Woohoo! Alright everyone we are entering the last of the disguise chapters. I literally just finished handwriting the part where her gender is revealed and I am having way too much fun with it right now. Also beware, I did my best to translate the Sindarin, but it may not have come out right. Again if it annoys anyone send me the proper translation and I will put them in and give you credit (however my computer doesn't do all of those neat little pronunciation marks so role with what I got).

angel897, CalistaJade42149, and shishiwastaken – Here is the next part for you!

0x0UnderDog0x0 – I'm glad you liked that idea. I thought it would come in handy later and it helps develop her back story a little more.

QueefCream – The dislike of elves stems more from her dislike of their magic than of the elves themselves. She actually likes some elves. As you will see because you know that thing we talked about earlier. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Well here is the start of it.

Everyone please be sure to check out QueefCream's story: Lians' Contingency. She's starting up her second part and SHE HAS A LITTLE BABY GIRL NAMED ROWAN IN IT AND SHE IS ADORABLE! (I'm sorry for the sudden burst of baby fever coming out)

We are first taken to our guest quarters to lay down our remaining packs and weapons. The latter received grumbles of displeasure from the dwarves, but as Gandalf said we would not get anywhere if we didn't use tact and show a little respect. If bringing a sword to your host's table didn't show distrust, I don't know what would be a clearer sign. The only exceptions to this rule are the three elvish blades we acquired from the troll hoard. Apparently, Gandalf thinks that Lord Elrond might know more of their origins and that they would be a good way to get on the elf lord's good side.

We are given separate chambers in the guest quarters with a single large antechamber, but no one is willing to separate themselves from the group under the watchful eyes of the elves. With the heavy feeling of magic in the air, I follow the example of my companions and leave my belongings to one side of the antechamber. The elves try to reason with us and have us sleep apart from one another, are sorely put out. Despite that I have nothing against these elves, I find myself smirking a little at their obvious obstinacy.

Before we head to dinner the company gathers collectively in a large washroom in hopes of cleaning up before dinner. I find myself quite thankful to wash off the warg blood Dwalin had accidentally sprayed across my face. I must have looked quite sinister to the elves at the dais. As I look around I can see the dwarves washing their faces and taking the time to clean their hair. Dori is trying to redo both of his younger brothers' braids and Fili is meticulously braiding his mustache. Bilbo, who is further down the line, cleans his hands and feet as thoroughly as he does his face. I smile at seeing them all doing something so domestic; whoever had told me dwarves are unhygienic in the camps would get an earful the next time I see them. I grimace slightly when I remember I'm not welcome into the camps anymore. When my face is clean I slip my mask back on, unwilling to leave myself to the vulnerability of elven enchantments any longer than I have to.

The elves offered to take my clothes and clean them as well, but I refused. Mostly because I am comfortable in my clothes regardless of their state, but it would also mean they would have to be replaced with elven clothes. The clothes of a male elf wouldn't suffice in keeping my feminine image a secret and I could only imagine the uproar from the elves if they discovered I am female. The propriety of the elves would have them lecturing the Company to the end of days. So I politely decline their offer and went down to dinner without my gauntlets and, regrettably, my mask. I hate the idea of going down with no mask, but I wouldn't be able to eat with it so I would just have to sit through the dinner, defenseless. Despite leaving our weapons, I kept my cloak allowing me to hide my hilts. So maybe we aren't completely defenseless…

Thorin had been taken to meet with Lord Elrond before the dinner for some reason. I cannot imagine they are discussing the matter of our quest so I can only guess it has to do with nobility and politics. Therefore, we arrive to the dinner table before both our leader and our host. Dinner is set at two stone tables on yet another dais. This time it is accompanied with a beautiful view of the valley as the sun begins its westward journey. There is a wooden table beside the stone ones and if the ornate decoration of the chairs is anything to go by, that would be the high table.

