PART TWO: ANAMNESIS

Chapter VI: How To Act Like A Dwarf

Thorin gave me the silent treatment. Not that I blamed him. I probably would've given me the silent treatment too if I'd been in his shoes.

Now that we'd left Thráin's tent, the adrenaline had worn off and the horror of what I'd done was starting to dawn on me.

I'd told Thráin I was a seer. I'd told Thráin I could see the future. I'd told Thráin some of what that future had to hold. Oh God. Bad news. All of it was bad news. A seer wasn't that far from a witch. All it took was one little thing to go wrong, and suddenly everyone would blame the witch. I'd been there before. I knew exactly how badly things could go if people believed I was a witch.

Thorin and I walked side by side in silence as Firun, one of the Longbeard dwarrows, led us through the camp. Thorin's shoulders were stiff with anger, but he still managed to walk with all the grace of a dwarven prince. For my part, I kept my head bent as I tried not to imagine what my own beheading would look like. I could barely hear a word as Firun pointed out the encampments of each clan, the food stores, the armories, and the kings' tents.

Firun led us to the edge of the Longbeard encampment where a spacious tent, decorated with the symbols of Durin in blue and black fabric, stood waiting. Apparently, when word had reached Thráin that his eldest son would be joining them in the Coldfells, Thráin had ordered a tent prepared, worthy of the Heir of Durin.

I glanced at Thorin, wondering how he took that news that his father had eagerly anticipated his arrival, but Thorin's face remained impassive.

Firun then apologized to me for my tent not being prepared (despite Balin delivering the news that I would arrive with Thorin) and promised that they would have a accommodations set up for me within the hour.

"Thráin's really gone out of his way to make me feel welcome," I muttered after Firun had left us.

Thorin said nothing as he stepped into his tent. I scurried to follow him. It was better to get my scolding out of the way now. However, rather than start on me, Thorin instead dropped his rucksack onto the ground and stood silently in the center of the tent. There was something sad and lonely in his broad shoulders, and for a brief second, I was tempted to reach out a hand. I quickly shook that thought away. Thorin was still mad at me after all.

We looked about Thorin's new quarters, and I noticed that Thráin had ensured that his eldest son would comfortable during the encampment in the Coldfells. A cushioned mat had been rolled out on the floor to make for a comfortable bed. Warm, fur blankets at been provided as well as a heating oven. A wooden table, set with some apples and bread, rested in the middle of the tent, and metal armor stamped with the sigil of Durin had been placed in the corner. Somehow…I suspected my tent would be significantly less nice.

"Can you get the scolding over with?" I asked when I could bear the silence no longer. "I know it was mistake. I couldn't think of anything else to get him to let me stay."

Rather than answer right away, Thorin's gaze shifted to the front of the tent. He raised one hand to silence me. I watched as he walked in a circle around the tent, checking that there were no spies of Thráin standing outside, eager to learn that I wasn't the seer I claimed to be. Only when he was certain we were alone did Thorin turned to me. "You should not have told my father you were a seer."

"What was I supposed to do?" I tried to speak calmly; after all, I didn't want Thorin to go back to giving me the silent treatment. "Thráin was going to do everything in his power to kick me out of the army. You didn't stick to the plan—you left me outside!"

Guilt flashed through Thorin's eyes.

"What happened to the whole: 'We'll stick together so Thráin'll know he can't separate us' plan, huh? What happened to 'My father will be so happy to see me that'll he'll forgive me bringing a three-quarters human woman to the dwarven army'? You were pretty useless in front of your father, so I had to do something!"

Well, so much for me trying to be calm.

We stood there, me with my eyes narrowed and Thorin with a guilty look on his face.

"I should not have entered the tent without you," admitted Thorin. "I am sorry. I saw my father, and all thoughts of our plan disappeared from my mind. My father and I…our relationship is not good, I should say."

Now, it was my turn to feel guilty. This had to be a difficult experience for Thorin, coming to the dwarven army and seeing his father again. Leaving Dunland must have been tough, but I understood now why Thorin needed some distance from his father. It must've been suffocating, being raised by Thráin, always being reminded that the halls of their ancestors were occupied by orcs, goblins, and a dragon. To come back and be reminded of all the things Thorin had abandoned…

"Stop playing the sympathy card!" I slapped my hands over my ears and glowered at Thorin. "Yes, I know it's difficult for you, but it's difficult for me too! I'm a woman among males, I'm only one-quarter dwarf, I'm not from this world, I have the frigging Senturiel hanging around my neck— It's no easier for me to come here than it is for you."

