There's a lot happening in this chapter! We're about ready to leave Rivendell- just one more chapter after this one! Hope y'all enjoy!


I hear low voices outside, but I ignore them. Instead I rifle through for my pack for my wallet. Inside I take out the small pictures of my family, more precious to me than anything else now. I take my time going through them, looking at the smiles and funny faces. There's my dad kissing my mom. And my youngest brother posing with a halberd.

The images feel foreign now, a remnant of a world that only exists in my mind. Have I acclimated so quickly to Middle Earth that I would feel like a stranger in my own world? That's not a question I want to think about.

Am I acclimated to Middle Earth? I don't want to think about that either. I know if I left the dwarves now I would have no idea where to go or how to take care of myself.

The quest gives me more than a living. It gives me a purpose, friendship, belonging.

If I'm to live here like Elrond says, I will have to change that. I need to branch out and learn more, talk more, be more. But what does that mean? How do I be more than I am already? Put more effort into the quest? Take more risks? Do more to learn about different cultures here?

Maybe it means I need to let go of my world and live more fully in this one. I wish I were ready to do so. But I don't think it's possible just yet.

As I put the photos away, my hand brushes a paper on my nightstand. My gaze follows it to the floor, and a moment passes before I remember it's from Ori. I unfold it, and—

Oh. Oh wow.

There is my face, searching for something in the distance, surrounded by the company members. I take in the intricate details and shading, making the faces come to life. The twinkle in Bofur's eye, a cheerful look on Dori's face. Thorin's steadiness, Gloin's fierceness—Ori's captured all of it. My eyes water and I smile softly. I tuck the paper and photos away, making a mental note to give Ori a hug later.

I need to find some paper and a pen. Moving quietly so as not to alert the lingering dwarves to my presence, I relax once I'm some distance away from the common room. If I'm going to be more, maybe I should stop trying to sneak around. I didn't sneak as much when I was younger. That habit I picked up over time.

To my surprise, Elrond is reading in the library, an empty wine glass by his side. His words echo in my head. For over a century I tried.

"Lady Aspen, is there anything I may do for you?" "I would like paper and something to write with please, if they're here." "Of course." He sets down his book and goes to the far end of the room, where there are several jars on shelves and rolls of paper surrounding empty desks.

"You should find everything you need," he says, pulling down a jar and quill. He eyes me and asks, "Do you know how to use a quill?" I pause. "No?"

A few minutes later Elladan and Elrohir come around the corner to find their father tutoring me on proper quill usage. One sniggers. "What? You've never used a quill before? I expected a lady such as yourself to be well-educated."

Two sets of glaring eyes sobers them up quickly. I don't dignify them with a response, instead concentrating on forming letters. The ink blots if I don't move quickly enough, and my first attempts are barely legible loops and blobs.

I keep practicing as Elrond speaks to his sons, only pausing when one clear his throat. "Yes?"

"Ada has suggested you come to practice weaponry with us tomorrow."

I draw back, frowning. "I don't have a weapon. And I can assure you I am not much good and would only slow you down."

"We can find you a weapon. And perhaps you are better than you think."

A large part of me wants to accept just so I can make their training miserable. But that would mean utter humiliation.

Be more. Be more…what? Be a better person?

"If I am up to it, I will join you."

One of the twins beams. "I will look forward to seeing you in the morning then."

The twins leave, and Elrond and I share a long glance. "I take it this is your way to stop my moping around?"

"Not at all. I think it would be beneficial to maintain your training. Middle Earth is not the haven of Imladris." "Of course not," I say, still unsure of his real motives. Immediately I scold myself; Elrond has nothing to gain from a hidden agenda.

"I will leave you to your writing," Elrond gestures at my paper of ink blots. "Best of luck to you." He leaves, and I stare at my paper, the dots swimming and blurring in front of my eyes. My cheeks are wet, and I realize I'm crying.

Writing can wait. I slip back to my room with my new supplies, curling up on my bed and crying until I pass out from exhaustion.

The next morning has me pining for espresso. The tight band of pressure has returned, and with the haze of exhaustion it's a wonder I can get out of bed. I feel fragile, like I could cry at any moment while grabbing breakfast and getting ready. Like someone could brush against me and I'd fall.

