PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LI: Beardless And Blond

When I saw where I had Skipped to and who was there, the first sound I made was "Gah."

That's it. No "Hi." No "Hello." No "How you doing?" Just "Gah."

For you see, I had ended up in Thranduil's throne room. But not just anywhere in Thranduil's throne room. Oh no. The Skip has a sense of humor. It decided to place me on Thranduil's throne.

The throne was made of silver-metal but was shaped so that it looked like a bunch of intertwining branches that formed a seat beneath me. Surprisingly, it was rather comfortable. However, I was still soaked from my river adventure, and my clothes dripped water on the throne.

I stared out at the circular room in front of me, which contained three elves and an orc. Legolas, dressed in some sort of scaly armor, had a knife pressed to the throat of the orc, which was bound to a chair, an agonized expression on its puckered, gray face. Tauriel, wearing her green guard uniform, was staring at me with malice-filled eyes. And to her right stood King Thranduil himself. He was clothed in a long, red cloak and a grand crown made of thin, white-metal branches. His arms were folded over his chest in a nonchalant position, but as he looked at me, I could see murder in his eyes.

I hopped off the throne as quickly as I could.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," I said, edging away from the throne. "I know it's your chair. It's totally your chair. You own that chair. I, um, can't control my Skipping. I didn't mean to sit in your throne, I swear."

"I do not like you," said Thranduil. "And yet, you insist upon invading my home."

"Hold on a second," I said, taking another step away from the throne. "You got this all wrong. I have absolutely no desire to invade your home. I just happen to have no control over where I Skip, I end up where I may. End of story." Water droplets fell on the ground, dripping freely from my hair. "You guys wouldn't happen to have a towel, would you?"

The three elves glowered at me.

"You need to work on your hosting skills," I said. And then, in an attempt to change the subject and avoid my death at the hands of a very pissed-off-looking Tauriel, I turned to the imprisoned orc and said, "What brings you to the hall of King Thranduil?"

The orc glared up at me and barred its teeth, refusing to speak.

"He is here by my invitation," said Legolas. He dug the edge of his blade into the orc's shoulder. The orc hissed but nothing more. Legolas grimaced at me. "We found a party of orcs on our land. We killed many but not all. A dozen escaped, heading east to the borders of Mirkwood."

"Orcs?" I asked. "A party of them? Do they usually cross your lands?"

"No," snapped Tauriel. "The guard ensures that no orcs pass our borders."

"Captain," said Thranduil, giving Tauriel a sharp look. "It appears that your methods have been less than satisfactory of late. Do not make me regret the decision to place an elf of small years in such a high position."

Tauriel tensed. Slowly, she turned to the orc and snapped, "Well? Answer the question."

The orc spat at her feet.

In one swift, smooth movement, Tauriel pulled a knife from her side and buried the blade in the orc's leg, just above its knee. "Tell me, foul-being, or I will twist my knife and sever your kneecap from your leg."

Teeth gritted, the orc murmured something in the black speech.

Legolas's blade bit into the throat of the orc as Legolas leaned forward and said, softly, "How much use will you be to your kind when you cannot walk? Would it be a greater mercy for us to kill you? Or shall we have Tauriel tear you to shreds and then return you to your foul friends. What will they do with an orc who cannot fight?"

The orc pulled its neck away from Legolas's blade and said, in a gravelly, wretched voice, "We were hunting a company of dwarves."

Tauriel exchanged glances with the frowning Thranduil. I shifted from side to side uncomfortably. I didn't know where in the timeline I was. Had Thranduil captured the dwarves yet? How much did he know about Thorin's quest?

"Why were you hunting a company of dwarves?" asked Tauriel. She twisted the dagger in the orc's knee ever so slightly.

"Oakenshield," hissed the orc.

"Why?" asked Tauriel. "What is Oakenshield to you?"

The orc released a venomous hiss and snapped something in its foul language. Tauriel dug the blade even deeper into the orc's leg.

"You do not much care for your leg, then?" she said. And then she yanked the blade, still embedded in the orc's flesh, towards her. There was a crack and the orc let out a howl of pain. I cringed, looking away from the broken leg. Tauriel removed her blade, now stained in black blood, and stepped away from the orc. The elves watched in silence as the orc spewed curses at them.