The company takes their seats and look at the meal in silent horror. Nearly everything at the table is vegetables and fruits. I already plan in partaking of the strawberries and watermelon on the table, but the leafy salads leave much to be desired. I have never understood how the elves of the West could stand meatless meals. It's like they thrived off of bland things…

After sitting down, Ori is the first to pick up a leaf of lettuce and spent a few moments examining it. In the meanwhile, Dori starts pouring everyone some wine. Thankfully, the serving elves had just brought rolls and pastries to each table in hopes sating the dwarves. I see Bombur hoarding the rolls on his enormous belly and find myself thankful to not be near him because I do not have the energy to fight the dwarf for food tonight. When I look across the table from me I see Kili taking to the elvish wine rather impatiently. My eyes widen a little at his enthusiasm. Elvish wine, while sweet, needed time to be drunk unless the intent is to be muddled quickly. Something tells me Kili doesn't understand just how potent that may be…

Dori, now having noticed his youngest brother's hesitancy to eat, tried to reason with him, "Try it; Just a mouthful." After a long day of fighting and running as we have just experienced, leaves us in need of energy, little Ori included. We couldn't afford to be picky about the food we have been given. However, it didn't escape my notice that Dori and every other dwarf hasn't put the leafy greens anywhere near their mouths either. 'Little hypocrite,' I smirk.

Beside me I hear some shuffling and clatter of wares. When I look over, I see Dwalin sifting through his salad wearing a thunderous expression. "Where's the meat?" he asks as he looks at each of us at the table. He must think this some cruel joke. I stop myself from laughing out loud by looking away and digging through the small satchel I still have on my person. After fishing around, I find the small morsel of dried meat I had been nibbling on before the trolls had appeared. I nudge his shoulder and he looks at me grumpily until he notices the meat I'm holding out to him. He wraps his large fingers around it and gives me an appreciative nod.

"Got anymore of that, lad?" asks Bofur, who had seen the exchange. I glance over my shoulder at the elves that are still setting down platters. I watch them with suspicion and decide to give them a taste of their lord's medicine. Dwalin, while unaware of my schemes, did not miss the look I had given.

No. Sorry, my friend.

Bofur is quiet for a moment, but one look at Dwalin and he decides to clam up. "Alright then, lad. Just thought I would ask."

My eyes shift from Bofur, who returns to his conversation with his cousin, to Dwalin for a small nod of thanks. Once it is returned my eyes land on Kili, who has a rather dopey look on his face. It would seem the elvish wine has only just begun its work on him. At first I think he is staring at me with that dreamy look on his face. A small blush spreads throughout my cheeks, which I attempt to cover with my hand. I try to express my confusion by raising an eyebrow at the young prince. He then produces a rather half-hearted wink and my pulse suddenly soars. He can't know! Can he?! I mean…what would have tipped him off? I was sure Thorin would be the first to discover my secret! How did Kili…?

Kili's eyes break away and look at Dwalin beside me, who is giving the boy a particular look. As if righting himself, Kili suddenly clears his throat, "I can't say I fancy elf maids myself; too thin…" Elf maids? I turn my head to look behind me and sure enough there is beautiful young elf girl plucking at the strings of a harp. The melody itself it very soft and reflective, causing me to stare as if entranced. When her dark eyes move from Kili to me we share a quiet moment, but I break my eyes away when the maid flushes under my stare. I flinch as another elf maid flashes to the front of my mind and I grip my hands tightly under the table. 'Damned elvish magic,' I think as I look up at Kili in time for his last comment, though.

"Although that one there's not bad," says as he looks behind himself at a lyre player. When I look up to examine the elf in question I strangle the guffaw of laughter threatening to spill out of my mouth. As it is I place the stone table in a death grip as I use it to keep the giggles down in my gullet.

"That's not an elf maid," whispers Dwalin conspiratorially. When the elf turns Kili can see that Dwalin has spoken true. Dwalin gives him a wink and the rest of the company starts laughing at Kili's expense, even me. I know it probably isn't kind, but I couldn't really help myself, it is just too funny. I knew from his determination, that Kili wouldn't be ready for affects of the elvish wine, but what could I do? I'm not his mother. Still, I end up choking on my laughter, allowing a couple strangled noises to escape, but the good natured laughs of the company cover up my noise. I have to bow my head and bang my fist on the cold table to prevent anything more from escaping.