Thorin grimaced. "I should not have brought you."

"If you say that again, I'll march back to Thráin's tent and tell him you were my hubby in Bree."

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "You would not dare."

"Try me."

"Seer or no, my father would cast you out within mere moments of learning that we feigned marriage in Bree. He would not risk the merest chance of you becoming Queen of Durin's Folk."

My jaw dropped. "Thráin would think that's possible?"

The look Thorin gave me was scathing. "You must have been blind not to see it. The thought passed through the mind of every dwarf who saw us side by side.

"Thráin's crazy." My voice was unnaturally high pitched. "They're all crazy." Firstly, the idea of anything romantic happening between Thorin and me was too ridiculous to even imagine. That the dwarrows would even consider it was a laugh. Secondly, I could already picture to rebellion that would take place if I was ever announced as a dwarven queen. Thirdly, if Thráin really believed I might seduce Thorin with my witchy ways…he was going to look for every possible opportunity to murder me. I gulped. "I'm so screwed."

"That is why I did not wish you pretend you are a seer, Ana," said Thorin. "All it will take is one prediction to be proven wrong, and my father will rid himself of you as swift and as hard as the hammer falls."

I gulped. "Then we'll just have to make sure I'm never wrong."

Thorin and I stared at one another. We both knew how hard that was going to be.

When I awoke the next morning, I was curled up in a tight ball with nothing but a couple thin blankets separating me from the cold, grassy ground. I opened one eye and looked at the stretched woolen sheets that formed a narrow tent over my head. As a breeze swept through the Coldfells, the tent shivered. I rolled over and pulled my blanket over my head for what little shelter it could give me.

Last night, Firun had somehow managed to find only two blankets for me to sleep on, and he'd apologized repeatedly for how cold I was going to be. My makeshift tent was small and unimpressive, but I appreciated that they'd at least bothered to give me my own tent; I'd half-expected Thráin to say "She can sleep outside on the ground for all I care" when the topic of accommodating me came up. Thankfully, that hadn't happened. I suppose Thráin didn't have much choice in that matter. If he hadn't given me a tent, I would've bunked with Thorin—and I'm pretty sure that scenario ranked high on the list of Thráin's worst nightmares. However, he did make sure my tent was located as far from Thorin's as possible while still being in the Longbeard encampment.

If one benefit from all those years of Skipping, it was that I'd learned to sleep just about anywhere. The Skips didn't exactly make time for my sleep schedule (though I would've very much appreciated it if the Senturiel had taken me to an inn every once and awhile) and I'd learned to sleep in a cave, on a cliff edge, under a precariously placed boulder, in burning heat, and in the freezing cold. A chilly tent and thin blankets were nothing compared to that. Thráin would be devastated to know how well I'd slept last night.

I pulled on my trousers, a thick shirt, and a dark cloak lined with fur that Thorin had bought me before we left Bree. My leather armor lay in the grass beside my rucksack, and I debated wearing it. But I'd like to think Thorin's father was honorable enough not to try and off me with a stray arrow. Of course, the cold chain of locket pressed against my skin, reminding me—as if I could forget—that if danger came my way, I could just Skip.

If I Skipped now, where would the Senturiel take me? Would it take me to another time in Middle Earth? Would I see the Battle of Pelennor Fields again? Or would it take me to my parents? My chest tightened as their faces flashed before my eyes. Mom's warm smile, Dad's calm presence… But immediately, my memories became tainted by anger. I hadn't forgotten the secrets they hid from me. They'd watched in silence as my world had been split in two. I'd be perfectly fine never seeing them again.

I winced at the savageness of my own thoughts. An icy chill filled my stomach as yet another question rose to the surface. Wherever the Senturiel took me, would I ever be able to come back?

My chest tightened as I stared down at the glittering, golden locket hanging from my neck. I had made my choice two years ago, and now the return of the Senturiel had dragged up all sorts of questions.

In the end, I left the armor and crossbow where they were, deciding that walking through camp armed for battle was not the way to make friends. But I did slip the Sword Breaker into my right boot. Better to be safe than Skipping.

Winter was drawing to an end in the Coldfells, but when I stepped outside, I saw that frost still touched the tips of the grass. I pulled my cloak closer around my shoulders and started towards Thorin's tent.