"If you answer our questions," said Thranduil calmy, "no more harm will come to you. Tell us what you know, and I will set you free."

The orc let out a low growl.

"What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?" asked Legolas, pressing his knife blade against the orc's shoulder.

"You can always be parted with the other knee," said Tauriel.

"A dwarf runt," hissed the orc, "who will never be king."

I started to protest, but a threatening glance from Legolas silenced me. There were appropriate times to promote Thorin's majesty, and now was not one of them.

"There is no King Under the Mountain," said Legolas. "Nor will there ever be again. None would ever dare enter Erebor whilst Smaug dwells there."

"You know nothing." The orc's yellow eyes glinted maliciously. "Your world will burn."

Shivers ran down my spine. I glanced at Thranduil, but the elvenking's face was stony. Legolas dug his blade into the orc's skin, drawing blood. "What are you talking about? Speak."

The orc leered at Thranduil. In a raspy voice, the orc said, "Our time has come again. Our master serves the One."

Thranduil lifted his chin as understanding dawned on him.

"Do you understand now, elfling?" hissed the orc, staring up at Legolas. "Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you—"

Thranduil cut off the orc's head.

I hadn't even seem the elvenking draw his blade, so I jumped at the sudden movement. The orc's head toppled onto the stone floor behind the chair. Tauriel, Legolas, and I stared in silence as the orc's corpse that twitched violently in the wooden chair. As the limbs fell still, Thranduil sheathed his sword and turned his back on the body.

Legolas wrinkled his nose in disgust, before putting his knife back in its place. "He might have revealed more, Father."

Thranduil looked at the orc's body, which was now bleeding from the neck. "He had nothing more for us."

"Why does Thorin Oakenshield concern the orcs of the Misty Mountains?" asked Tauriel.

"Not the orcs," said Thranduil grimly. "Their master."

"Who is this dark master?" asked Legolas. "Who commands such fear in you?"

Thranduil did not answer Legolas's question. He stepped past his son and moved to sit on the throne. He paused, however, when he saw the puddle of water I had left on the seat. Stiffly, he turned around and sent a venomous glare in my direction. I inched away from him.

Finally, Thranduil said, "Legolas, Tauriel, I wish you to hunt this party of orcs. Kill them and recapture our prisoners. I wish Thorin Oakenshield and his company to be reclaimed alive."

I breathed a sigh of relief. So the Company had already been captured by the elves and Bilbo had helped them escape the prison. It was nice to know where in time I stood exactly.

Thranduil glanced at me and added, "Before you depart, Tauriel, cast this miserable wretch into a prison cell."

Well, with that declaration, my relief vanished in an instant. I backed away from the elvenking, saying, "Now, now, is that really necessary? I'll leave in my own good time, I swear."

Tauriel grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me from Thranduil's throne room. I struggled against her hold as she dragged me down the smooth, intricate underground passageways towards the prisons. I tried to pry her arm off me, but her grip was like iron.

"You really are a freaking warrior elf," I said.

"I trained," said Tauriel, flatly.

"Yeah, yeah." I glared at the place where she held my arm. "You know, if you spent a little more time partying and a little less time with knives, you probably wouldn't have lost to Riadan, of all people, in a drinking competition."

Tauriel's eyes flashing with rage. "How do you know about that? Riadan swore under pain of death that he would never speak of that night."

"Please," I said. "Riadan is my step-brother. There are no secrets between us."

Tauriel gritted her teeth. Her grip on my arm tightened as she steered me around a corner. "I had one night where I abandoned my responsibilities as a member of the guard. Never again. I worked hard to gain my position as captain. I refuse to be held back by any embellished stories Riadan might tell."

"So, basically, you're a workaholic."

Frowning, Tauriel said, "You always speak in strange ways."

I took advantage of her hesitation to yank my arm out of her grasp. I grinned triumphantly, but the grin quickly faded when I saw the dark look in Tauriel's eyes. I rubbed my aching arm and said, "You were pinching. Don't worry. I'll be good. I won't try to run away at all."

"If you try," said Tauriel. "I will make that orc's death seem like an easy passing to you."

"Right." I made a mental note not to piss off Tauriel in the future. "I promise I won't run away. I will go to my prison cell without a fight."

And then, I Skipped.