The twins, perhaps sensing my mood and state of mind, don't joke when they see me. Just polite nods and greetings, and the sense that everything is about to collapse around me.

"What training do you have Lady Aspen?" "Not much. I'm not a swordswoman, though I do a little better with daggers and throwing knives." Even keeping my voice steady is a struggle.

They lead me to a clearing in the woods, close to a non-descript building. The twins glance at each other, and then back at me. "I hate it when you guys do that," I mutter. "Do what?" the one on the left asks, sharing another glance with his twin. "That!" I gesture wildly in their direction.

"Sharing looks like you know I'm crazy and you're planning how to minimize damage! Like you're reading each other's minds, or finishing each other's thoughts! I…"

I break down crying. A complete meltdown. In front of those damned twins.

They're quiet for a minute, then one says almost gently, "Ada told us about your situation. We are truly sorry." I sniff. "What would you know about it?" He tsks. "Rather ignorant of history now are you?" My head whips up to gape at the two, who manage to keep impressively straight faces.

"That was poor form. But you do remember we have lost our mother?" "Aye I do. But you have not lost a father or siblings as well," I say, even as I think not yet. "No. Elladan and I cannot imagine what you are feeling. But we can at least understand a little."

Elrohir gives a bittersweet smile. "It was hard. I would watch my father, lost in his grief, and wonder how I could still find beauty or joy in smaller things." "I could cry and still wonder why a tapestry was crooked," Elladan adds, nodding in agreement with his brother.

A short laugh escapes me. "Thorin sang the most beautiful songs the other day. I'd never heard anything like it."

The twins nod. "I would imagine so. Dwarves rarely sing for those not their kin," Elladan says.

"Can I…Can I tell you about them? My family?"

The two are surprisingly good listeners. It was a split-second decision, telling practical strangers some of my favorite stories, and I can't fully explain why I made that choice, even to myself. Maybe it's precisely because they don't know me, and therefore can't judge me.

By the time I'm done I feel raw and exposed. It's painful and uncomfortable, having emptied myself so completely to strangers. Yet maybe being more means learning to sit in discomfort. Learning to let it come, stay awhile, and pass by.

Our newfound truce continues through lunch, where we talk about everything and nothing. Mostly tales of their travels, or things in my world that seem like fiction to them. To them, cicadas are mythical. I don't really see how screaming bugs are cool, but decide to let them indulge their imagination.

After lunch we head back to the clearing, where the twins suggest weapons for me based on my build and somewhat-extant athletic ability. The non-descript building is revealed as an armory, with targets for archery in the back.

The twins pull out a war hammer for me to try. The minute I grasp it I know it's wrong. I take a swing, and it sets me off balance more than Fili's swords. I quickly return it to them, and they start searching for another weapon.

"Perhaps a spear Elladan?" Elrohir asks. "Excellent idea brother," he replies. In short order the two return with a long spear, handing it over to me. Placing my hands where instructed, I take a couple of jabs.

"Much better," Elrohir muses as he circles me. "You'll have to be fast if you want to use a spear. Can't use it if someone grabs it."

He suddenly spins to his brother. "Elladan, mother's spear. It would be perfect for her." Silence. "Are you sure?"

"Aye," Elrohir replies, waving his hand in my direction. "Look at her. If she can develop her muscles more and the necessary agility and speed it would be perfect."

Elladan looks about ready to argue, but decides otherwise. He jogs towards the main buildings while Elrohir explains to me, "Our mother, Celebrian, was an expert spear fighter. She taught me everything she knew."

He falls silent as we wait for Elladan to return. After a few minutes he does, bearing a wrapped weapon. He kneels down and unwraps it reverently, with the same care I've seen the dwarves use to polish their hair beads. I study it, noting the excellent craftsmanship. Intricate scrollwork adorns the head and the shaft of the partisan is smooth with a continuous wood grain. "What type of wood is the shaft made of?" "It is ash, my lady, though reinforced with Elvish magic to ensure it won't break under assault. It also has a harness so you can strap it to your back for easy transport."

I trace the blade and the small prongs at the base of the head with my fingers. It's taller than me by a half foot at least. "We have a similar weapon in my world called a partisan. It's not used much anymore."