The dwarven army had camped in the Coldfells for most of the winter, but from what Thorin and I had learned last night, the dwarrows planned to return to battle in the next month when the winter snows had faded from the lower slopes of the Misty Mountains. None of the dwarven soldiers had seemed excited with the prospect.

As I made my way through camp, stumbling over the uneven ground, I could feel the eyes of curious dwarrows following my every move. Conversations would fall silent as I passed, and heads would turn in my direction. I pulled the fur hood up over my head, hoping to hide as much as my face as possible just in case any of the Company dwarrows happened to be around. Of course, that did nothing to stop the stares.

I wondered if they were surprised to see a human woman in the army, or if word had reached them that I was Anren the Seer, or if some bizarre rumor had spread around camp of me being Thorin's scandalous lover who had seduced him and stolen him away from his people. I hoped they believed the rumor that made them least likely to hate me.

There was an odd air about the camp. A kind of still, somberness that I hadn't expected from dwarrows. My experience with dwarrows consisted largely of the Company, who had all been cheerful and lively. Here, the dwarven soldiers all wore grim expressions. Their faces were thin beneath their beards, and their eyes were etched with shadows. They reminded me of the Rohirrim before the Battle of Helms Deep more than the dwarrows of the Company.

The soldiers' stares intensified when I reached Thorin's tent. I sighed when I realized the scandalous-lover rumor was likely the most popular. For a moment, I was tempted to call out "hubby" just to see how wild it would drive the dwarrows. Of course, that idea was quickly chased away by the thought of Thráin ordering my beheading.

"Thorin?" I called out. I tried knocking on the tent flap, but…well, it wasn't quite as effective as knocking on a door. Giving up on tent-etiquette, I ducked under the flap and entered.

Thorin's tent looked even more spectacular after a night in my trash-pile-excuse-of-a-tent. My gaze swept over the properly matted bed, the stand for his armor, and the warm stove with envy. There was, however, no Thorin in sight to complain to.

I ducked back under the tent flap and looked about, wondering if Thorin sat next to one of the firepits, but all I saw were the curious, haunted eyes of the Longbeard dwarrows.

"He was summoned to his father's tent." A deep voice sounded from behind me. I spun around to see a dwarf warrior, clad in green and blue armor. He had wild, black hair and a young face. He was almost tall as Thorin but twice as broad in the shoulders. A heavy, thick axe had been strapped across his back, and it was a wonder how he could stand straight without toppling over backwards.

I answered with an oh-so-eloquent, "What?"

A cluster of dwarrows seated around a firepit watched this new dwarf and I with open interest. Another gust of wind passed through the camp, causing the low-burning flames to flicker. The dwarrows took no notice. They didn't dare blink in case they missed the biggest gossip in the camp.

Whoever he was, the dwarf either didn't notice or pretended not to notice the stares. He grinned at me and said, "King Thráin holds his council today, and his eldest son—Durin's heir returned at last—received invite."

I scowled. "I'm sure King Thráin waited until I wasn't around to extend the invitation."

The dwarf's grin widened. "My father suggested we should invite Lady Seer as well, but King Thráin did not approve the idea. My father, however, is quite curious about the human that the son of Thráin brought with him."

I stared at the dwarf. We were almost the same height, but I think I might have had a quarter of an inch on him. I lifted my chin, trying to use that quarter of an inch to its full advantage, and asked, "Who are you?"

"Did I not say?" The dwarf wasn't intimidated in the slightest. Damn him. "I am Knute son of King Nord of the Blacklocks. We arrived at the camp not long after you, but I believe words of your arrival has stolen the light. Pleasure to meet you, Lady Seer."

My brain took some time catching up. This axe-wielding, burly dwarf in front of me was the son of a king…meaning that he was a prince of the Blacklocks. Never mind that he looked nothing like a prince and had nothing of the majestic bearing of Thorin. The important thing was: if his father wanted me to attend the meeting, then perhaps not all the dwarven kings were against me.

Immediately, I offered Knute my best smile. "Nice to meet you." I held my hand out to shake, but when Knute stared at it with a puzzled expression, I quickly retracted my hand. I'd forgotten shaking hands was a gesture from my world, not this one. "I'm Anren the Seer." I debating adding "Lady" to my title, but I figured it might be a bit too unbelievable.

Knute grinned. "I have not yet had the opportunity to meet Thorin son of Thráin. My father told me to seek you out rather than attend King Thráin's council. I would much like to meet Durin's heir, though. Any dwarf who brings a human woman to join a dwarven army must be worth knowing."

"I'm not human," I said. "Or, well, not fully. My grandfather was a dwarf of the Misty Mountains, you see."