Damn, Tauriel was going to kill me the next time I showed up in Mirkwood.

The Skip deposited me between a thick pillar and a stone wall. It was cramped; there was barely enough space for me to stand between the two. Not for the first time, I was glad that claustrophobia was not on my very long list of fears.

I squeezed my way out from behind the pillar and found that I was standing in a small dwarven hall. How did I know it was dwarven? 1) The hall was entirely made of stone with no windows. There was a carved ceiling supported by carved, thickset pillars. 2) It had a sturdy dwarvish feel to it. You know the feeling? Roaring fires, detailed decorations, homey atmosphere. It was dwarvish. 3) There were two dwarves in the hall.

Two little blond dwarves to be precise. They couldn't have been more than four foot tall and neither one of them had beards. They didn't notice me at first; they were too absorbed in their practice bout. They wielded wooden swords; the fake blades cracked together loudly with each blow, the noise echoing through the hall.

The slightly taller of the two dwarf-children managed to disarm the other—sending his brother's weapon flying across the hall. The sword clattered on the ground and skidded across the stone-paved floor. It came to a halt just a few feet away from my boots (which were still wet from my swim in the river with Bard the Brat).

"I think you dropped something." I bent over a plucked the wooden sword from the ground.

The two dwarves gawked at me. They seemed unsure as to whether they should attack me (the older one kept glancing at the wooden sword in his right hand) or flee. I grinned at them—and then paused. Their faces were so familiar. The older one had the same blue eyes… and the younger one the same jawline…

I screamed and dropped the wooden sword. "Oh my God! Fíli, what happened to your beard? And Kíli—have you gone blond?"

The much younger versions of Fíli and Kíli looked just as scared of me as I was of them. Kíli cowered behind his brother, but he kept glancing at the sword I had just dropped. Fíli lifted his own wooden sword and pointed at me. His hands were trembling slightly, but he managed to keep his voice even (I was quite impressed).

"How do you know us?" asked Fíli suspiciously. "You are not a dwarf."

I sighed. "If only. What wouldn't I give to be a majestic dwarf? All my humany problems would disappear, and I could spend my days working with precious gems, drinking ale, and being a majestic badass. I'd even be able to grow a beard."

Fíli lowered his sword slightly. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Uncle Thorin." I laughed. "I've always wanted to call him Uncle Thorin." I paused. "Oh. Right. I have to introduce myself. Hi, I'm Ana Stonbit. In the future, you two and I will go on a crazy adventure together to take back the Lonely Mountain. We'll fright trolls—well, you'll fight and I'll run away screaming. We'll vanquish goblins—well, we'll run away from goblins, but we'll make it out alive. Then we'll battle orcs—well, actually we climb trees and then get rescued by eagles. But then we'll meet some elves—well, they put us in prison and we escape in barrels…Damn it, Uncle Thorin, who does our whole adventure involve us running away?"

"Fíli," whispered Kíli. "I do not think this woman is sane."

"Shush." Fíli elbowed his brother in the ribs. "We do not want to upset her. She might snap and try to eat us."

"I'm not a cannibal," I cried. I paused and tilted my head to the side, thinking. "Actually, would it be considered cannibalism if a human ate a dwarf? I mean, that's like saying it's cannibalism for an orc to eat a human—and I know orcs do that. Actually, orcs eat other orcs so that's a redundant point. But still, is it considered cannibalism if an elf eats a dwarf or vice versa?"

"You are the one who gave her the idea," hissed Kíli.

"So," I said, ignoring their whispered conversation, "how is Uncle Thorin doing?"

"We have not seen him in a while," said Fíli. "He is fighting a war with our relatives in the Iron Hills. We wanted to go with him, but mother would not permit us."

"I understand." I sighed dramatically. "Fíli, I cannot take you seriously without your beard."

"I have never had a beard," said Fíli.

I frowned. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-four," squeaked Kíli.

"Fifty-seven," said Fíli.

"Oh, whoa, you're both still older than me." I shook my head. "Whatever. Fíli has no beard, and Kíli is blond. You're both too young to be taken seriously."

"Kíli has always been blond," said Fíli. "Why is this so strange?"

"You are beardless and blond too," Kíli told me. "Then should we not take you seriously as well?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I mean—come on—Thorin's nephews just asked if they should take me seriously. Thorin's nephews. If he knew, he would disown them on the spot.

