew she could feel his arousal and he didn't care, letting his hands run down her body pressing against him.

"You are very good at that," Freya smiled at him as she bent to pick up her pack.

"Thank you, your majesty," Tivan bowed to her. "Perhaps soon I can show you the other things I am good at."

"We will see," came the response.

They reached the settlement at the ford where the East-West Road crossed the river just as night was falling, it was little more than a single street with inns and shops to serve the many travelers on the road. This late in the season they were quickly able to find rooms and wasted no time in getting cleaned up, then joined the few other guests for a late supper in the pub. Tivan asked about the state of the road and was glad to hear that there had been no snows recently. A mule skinner who had just come that way assured him the snow was packed and easy going most of the way across the pass. This was good news, crossing the mountains on foot would be hard enough without fighting fresh snow.

Later, as Tivan lay awake in the first real bed he had enjoyed in many days, his mind kept going back to the kiss he had shared with the queen. They had not spoken of it the rest of the day, and Freya had formally bid him goodnight before disappearing into her own room. What would she decide? And if those kisses on the trail were to be the end of it, would he really be able to honor that decision? Had he made a mistake declaring his love for her? He did not regret it, but could not help rethinking it. He wanted her to come to him on her own, because it was her choice, not because he had pressured her into it. It was hours before he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The next morning they arose early and after replenishing their supplies, turned to the west and the steep mountain pass ahead of them. It was another beautiful day of clear skies and bright sun and the way was easy at first, the road climbed gradually between tall stands of trees and they did not begin to see snow until late in the day. Just as evening was coming on they stopped to rest under a pine tree. It was now time to decide if they wanted to camp or just get a few hours rest and keep walking through the night. Tivan was of a mind to keep going, the faster they crossed the mountains the less chance of being caught in a storm, but he did not want to push Freya if she was not up to it and the temperature was dropping fast. They had not spoken of the previous day, just made light conversation as they walked, and Freya had given him no hint of her mind. Tivan sliced some bread and cheese and handed them to her, he saw she was watching him closely. He could not stay silent any longer.

"I am sorry if anything I said yesterday offended you," Tivan said quietly. "I felt you had given me permission to speak, now I fear it has widened the distance between us."

Freya looked away, down the road they had just climbed. "I think I already knew, but it was still a shock to hear it spoken aloud." She nibbled at her cheese. "You have made me take a hard look at myself."

"You will not send me away then?"

"No." Freya hesitated for a moment before going on. "The way you spoke to me I should, but the more I thought about it I realized how unhappy that would make me. Borin was a good husband and father, but…," her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "He was not a passionate man. These last days together, I admit I have been thinking about you differently. I find myself wondering if I really want to live the rest of my life without…uh, well…and then I remember you are only a few years older than my son and I don't want you to waste your life." She looked down at her hands and sighed. "I really don't know what I am trying to say."

Tivan realized he had been holding his breath. He took her hold of her hand. "I do, my queen," he said. "And the only way you can find an answer to your questions is to take a chance." He brought her hand to his lips, never taking his eyes from hers. She leaned toward him, as his lips touched hers he could hear music ringing in his ears. It took him a moment to realize it was the sound of bells drifting on the wind. Many tiny bells, playing a happy rhythm. Freya and Tivan looked at each other, wondering at the source. Then they saw a group of riders come into view down the road, in the evening light they seemed surrounded by a soft silver glow, the bells jingling on the tack of their horses.

"Elves!" Freya said, quickly getting to her feet. She took off her hat and smoothed her hair, brushing off her clothes. Tivan followed her example. It was a rare thing to see Elves these days, there were few of them left and they almost never journeyed outside their own lands.

The rider in the lead reined in his horse and dismounted, looking at the two Dwarves curiously. Tivan studied the tall Elf, his grave and noble countenance, the light leather garments he wore, his long black hair tied back, on his face was the bloom of youth, but in his eyes was the wisdom of centuries. Suddenly he laughed.

"Is that Freya?" He asked. "I must say, you are the very last person I would expect to find on the side of the road!"

Freya bowed her head and curtsied low. "My lord Elrohir," she said. "What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you again." She had not spoken Elvish in so long she hoped she was pronouncing everything right.

"Unexpected is right," one of the other Elves answered. "A Dwarf who speaks our language!"