Knute surveyed me carefully. "You are rather small for a full-blooded human. We do not see many mongrels—though I am told there are more now than there were in the elder days."

My eyes narrowed at the word "mongrel", but I decided it was better not to pick fights with one of my few allies in this camp. Instead, I tugged on the sleeves of my cloak and said, "I was raised as a human though, so the mistake is understandable. I suppose not many dwarrows feel like welcoming to a human into their army."

"They do not," agreed Knute. "But the gift of foresight should not be turned away." He glanced at me and opened his mouth as if to ask something.

I stopped him before he could get a word out. "Don't even think about asking me for a vision. To know the future is a mighty burden, and more often than not, it ends in disaster." Mainly, it would end in disaster because I'd never heard of Prince Knute of the Blacklocks before, and I wasn't about to make any predictions that weren't one-hundred percent guaranteed to come true. When Knute continued to look at me with questions in his eyes, I added in my best commanding voice, "Doom and despair befalls all who make demands of a seer."

"I will not ask," said Knute reluctantly.

The Longbeards still watched our exchange, and it was beginning to make me feel antsy. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the dwarrows whispering to one another. I tugged my hood higher over my face, hoping it shielded my features from view.

Knute must have noticed my frustration, because he said, "Shall we find some food, Lady Seer?" He lowered his voice so the Longbeards could not overhear and said, "We Blacklocks have an excellent cook."

I glanced down at my stomach and then met Knute's gaze. "Led on, Prince Knute."

He scoffed at the use of his title, but true to his word, he led me through the camp. It was rather uncomfortable, parading between the Longbeard tents side by side with Prince Knute. The stares I received had a different edge to them now. My association with a Blacklock would undoubtedly draw even more attention from the dwarrows, but at this point, I was just happy that someone had decided to talk to me. When allies ran thin, one couldn't afford to be picky. Still, I let myself drop back a little so that I walked behind him.

The stares made me uneasy, and I began to wonder if I really looked that human. Yes, I was missing the beard, and a woman wearing pants was a rare sight, but did I really stand out that much? What was I doing that made me so different?

I trailed a little behind Knute, watching the way he walked. He had a sort of swagger to his steps. A strong, confident strut that made one forget he was only four-foot-nine. It wasn't like Thorin's proud, majestic demeanor, but something more rugged and wild. I knew for a fact that I couldn't mimic Thorin's majesty, but I wondered if Knute's brash strides suited me more.

Bit by bit, I started copying his movements. I widened my strides and strutted about with my head held high. Well, judging by the open-mouthed stares I received from the Longbeards, it was probably more of a duck-like waddle. I tried adjusting my stride a little, and I thought I was doing a very good job of being a dwarf…until Knute looked over his shoulder and started laughing at me.

I stopped my bizarre waddle-walk and snapped, "It's not funny."

"I knew a seer would be interesting," said Knute between chuckles, "but I did not expect you to be amusing as well."

"I'm working on my dwarf walk."

Knute's laughter doubled and he actually bent over, clutching his stomach. He might have even started crying. When the laughter was finally done, he straightened, smiled at me, and said, "We must be friends, Lady Seer."

I scowled. Unfortunately, I was rather short on friends at the moment and having the Prince of the Blacklocks on my side could only help. Despite my annoyance, I smiled. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's being amusing. I suppose I could do with a new friend." I glanced him over. "What's on your resumé?"

"Res-oo-may?"

"Qualifications. Why should I pick you to be my friend and not Brede or Firun or Thráin?"

Knute snickered, and I couldn't help but laugh a little too. The idea of Thráin and I as friends was more ridiculous than me walking like a dwarf. I'd be happy enough if Thráin and I could get through a conversation without Thráin contemplating beheading me.

"Well," said Knute, playing along, "I am one of the strongest warriors among the Blacklocks. I could protect you on the battlefield, Lady Seer."

My hands twitched slightly, but I managed a smile for Knute. "I'm not so bad on the battlefield that I need a guard. Next."

A crease appeared between Knute's thick brows as he thought for a moment. Then, a wicked glint entered his dark eyes and he said, "I could teach you."

"Teach me what?"

"How to act like a dwarf." He smiled. "That is what you wish, is it not? To be accepted by the Longbeards as a dwarf so that you may remain at the side of Durin's heir."