"You should always take me seriously." I bent over a picked up the wooden practice sword again. I twirled the sword in my hand (an attempt to look badass) and dropped it again. We'll just pretend that little scenario didn't happen. "I am Ana Stonbit. I'm going to save both your lives one day, so you should suck-up to me while you still can. Or I might just change my mind."

Fíli and Kíli stared at me for a good long moment. Then, they took a few steps away from me and carried out another hushed conversation. They would cast suspicious glances in my direction before turning their attention back to one another. I watched them, unable to keep the image of a tree house with a sign saying 'No Anas Allowed' on the door.

Eventually, the two brothers reached a decision as to what to do with me. They broke their meeting and turned to face me. However, before Fíli could get the words out, a deep voice boomed through the hall.

"Fíli! Kíli! Why did you not tell me that we had guests?"

A short, stout dwarf made her way across the hall. She had entered silently through a huge stone door on the other side of the hall. When I first saw her, I remember being stunned. She was beautiful. She had wavy, dark brown hair and a short, breaded beard. Her wool dress was gray and blue with the symbol of House Durin (a crown and seen stars) woven in the front. She had strong features with fierce, blue eyes. She held herself erect and upright and she moved with a stubborn, dwarvish grace.

"Mother," muttered Kíli, "do not embarrass us."

"Embarrass you?" Dis surveyed me carefully. There was something in her eyes, an emotion I couldn't read. She seemed to be thinking hard, and then, a slow smile spread across her proud face and she asked, "Is this your betrothed, Kíli?"

"Betrothed?" I repeated blankly.

Dis turned to me and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Kíli always tells me about this little dwarf girl he has been so in love with and he cannot wait to marry. But he has never introduced us."

"Oh," I said. "Well, in that case, my name is Ana Stonbit. It's so nice to meet you!"

Kíli groaned. "Do I not get a say in this?"

I pranced over to Kíli's side and wrapped and arm around his much shorter shoulders. "Don't be shy, honey."

"I am called Dis," said his mother. A slight frown crossed her face. "I have never met a Stonbit before. I thought I knew every dwarf in the Blue Mountains."

"I'm from the south." I paused. "The Bree…area. You know. I'm good friends with Thorin."

Dis snorted. "That slow, stupid, stubborn dwarf who has a stick shoved so far up his backside that he cannot walk in a straight line anymore? How do you survive?"

I stared at her for a moment. "Um…isn't he your brother?"

"That does not mean I have to like him." Dis crossed her arms. "I ask him to babysit my boys one time and he invents a war he has to go fight just to avoid doing some honest work." Dis clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head.

"Is there no war in the Iron Hills?" I asked.

Dos sighed. "He is visiting our cousins. He does that sometimes. When the Blue Mountains become too much for him, he needs to leave, to wander the lands. He always gathers information and connections for the Longbeards as he travels, of course, and he always looks to the Lonely Mountain, but sometimes, the Blue Mountains are suffocating for him."

"Oh." I gulped. In the end, I realized, I knew very little about Thorin, about the years he'd spent in the Blue Mountains.

She glanced at me. "It is the fault of our father and grandfather and that damned prophet. They kept feeding Thorin ideas of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain."

"But he does," I said.

Dis blinked. "What did you say?"

"But he, um, does reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Eventually." I stopped talking when I saw the curious look in Dis's eyes. It was never a good idea to reveal the future—sometimes, though, I just couldn't help it. Quickly, I said, "You know! I'm hungry. You got any grub on you? Or some ale? I'm always in the mood for ale."

Dis squinted at me for a second, as if she were trying to read my mind. However, my mental defenses (whatever they are) must have held, because after a moment, Dis's smile returned and she said, "Actually, I was just about to call the boys for dinner. Would you like to join us?"

Kíli was shaking his head and mouthing the word "no" at his mother. I elbowed him in the side and beamed at Dis. "Of course. I would love to."

Dis led me through the hall and back to their dining room. Fíli and Kíli followed behind me, bringing their wooden practice swords with them. They kept muttering between themselves and shooting me deadly glances. I didn't pay too much attention to my potential murderers. (They were so much like their uncle—it was adorable!) We entered the stone dining room where the heavy oaken table was set with plates upon plates of meat and bread and other dwarvish delicacies.