After a moment the young prince still looks embarrassed, his face very red, and grumbles, "That's funny." I manage to calm myself and find I am relieved that Kili hasn't discovered my secret. Not that it would be a bad thing, but I didn't want to deal with this in Rivendell. He is now suffering from the affects of elvish wine; poor Kili, once again becoming the butt of the joke. However, I have never felt more secure in regards to my secret around the young heir until now. I don't think he will ever know unless I tell him blatantly…

The elvish minstrels pick up their pace suddenly and it is then that I notice Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin walk out onto the dais. They settle themselves at the wooden table behind us. Despite, that my eyes are initially following Thorin, they end up straying to Oin who is shoving a napkin down his trumpet in hopes of muffling the female flute player behind him. I find myself smiling at the antics before returning my gaze to the High Table. I watch closely as Thorin hands over the elf blade he took from the hoard to Lord Elrond.

"This is Orcrist – The Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade forged by the High Elves of the West; my kin," he adds the last part to remind Thorin he has no relation to the elves further east.

"May it serve you well," Lord Elrond states. I'm sure Thorin would have kept it with or without Lord Elrond's blessing. The thought of an altercation between the two over who would keep the sword amuses me far more than it should. Thorin graces him with a nod, nonetheless, and moves on to Gandalf's blade.

"And this is Glamdring – The Foehammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin," he says with much enthusiasm. "These swords were made for the Goblin War in the First Age. How did you come by these?"

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road," says Gandalf. At this I find myself glaring at the wizard. He's giving us away on purpose. Lord Elrond would know why Thorin Oakenshield is on a journey east. Gandalf already knows that they will stop us, but he almost seems intent on getting us caught. "Shortly before we were ambushed by Orcs," he adds.

Elrond overlooks the bait about the orcs, "And what were you doing on the Great East Road?" There is a tension that settles at the high table and for those listening in on the conversation, like me. However, Gandalf swiftly diverts the topic once more.

"An interesting tale for later in the evening perhaps. We have another blade for you to examine. Kalar," says the wizard, "do you have the other blade?"

I detest how the wizard uses me to escape the elf's analysis of our purpose, but I too do not want to answer to the elf of yet. So I turn in my seat and rise. I meet the dark eyes of the elf and they widen in surprise. I recognize the wisdom and kindness behind them, which eases a little of my anxieties. It helps to know that one's host isn't as cold hearted as The Elvenking, but in my eyes he still has that unearthly air about him. The magic that surrounds his being is gentle, but still too great for me to relax. So I do not break eye contact as I hand him the hilt of the sword.

"I was unaware that I also play host to a son of Imelkane. Your people were of great help during the Last Alliance. Without their help we wouldn't have been able to hold the Northern or Eastern borders of Rhovanion. I have not seen one of your kind in a long time," says Elrond contemplatively. He had bowed his head in recognition of my clan; it's only fair I do the same.

"That's because they are dead," I say with my nod. The tension that settles in the silence that follows is nearly palpable. I hold my gaze with the elf in hopes of showing my discomfort and distrust. His hand cups his chin as he examines me like a puzzle.

"My condolences," is all he can muster. It is not enough for the tragedy my people suffered, but when I think about it, he can say nothing else. There are no words for survivors of slaughter. Maybe that is why I feel so close to these dwarves…we don't necessarily need words…

"He was Thorin's choice to bring with the Company," pipes up Gandalf. A growl lodges in my throat. He sounds like he's making an excuse for my presence and blaming Thorin all in one statement.

"You are welcome here always, child," says Lord Elrond as he removes the blade from my grasp. I give him a nod of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

"He is hardly a child," says Thorin. "He is the one who slew the trolls." I hope my shock is apparent with my tense shoulders and open stare. Did Thorin just praise me? It would make sense since Gandalf clearly stated that I was Thorin's choice of companion. I thought the first time had been a fluke, but this was more than I had anticipated. My dramatics do not go unnoticed as Thorin stares back at me with an eyebrow raised surely he is not questioning my surprise. What in his nature makes him think handing out such comments a common occurrence?

"Sen alpulno!"