"I'll remain by his side no matter what," I said without missing a beat. "Thráin can put my tent wherever he likes, and he can give me thin blankets so I have to sleep on the ground, and he can refuse to invite me to war councils—none of that matters. I'm stuck with Thorin and Thráin'll just have to get used to it."

There might have been a flash in surprise in Knute's eyes, and I wondered if I'd accidentally confirmed his suspicions that I was Thorin's lover. Ah well, what was done, was done.

I lifted my chin and said, "But, yes, I would like to learn how to act more dwarvish. Not so I can be accepted by the Longbeards, but so everyone can stop staring at me like I'm some three-headed goblin." I shot a venomous glare in the direction of a group of dwarrows, and suddenly, they all became preoccupied with cooking one small piece of fish over a firepit.

Knute smiled at me. "We have an accord, then, Lady Seer. We shall be friends, and I shall teach you the ways of the dwarrows."

I nodded, a slow grin working its way onto my face. "Teach me to walk, talk, sit, stand, eat, dress like a dwarf."

Knute frowned.

"It's a reference…" I sighed. "Don't worry about it. Seer thing. Let the lessons begin!"

Eating Like A Dwarf

"Now," said Knute. "We dwarrows are aware of how to eat with common politeness. There are circumstances that arise where we need to deal with humans or wizards or—as much as we are loathe to—elves."

Both Knute and I shuddered at the mention of such abominable creatures.

"In those situations, it would not be productive for us to eat with or usual customs. However, when we dwarrows are amongst ourselves, we lose all sense of common politeness."

"I can do that," I said.

We sat outside the Blacklocks' kitchen tent on two crates of food. The truant Blacklocks had arrived at the dwarven encampment only last night, which meant they were in the middle of organizing their tents. A few of the Blacklock dwarrows sent wary looks in my direction as they went about their business, but as their prince accompanied me, there wasn't much I could do.

Knute had decided he was hungry and took some apples from the food stores nearby. Then, he led me behind a tent, out of view of the busy Blacklocks. We now sat face to face, each holding two red apples.

Knute took a bite of his apple and said, "Rule Number One—amongst dwarrows, it is permitted to talk with food in your mouth."

I copied him and took a massive bite of my own apple. The crisp, cold apple filled my mouth and I barely managed to get out the words, "Miph caphmph domph daphmt."

Knute gulped down his mouthful and then let out a hearty laugh. "Do not speak if you are unintelligible, Lady Seer. It is not acceptable to choke to your death among dwarrows."

My mouth bulged with food as I nodded along with his words. Finally, I managed to swallow and I said, "I might have taken off a bit more than I could chew."

"Rule Number Two," said Knute. "You are allowed to throw food across the dinner table. In fact, it is highly encouraged."

"I know this one," I said. "I once went to a gathering of dwarrows, and they were all hearty eaters who ate with their mouths full and threw food—"

Knute chucked his half-eaten apple core at my head.

Oh God. No one should be able to throw like Knute. The apple core came at me like a bazooka and hit my forehead with such force that I toppled backwards off the crate.

For a second, I could only lay on the frosty grass. It shouldn't be humanly—dwarvenly—possible to throw an apple core that hard. My forehead throbbed, and I already knew there would be a huge welt right in the center later.

"You cannot accept defeat already," said Knute as he stared down at me.

I was quite happy to lie there in defeat, but Knute offered a hand to help me to my feet. Soon enough, I was settled back on the crate, taking a bite out of my second apple. And that's when Knute raised a hand to chuck the second core at me.

"Wait!" I screamed and threw my hands in front of my face. "I'm not ready!"

"You should anticipate food tossing at all times," said Knute.

"'Tossing'?" I cried, still hiding my face behind my hands. "Your throws are like a frigging cannon." I pretty sure none of the dwarrows had thrown like that at the Company party!

Knute ignored me. "The truly talented dwarrows can catch an apple core in their mouths. That will win you swift approval. Do you want to try?"

He raised his arm again.

I rolled back off the crate and hide behind it as best I could. "How coordinated do you think I am? I'm not catching your throws in my mouth! You're more likely to decapitate me than Thráin!"

It was a probably a good thing there were no other Blacklocks around to hear that last bit.

Knute let out a dramatic sigh. "Then, you may throw your apple at me. You should at least be an expert at throwing if you cannot catch."

"I'm not throwing my apple at you," I said. "I want to eat my apple." Besides, I suspected if I hit him, Knute would use it as an excuse to retaliate and I'd end up covered in apple welts.

"I just gave you my apple," said Knute, pointing at the core he'd hit me with earlier. It lay on the ground within arm's reach.