There were only four of us at the table. I didn't see any sign of Kíli and Fíli's father, and I foolishly wondered if he was in the Iron Hills with Thorin. I ended up sitting across the Dis at the table and next to my "betrothed".

Fíli seemed content to pretend I didn't exist, while Kíli kept giving me dirty looks as he consumed the roasted goat, potatoes, and turnips on his plate. Dis, on the other hand, kept watching me, a careful, calculating look in her blue eyes. It kind of frightened me, like I was undergoing some sort of test. I hoped she didn't seriously think I was betrothed to Kíli and was evaluating me to see if I was good wife material—because, let's be honest, I was not made to be a wife.

"Have you heard the story about Geirfast the Stone Biter?" asked Dis with a smile. "A friend of mine loved telling that story to anyone who would listen."

I took a sip of ale. "Do tell."

"He is an old dwarf legend. I am surprised you have not heard of him."

"My parents were never ones for legends and storytelling."

"Well, yes," said Dis, "you are tall for a dwarf. It makes sense that your parents are a little…unusual."

"So wait," I said, leaning forward. "Garefast or however you say it. What happened to him?"

"Geirfast the Stone Biter," said Dis. "Dwarves are well known for eating just about any food that crosses our paths—with the exception of lettuce and other elvish foods."

Kíli screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out. "Yuck."

"I agree," I said. "Elves are gross."

"Well, Geirfast ate anything," said Dis. "Even elvish lettuce."

I gasped ad clutched a hand to my chest. "Blasphemy!" (I didn't tell her that I ate salads on a regular basis back home.)

"It is true," said Dis gravely, "but that is how he achieved his name. You could put anything on a plate, place it on the table in front of him, and he would eat it. Well, one day, for amusement, his brother put a plate of stones in front of Geirfast."

"He didn't!" I cried.

Dis nodded. "He did. And Geirfast ate the stones."

"Did he survive?" I asked, my voice little more than a whisper. (Don't judge me! Stories are way more exciting when you get emotionally invested in them.)

"Yes," said Dis. "No one knows how he did it, but he survived eating the stones."

"Wow," I said. "That's intense."

"It is a dull story," said Kíli. "Can we discuss something more interesting?"

I turned to Kíli and wriggled my eyebrows. "Can we discuss why you are blond?"

"I have always been blond," said Kíli. "Why do you keep insisting that my hair has ever been any color besides yellow?"

"Because you're a brunet!"

"He has always been blond," said Dis. "Like his father."

I paused for a second, deep in thought. But then it struck me. "Ah-ha! I get it! I understand it all now!"

Fíli sighed. "I have the feeling this is going to get out of hand."

"You are a natural blond, but because your majestic uncle could not tell you and your brother apart—Thorin is too majestic to pay attention to such small details as facial structure—you decided to dye you hair brown."

Fíli sighed. "I was correct." He took a bite of roasted potato.

"And you're a beardless rat, Fíli," I said, crossing my arms and leaning back in my seat. "You're just jealous because I'm right."

Fíli decided it was best to ignore me and just eat his dinner. Kíli however looked close to tears.

"Thorin is good uncle!" cried Kíli. "He has taught me how to fight and he is going to bring me on a quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

"Do not have such fancy ideas in your head," said Dis. "The Lonely Mountain is lost. Thorin needs to accept this fact and he needs to stop corrupting my sons."

"But he's going to bring them a quest," I said. "Do you change your mind?"

Dis stopped scolding her son and turned to stare at me. Her smooth, brown eyebrows were knitted together as she considered me. Finally, she turned back to her son and said, "Your betrothed is rather odd."

"She is not my betrothed," said Kíli. "I have never seen her before in my life."

"She was spying on us in the practice room," said Fíli.

"Kíli!" I cried. "How could you do this to me!? I thought we had something special!"

"I do not even know who you are!" cried Kíli.

Dis turned to me, amusement flashing in her eyes. However, her voice was filled with horror as she said, "You lied to me about your betrothal?"

I laughed and scratched the back of my head sheepishly. "I mean, Kíli and I are going to be really good friends in the future…"

"Who are you?" asked Dis.

"I'm—" Skip. "—a Thorin fangirl."