"This is Freya, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield and Queen of the Iron Hills," Elrohir explained. He looked at Tivan. "And her bard, I presume. How do you come to be in the Misty Mountains?"

"It is rather a long story, my lord," Freya said. "We are searching for my son. He left the Iron Hills many years ago and we have had no word of his whereabouts. His father has recently died, making him the King."

"I heard about the king. My condolences," Elrohir nodded gravely. "Well, you must come with us. We will have you safely over the mountains and enjoying a meal in Rivendell by tomorrow evening, from there you will be well on your way to the Shire."

Freya's eyes went wide. "My lord, you are too kind! We will gladly accept your hospitality, though we must not tarry long. Our search is urgent." Rivendell! Freya could not believe it, all her life she had wanted to visit one of the fabled Elven lands. She turned to Tivan and explained what was happening.

"They are going to take us to Rivendell?" Tivan was astonished, even more because this Elven lord seemed to know her. "How did you ever become acquainted with the Elves?"

"Lord Elrohir was sometimes a companion of Kaylea Wolf," Freya explained. "He was there for the first wedding of her and my father."

Elrohir laughed again. "Yes, indeed!" He switched to the common tongue. "That was quite an evening. It is a rare thing to see Kaylea Wolf outmaneuvered like that!"

The Elves took their packs and secured them to their horses, then one of them pulled Tivan up behind him and Elrohir set Freya on his own horse. "We will likely ride straight through," he told her, as he settled himself in his saddle. "Can you stay awake that long?"

"I will try, my lord," she told him. Right now she was so excited to ride an Elvish horse and see Rivendell she did not think she would sleep for a week. She looked for Tivan, nervously eyeing the ground far below the tall horse. Freya had inherited her parents love of riding, but Tivan apparently had the traditional Dwarven fear of being parted from the ground. She told him of Elrohir's plan.

"I believe I can stay awake," he told her. "It should be easy with the ground so far away!" The Elves spurred their horses and the bells again began their merry song. Tivan studied the faces around him, marveling at their noble, ethereal quality. When they spoke, their language had a soft, musical quality, very different from the common speech. He had heard a few Elven songs, now he was eager to hear them in the original language.

"So, you are a bard?" The Elf that he was riding with asked.

"Yes," Tivan admitted.

"A bard? Give us a tune then!" Another Elf exclaimed. Elves have a great love of music and were excited at the prospect of hearing something new.

Tivan shook his head. "I only know such songs as are popular among my people, songs of our history and the beauty of our stone halls, I do not think they would hold much interest for such great lords. And I have heard so many stories of the beauty of Elven singing, I do not think my poor voice could compare."

All the Elves laughed. "Let us judge for ourselves," said the Elf who had just spoken. "I, for one, always enjoy a new tune!"

"Let us trade a song for a song," said the Elf whose horse Tivan was sharing. "You sing one of yours and then we will sing for you."

This Tivan could not pass up, so he sang one of the songs about Thorin Oakenshield reclaiming Moria that he had learned in his youth. The Elves seemed to listen intently, and did not complain about his voice. When he finished they asked him to repeat certain parts, as if they were trying to memorize it. Then Elrohir began to sing, a song about Luthien Tinuviel, she who was considered the most beautiful Elven maiden ever to walk the earth. After he began all the Elves took up the melody, their voices making an astonishing harmony. Tivan did not understand the words but found himself transported by their singing, he could almost see Luthien dancing in moonlit groves, the beauty of the world new-made.

And so the hours passed, the Elves sang and the horses trotted on as the landscape changed around them, first the bare stone and windswept snow of the high pass, the sliding scree slopes, then tall trees and rushing streams again. Night turned into day and the sun traveled the sky. They left the road and followed a wide path marked with white stones that wound its way through meadows and great groves of trees. Tivan nodded off several times, but always caught himself before he fell off the horse. He looked for Freya in the morning light and saw her, eyes closed, leaning on the Elf lord's back. He seemed to be aware she was sleeping and put a hand back to steady her. Tivan wondered at the familiarity between his queen and the Elves, feeling a bit jealous. He had no idea she was an Elf-friend, or that she could speak their language. He had many things yet to learn about his queen, it seemed. During the ride his mind often went back to their conversation at the roadside, wondering what would have happened if the Elves had not arrived. Now he would never know.