"You threw it at me," I snapped. "That's not giving me the apple, that's attacking me with the apple. Besides, it's all covered in grass now and gross."

"Rule Number Three," said Knute as he hopped down from his crate and picked up the fallen, half-eaten apple core from the ground. "The ground is just as clean as the table when it comes to eating." He took a bite of the apple.

Talking Like A Dwarf

"While we can speak the Common Tongue politely, we find that dull." Knute shifted to a more comfortable position on the crate as he spoke. "We dwarrows would much rather discuss alcohol, gold, jewels, mines, mountains, and war. And beards." He glanced at my clean face. "Alas, your human heritage shows through in this regard."

"Well sorry that I don't have a beard." I crossed my arms and glared at Knute. "It's a sensitive topic for me. I can't help it that I'm three-quarters human, and I can never grow a majestic beard." I pretended to wipe away tears. "I'm practically on the same level as that hairless rat!"

"Rule Number One of Dwarvish Talking," said Knute, "you must discuss the art of dwarvish beard braiding. If you do not have a beard, at least you must be knowledgeable on the subject."

I knew nothing about dwarvish beard braiding, let alone regular braiding. Back when I'd lived in Ohio, I'd always had relatively short hair and braiding had seemed pointless to me. Now, of course, I saw the error in my ways.

"Rule Number Two," said Knute, "you must remember to always insult elves. It is an old tradition, one shared by both peoples. Elves insult us." Knute's eyes narrowed slightly. "So we insult them in kind."

"Elves think they're so much prettier than everyone else," I said immediately. "Just because their hair stays in perfect place after weeks of traveling does not mean they're better than me!"

Knute laughed.

"To be fair," I said after a moment. "I have met some very nice elves. Elrohir and Elladan were great fun. They gave me a weapon and drank with me often when I stayed in the halls of their father. And then there's my estranged step-brother Riadan."

"An elf is your estranged step-brother?" Knute eyed me with suspicion.

"Well, not really," I said. "We made that up while partying. And he wasn't very elvish, to be honest."

Knute stared at me, as if trying to piece together these weird scraps of information I had given him.

It occurred to me then that while Knute had volunteered to be my friend, it in no way meant Knute would be obligated to keep my secrets. Likely, much of our meeting today would be reported back to his father. Who knows, maybe within days the entire dwarven army would know of my friendship with Elrohir and Elladan. All it took was for Balin or any of the Company dwarrows to realize that Ana and Anren had the same friends…

"Are you troubled?" asked Knute with an expression of genuine concern.

I shook my head, chasing those thoughts away. With a big smile, I said, "What's Rule Number Three?"

Knute hesitated before saying, "Dwarrows enjoy crude humor."

At that, Knute stared at me in anticipation, as if suddenly hoping I might burst out in poetry about all the crude things the world possessed.

I don't know if you've ever tried to think of a good, crude joke on the fly, but it's not as easy as you'd think. Especially as my humor in no way leaned towards crude.

I shifted uncomfortably on the crate. My eyes flitted around, searching the back of the tent, the grass under my feet, Knute's broad face…searching for any clue as to a good, crude joke. "Uh, um, uh, crude, uh, uh, er, um, poop?"

Knute seemed to deflate. He bowed his head and his shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically. "I suppose the gift of humor is select."

"It's hard to come up with crude things under pressure."

"Good humor is one way to win the dwarrows' acceptance," said Knute. He sent me another expectant look as though dangling friends in front of my eyes would make me funnier.

"Oh no!" I cried, clutching my hands to my head. "The pressure is building. So much pressure on one small woman. I can't take it. My brain. My heart. My chest. Can't breathe. Too much pressure. I cannot compute crude humor." I clutched my heart and mimed dying. I collapsed on top of the food crate, coughing, and reached out a weak hand to Knute. In my softest voice, I whispered, "I was not made to run crude humor operations. Tell…Thorin…he…is…majestic." I closed my eyes and pretended to die.

There was a pause.

"I think we should now teach you how to sit like a dwarf."

Sitting Like A Dwarf

"Head held high," instructed Knute. "Lean back, legs apart. Dwarrows are proud people. We do not care what the world thinks of us, and we sit in such a fashion." He demonstrated the casual sitting pose of the dwarves, letting his curly black beard cover his chest and using the edges of the wooden crate to rest his hands on and hold himself up.