Our stare is broken by Lord Elrond's outburst. He is looking over the sword several times from pommel to tip. Gandalf puts down the grapes he had been nibbling on as he responds to Elrond's sudden exclamation.

"What is it? What is the matter?" asks Gandalf concernedly.

"The blade was forged during the War of Wrath at the End of the First Age," says Lord Elrond. "Most of the swords from that war were either lost or shattered. To see any blade, let alone this one, is a miracle to say the least. Now I can see that the stories were true…"

The amazement in the elf Lord's eyes dissipates and as it is suddenly replaced with a hard, cold look. His eyes lock with mine and I can see that he is trying to piece together some sort of puzzle. Thorin opens his mouth to say something, but Lord Elrond abruptly cuts him off.

"What is your final destination? Where is it you intend to reach along the Great East Road?" asks the half-elven. His eyes watch Thorin now, reading every line that hardens on the dwarf's face. Thorin, unwilling to remain under Elrond's scrutiny, stands and leaves the high table. He takes up a spot a short distance away and pulls a flask out of his pocket.

"We can discuss this matter further this evening. We plan to travel no where this eve. However, my friend you still have yet to tell us of this blade that fascinates you so," says Gandalf. He is trying to divert the conversation yet again, but Elrond's answer is hardly a remedy.

"It is called, Locelnehtar."

My body clenches at the name. The blade itself has no real meaning to me as it was merely circumstance we happened upon it; however, the name is not lost on me. It is a dead giveaway if ever there was one. I see now that I should have refused Dwalin back at the cave and found another blade. Gandalf also widens his eyes at the title bestowed to the elvish steel, but his eyes also shift to me. I lock eyes with him and shrug my shoulders to communicate that I had no clue about the blade's origin. The exchange is not missed.

"What does that mean, Gandalf?" asks little Ori. He is ignoring his brother's attempts to make him eat once more and uses our conversation as an escape route. It is also likely that he would write this down later in the journal he kept. He had been writing of the company's adventures, apparently since the night in Bag End when they had collected their hobbit. I read of the events that had occurred in Bag End and found myself quite disappointed I missed it. I cannot deny though that this coincidence is certainly one for the historical papers…

"Locelnehtar," says Gandalf, "is a Quenyan title, indicating that it was forged by the elves of Valinor when they returned to do battle in the War of Wrath. The name…directly translates into 'Slayer of Dragons'."

At this the chatter of the dwarves dies and the only sound in the air is the muted music from the elvish minstrels. I know they watch me as I look at the blade once more in the light of the setting sun. I can't believe that this sword killed a dragon, it seems far too small for anything of that nature, but I cannot explain away those stains. Elvish steel shouldn't turn the bronze color I see reflecting in the dying daylight…

"The blade is stained with the blood of Langos the Fierce, a descendant of Ancalgon the Black. It is the only blade in Middle Earth supposed to have slain a dragon," says Lord Elrond.

"Langos the Fierce?" asks Ori.

"Quite right, Master Ori. He killed thousands before he was slain by the high elves. Sad to say that his progeny survived. One of which was Smaug," says Gandalf curtly. Oh for the love Arda, could he make matters any worse?

The elvish lord hands the blade back to me hilt first, watching my movements carefully. However, unable to stand the tension in the room, I quickly sheath the damn thing so that it may dissipate. I do give Elrond a nod of thanks for his information as well as giving me back the sword; I honestly thought I wouldn't be getting it back. Despite the staring I feel at my back, the most brazen stare comes from the dwarf lord standing off to the side of the high table. I glance up briefly, but the gentle and searching look in his eyes is too much for me to bear. It is so unlike him and too intimate to allow myself to look back without staring. So I keep my head downcast as I return to my place beside Dwalin. I wish the company would stop staring; the whole thing is nothing more than a coincidence. Thank Mahal for Nori, for he seems to sense my discomfort and does his best to change the atmosphere.

"Change the tune why don't ya? I feel like I'm at a funeral," he says as he wiggles a finger in his ear. I shoot him a small smile of thanks. Not only is he saving me from the stares of the others, but he is also beating Elrond to the punch before he can ask anything more.