"I don't know," I said, looking at Knute's posture. "I think sitting with my legs crossed and my hands clasped neatly in my lap is the way to go." I showed him the pose that I mean. I looked dainty and sweet (or as dainty and sweet as I could ever look). "I think this is a very dwarvish look. Don't you?"

Knute groaned. "You are not treating my lessons as serious, are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you perhaps angry that the apple I threw caused your forehead to bruise?"

"Of course not. Why would you think that?"

After that, I did start to copy his pose. Leaned back. Chin up. Proud pose. However, as soon as I got to the part where my legs were supposed to be apart…

"I believe we should try the second pose," said Knute, swiftly getting to his feet.

I frowned. Slowly, my eyes dropped down to my trousers. Oh right. I had forgotten I was in Middle Earth where women weren't supposed to wear pants. I glanced up at Knute and rolled my eyes. God forbid my trousered legs sent the dwarrows into a tizzy.

"What's the second pose?" I asked dryly.

Relieved that I wasn't going to insist on the sitting posture, Knute began to instruct. He pulled the heavy axe from his back and placed the head of the axe on the ground. Then, he rested his hands on top of the axe and lifted his head to stare at me. "Dangerous," he said. "But strong."

"I don't have an axe to lean on," I said. Somehow I didn't think using the Sword Breaker would have the same effect.

"You may borrow mine." He handed the axe to me.

Ah, if only Gimli were around. He would have warned us. The second I received the full weight of the axe, my muscles gave out beneath me and I dropped the axe to the ground. I yelped as it landed on the grass with a dull thud. Immediately, memories flashed before my eyes of a similar incident and name I could not be rid of.

"That is an expensive weapon!" cried Knute.

"Is your beard okay?" I cried.

Knute blinked in surprise. "The axe blade did not come within reach of my beard."

I placed a hand on my chest and breathed a sigh of relief. I could not be known as the Beard Defiler again. Absolutely not.

"Durin's heir has brought a strange woman to our army," said Knute decidedly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I crossed my arms and grinned up at Knute. "I'm just trying my hardest to be a dwarf."

"There we go!" roared Knute. "That is a true dwarf pose!"

I glanced down at myself. My knees were slightly bent, my arms were folded, and my head was raised in stubborn defiance. I looked short and proud and, I supposed, very dwarvish. I quickly tossed my long blond hair over my shoulder and giggled as girlishly as I could. "Really? Am I improving?"

Knute groaned. "I take my words back."

Walking Like A Dwarf

Knute found a long semi-empty pathway through the rows of Blacklock tents for us to practice walking in. A few dwarrows still went about their business of unpacking their belongings and setting up tents. They sent a few annoyed glances my way, but most of the Blacklocks understood that I was Knute's guest.

Knute and I stood at one end of the long, relatively flat strip of grass as Knute explained to me as best he could how to walk like a dwarf.

"It is about pride," he said. "Head held high, embrace your being, and walk with the confidence that you can drink more than anyone who argues with you." Knute walked forward in an exaggerated style of his normal movement. "Keep your beard on full display—not that you have a beard. However, walk as if you had a beard to be proud of."

I walked behind Knute, sticking my chest out in place of my beard. I waddled along like a short, stumpy penguin, with my hands straight at my sides as flippers.

"I do not have to look behind me to know that you are walking incorrectly," said Knute as he strode through the pathway.

"You must have eyes in the back of your head," I said.

"Proud, long strides," Knute reminded me.

"Walk with swagger," I said, switching my walk from penguin-style walk to some weird gangster-church-mom strut (don't ask). "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"I doubt it," said Knute.

I walked like I was bowlegged now. I kept my eyes on my legs, which I kept unnaturally far apart. I probably looked like some kind of water b—

I dwarf-walked straight into someone's shoulder.

"Ouch," I grumbled, rubbing my chin. I stepped back and found myself staring into the blue eyes of none other than the most majestic dwarf of all. "Oh, heya, Thorin. I guess the war council's over."

His gazed swept over me and my bow-legged stance before shifting back to Knute who had stopped mid-stride.

Knute grinned. "Greetings, Thorin son of Thráin."

"Greetings," said Thorin. He did not sound thrilled to meet Knute in the slightest. His attention swiftly shifted back to me. "What brought you to the Blacklocks encampment, Anren?"

He was annoyed. I didn't know why he was annoyed, but he was annoyed. His tone was deeper than usual and his eyes were slightly narrowed. Both signs of annoyance.

What did he expect me to do while he spent all day in a war council? I certainly wasn't going to sit in my skimpy tent and wait for him to pick me up like a toddler at daycare.