"Did somebody die?" asks Oin who still can't hear properly past the napkin shoved in his hearing horn. How did he even hear what just happened? Selective hearing, I guess.

"Alright lads, there's only one thing for it," says Bofur. He readily pushing himself upward until his feet meet the tabletop, knocking over several mealtime implements along his way. At first I'm confused as to what he is doing, so I look to the others for an answer and within seconds I have one.

"There's an inn; there's an inn, there's a merry old inn…"

The other dwarves begin to stomp their feet and pound their fists to the rhythm of the song. I quickly find myself smiling and enjoying their merriment. I have heard this song before in many a tavern, and while it is wholly out of place in Rivendell, I find the change welcome; anything that breaks the heavy elvish magic in the air is alright with me. However, only three lines in I am forced to dodge a well aimed roll from Fili. We are sitting diagonally from each other at the table and he is giving me a rather impish look. I feel a large smile overwhelm my face and I glance over my side of the table to find nothing worthy of a projectile. So for now I just watch him and his brother cautiously with a wide grin.

"And up and down he saws his bow…"

Eventually, my eyes flicker to Bofur's dancing and then past him to Thorin who is tapping his foot in time with the chorus. His eyes watch our cheerful companion dance along the stone surface. In that moment, I can see that Thorin's mind is temporarily unburdened. His eyes sparkle with love for his kin as they make merry and the small smile across his face is endearing, if maybe a little breathtaking. In truth he looks beautiful; it's not a word I would commonly associate with dwarf kind, but it is the only word that comes close enough to describe it. After coming to know Thorin Oakenshield better, I realize that these moments are precious few and they are always something to behold.

He must have sensed my eyes because he turns to look at me. For a moment I worry that his peaceful expression will pass, but it doesn't. In my surprise, I end up smiling back at him. This only brightened his mood further and I think I see his eyes shine just a little brighter. I would have tried to examine him further, had something behind Thorin not caught my attention.

In the open hallway which we had all been led here, I see two elves talking heatedly over something; well as heatedly as elves can be anyway. When one tries to shove something into the other's hands my breath hitches. My eyes widen slightly as I recognize Wildwind's bridle. The last I had seen she had been wearing it after Kili put it on her. The elf takes it and shrugs carelessly, with a smug expression on his face. They are talking fairly loudly in Sindarin, but I can only catch pieces over Bofur's singing.

"I naugrim…ala henia…lomtai…i di roch…"

No matter how broken the speech I can still fully understand what it is they are talking about. The same rage I experienced on the cliff with Fili and Kili overcomes me yet again as my hand slips over my dinner knife and grip it tightly.

"'Its' after three,' he said."

The dwarves laugh rancorously after the final verse, but through it all I can see the elf that had spoken laughing in the hallway. The sight is all I need to stand and throw the knife. It misses the elf's hand, but it does scare him and causes him to drop the bridle. Everyone is watching me once more as I approach the elf in swift strides. The other elf that is with him tries to step forward and shield his friend from my wrath. However, he is unarmed and since he stepped into my path I punched him square in the face. Even after he fell, I continue forward.

"Kalar!"

"Lad!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

I grab the bridle from the ground and as I rise my other hand wraps around the elf's throat to pin him to the post behind him. I can hear elvish guards moving around, but they do not make a move on me. I can sense the tension, but no one actually makes a move. My eyes narrow at the elf and I can see that he is well and truly afraid of me. When the next thing I hear is my own voice, I manage to scare myself at the hoarseness of it.

"Dui ewen, gweriadh?"

The look of utter surprise on his face makes my irritation grow.

"Naradh nin!"

He lifts a finger and points back towards the main entrance of the valley. Much like Imelkane, it is likely that they have a main livery there. Since we came through a Hidden Pass it is likely that we would have never seen the main entrance. Or whatever may be in the main stables…Claiming this as a suitable answer I drop my hand and walk away to investigate for myself. Several elven guards surround the nearby area, but they still make no move against me. I keep them in the corner of my eye as I remove myself from the dais. Though everyone is clamoring at my sudden attack, only Thorin's voice cuts through the din.

"Ranger! What happened?!" he demands.