"Prince Knute is instructing me on how to be a proper dwarf." I crossed my arms over my chest, lifted my chin, and narrowed my eyes in a dwarf-pose that I hoped would do Knute proud. "I think I'm quite the prodigy."

Thorin didn't look amused in the slightest. "You cannot wander through camp as you please, An—ren."

"I didn't wander," I said. "Prince Knute showed me the way here after I found your tent empty, Mr. I'm Important Enough To Get Invited To A War Council."

Thorin ignored that last bit. "And do you know how to return to the Longbeards' encampment?"

My jaw stiffened. No, I did not. I had not paid attention to the direction we walked when Knute had led me through the massive collection of tents. All I could remember were the eyes of the dwarrows soldiers following me.

"I would have escorted her back to your tent," said Knute. "There is not need to be angry, Heir of Durin."

Thorin gave Knute an icy stare. However, his tone was calm as he said, "Many thanks to you, Prince Knute, for entertaining the Seer while I was busy. However, I ask that you do not take her from the Longbeards' encampment without notice." He glanced down at me. "How did you injure your forehead?"

"Don't ask," I muttered as I shot a glare in Knute's direction.

Thorin looked like he wanted to ask more but decided better of it. "We should return."

"Prince Knute still has to teach me how to dress like a dwarf."

At that point, I think Thorin's patience with me had reached its end. His eyes flashed, but he said nothing more. Only turned and walked away.

"Perhaps you should return with him," said Knute hesitantly. "I did not intend to create a lov—"

I didn't hear the rest of what he said, because I was too busy watching Thorin walk away from me. The way his sturdy legs moved! The pride in his shoulders! The tilt of his head! The strength in his arms! This was the way. Not like the brutish movements of Knute. This was a true, majestic, dwarvish walk.

I grinned over at Knute. "Thanks for entertaining me today. We should hang out again sometime, friend." And then, I raced after Thorin, crying, "Show me your dwarvish ways, Teacher!"

When I caught up with him, Thorin sent a scathing look in my direction.

I grinned from ear-to-ear. "Your walk is most majestic when you're angry."

"You should not wander off at every whim. We are in Bree no longer."

He was right, a part of me knew that. "I need to make allies where I can. The Longbeards weren't exactly friendly this morning. Prince Knute was the only one to extend a hand of friendship."

"That does not mean the offer was genuine," said Thorin. "Do not forget that the Blacklocks joined the army even after us."

"He said his father wanted him to meet the seer rather than go to the war council," I said. "Probably looking to see if I'm worth having on their side." I glanced over at Thorin. "Look, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's making friends in the oddest of situations."

Thorin might have muttered something along the lines of "And also making enemies", but I couldn't be certain.

"We're in this together," I said. "Remember?"

At that, Thorin finally turned his head to look at me. "I trust you. But do try not to get yourself cast out or worse."

"Of course," I said with more confidence than I felt.

Thorin's mouth curled into what might have been a smile, but he said nothing more as he led the way through the Blacklock encampment.

The evening sun shone down, casting a soft, golden glow on the slopes of the twin hills. I lifted my head to admire the view, but then, I felt the open stares of the dwarrows once more as we wove in and out of the tents. I ducked my head, tugging on the edges of my hood to ensure it covered my face.

The stares made me uncomfortable, uneasy in my own skin. For once, the stares weren't because I was some girl who appeared out of thin air. No, these stares were because of me. Because I wasn't welcome.

Desperate to chase the feeling away, I asked, in cheeriest voice I could summon, "How was the war council?"

"I did not have much to contribute," said Thorin. "The Blacklocks made a show of their arrival, even if they are two years late. I also need time to learn what has happened over these past two years." He glanced over at me. "The plan is, however, that we shall head out to the battlefield soon."

If he expected me to have a flashback or a breakdown in the middle of the dwarven camp, he was left waiting. I had agreed to come with him, knowing what we would meet when we reached the Misty Mountains. I may not have been the best warrior around, but I was certainly better than that girl who'd hid and cried on Pelennor Fields. I had grown. I had improved. I had changed.

My hand gently traced the outline of the golden locket hidden beneath my shirt. My fingers had acted before I even realized it, and I quickly dropped my hand. "I can take care of myself."

Thorin had seen me touch the locket, I knew, but thankfully, he only said, "Do not disappear again, Ana."

And then, I made a promise we both knew I couldn't keep.

"I won't."