"They have my horse and your ponies stabled at the main gates. They were planning to keep them there without our knowledge or consent," I answer with a sneer. "I'm going to check and make sure everything is still there." A momentary silence passes and the emotions on Thorin's face change as my words sink in.

"And if it is not?" asks Thorin. His question has an odd tone to it. He is mad clearly, but he also sounds curious.

"I think I've demonstrated that I can make a few elves talk if need be," I say. However, a moment after it I add, "By your leave, my king."

The outburst with the elf is bad enough, the last thing I need is to overstep myself further and cause Thorin to lose face in front of the elves. I may be a force to be reckoned with, but I am bound by Thorin's contract and I will follow his lead. Even if I want nothing more than to throw that sneaky elf like my bow nights before. I am surprised to see that I am graced with another of Thorin's smiles.

"You have it," he says. My breath catches a little from the small smile I receive, but I manage to turn away from him before it could be considered staring. As I resume my departure I can hear Thorin's rumbling timber, this time directed away from me. This time I am not surprised – Lord Elrond has to answer for this one.

I meet little resistance as I make my way to the stables and despite my earlier aggravation, I am already beginning to feel calmer. The sun is reaching the end of the valley when I reach my destination, presenting the evening's dusk. I wonder briefly if the magic is already taking its toll and forcing me to relax, but I recognize that I am also very tired.

The building itself, much like the rest of Imladris, is beautifully crafted. The wood is bent in striking patterns and has an open feeling consistent with the many glassless windows found in Rivendell. The building is a little more secluded than the rest, but that is just fine with me. The peace would be a welcomed change.

Upon entering, I see many elves removing supplies from the ponies' backs. They are muttering amongst themselves, trying to figure out what to do with the packs. However, they had heard my approach and look up at me surprised, if maybe a little bored.

"Autasi!"

They look at each other, trying to decide whether or not to heed my command. I am prepared to say it again, with more choice words, but luckily they set aside the goods and take their leave. I stand to one side of the doorway to watch them and ensure that they leave me in peace. Once I'm sure they have all gone I step further into the stables.

Further near the back I see Wildwind, and when she catches sight of me, she begins nicker. A smile settles on my face as I approach my excited friend. She eagerly shoves her face into my hands, asking for me to pet her. I do, but apparently it is not enough as she gently nips at my hair and rubs her face against mine.

"I missed you too. I'm glad you made it back to me safely," I murmur to her. I stroke her neck soothingly for both her pleasure and my comfort. I knew we would meet again, but there is nothing better than having her presence there with me physically. While stroking her muzzle I can see that the elves had taken quite good care of our ponies. The only thing left was to bring the dwarves their packs, but there is enough time for that later.

I am content with just petting Wildwind, but a familiar presence draws me away. From the corner of my eye I can see the figure in the doorway, the fading sun casting shadows upon her face. Despite the small tension that settles in my body, I do not draw my sword. I wouldn't harm a friend, even if her appearance in Rivendell is a little unsettling. I hadn't seen her in years; I had still been not much more than a child. It felt like a long time – to me at least.

"Man ceredech si, Tahna?"

"Ma tirani sui maelech, Tauriel."

Translations:

Sen alpulno - This cannot be.
I naugrim…ala henia…lomtai…i di roch… - The dwarves...don't need to know...hide them...with the horse...
Dui ewen, gweriadh? - Where are they, you thief/betrayer?
Naradh nin - Tell me
Autasi - Get away from here/Get out
Man ceredech si, Tahna? - What are you doing here, Tahna?
Ma tirani sui maelech, Tauriel. - Good to see you as well, Tauriel.

I know a lot of people don't like Tauriel because she wasn't in the book, but I don't mind her. Really I thought it was kind of nice to have another girl around (just wish they gave more characters [Fili] justice closer to the end). Don't worry, though, Tauriel now serves a greater purpose to my story so thank you Jackson for creating her!

A little shorter than usual again…huh. I have…one more chapter before I do the reveal. I hope you will all be patient with me, but also excited! Good things are happening here.

Again sorry for my god awful Sindarin translations. If any reader is a Sindarin translator, please help me fix them. I can only do so much. Any way thank you for reading and sticking with me!