"It's very versatile and I think it would serve you well in battle, if you ever see one," Elrohir says with a hitch in his breath. Elladan jerks his head to look at his brother and bites out a sharp phrase in Sindarin. I can't understand it, but I guess the sentiment.

"I can't take this," I say, placing the weapon back on its cloth. "It belonged to your mother." Elrohir responds to his brother with a fast stream of Sindarin, and it quickly devolves into an argument. I pad to the other side of the clearing. The twins and I may have reached a new understanding but I'm not close enough to witness a clearly personal argument. The tight band of pressure has returned again.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

"Lady Aspen," one calls. My eyes open and I peer at them. Both are calm, the argument finished. When I approach Elladan says, "This weapon means a lot to our family. But it would mean more if it weren't gathering dust."

He presses the weapon into my hands. "I hope it will serve you well and keep you safe." "I can't take this. Your father wouldn't like it." I breathe, eyes wide and hands trembling. "He suggested it." More hesitation.

"She would want you to have it."

"Then I will accept it," I bow my head to thank them. "Take care of it," Elladan's voice cracks a bit. "I will. It's worth more than I am," I try to joke.

The twin's eyes grow wide. "Lady Aspen you shouldn't say such things. Your life is infinitely more important than the weapon." "Don't y'all know what a joke is?" A quick discussion reveals that yes, elves have senses of humor, but it centers more on actions rather than words. I promise myself to never let these two meet Fili and Kili.

A few hours pass as the twins show me various stances and moves with my new weapon. I will have to stab my opponent quickly, before they can retaliate or try to grab my weapon. I have more cutting ability than a regular spear, and am able to hook a weapon or knee if need be.

But there are drawbacks. My hands are vulnerable, and I will have to be extra careful to not get hit. And a partisan is not a small weapon. I will need something to fight with in close quarters. I'll have to continue training with Fili on knives and daggers.

The sun is sinking behind the valley wall when we finish, and I thank the twins for their time and offer of friendship. Elrohir smiles while Elladan invites me to the music hall later tonight. I accept and part ways to stow the partisan and wash up.

After cleaning, I head to the medical gardens to find some comfrey for my cuts—Elladan and Elrohir weren't exactly gentle with their advice. While I'm there I happen upon Calen and apologize for not meeting her a few days ago. The elleth waves it off without commentary and proceeds to introduce me to her friends, all of whom greet me with a smile and curiosity.

They help me find and prepare the comfrey and we fall to talking about the various uses for different herbs in healing. I myself am not a healer, but maybe I should be. It would be good to learn and have that knowledge for later.

I've just imparted the use of aloe for sunburn when Oin stumps in, carrying a satchel. He nods politely at the elleths, then gets to work plucking various herbs and putting them in his bag.

When the elleths leave the garden, I wander over to him and watch his work. He grunts and says, "If you're going to watch you may as well watch from down here." Slightly embarrassed, I kneel down beside him and start to collect the herb parts he indicates.

"You have knowledge of herbs and plants?" he asks gruffly. "Some, but not much," I admit. "I'd like to learn more." He eyes me and says, "I could teach you a couple things. Wouldn't hurt to have more than one healer on a Mahal-forsaken quest like this."

"You mean it?" "Aye, I'm not one for pranks. Not like the wee rascals."

"That would be wonderful," I breathe, unable to believe this is really an offer he's giving me. "It'll be tough. Difficult to memorize different blends," Oin warns me. "Are you sure this is what you want?" "Yes. I would be honored." Oin grunts, and begins to tell me all about the herbs that we are gathering. Later he will quiz me on them to see how much I remember and I assure him I will do my very best to make this stuff become second nature.

After we leave I eat quickly and make my way to the music hall. I don't know why Elladan and Elrohir insisted I come, but maybe there's some event they don't want me to miss.

A sizeable crowd has already gathered, but I keep to myself, not sure how well I could handle mindless small talk at the moment.

Silence spreads and an elf climbs to the small stage at the far end. He recites what is clearly a poem, long and winding throughout the hall. He's a good speaker, drawing us in with his voice and enticing us with his deliberate pauses and rushes.

When he finishes I lift my hands to clap, only no one else even twitches. I lower my hands again, feeling embarrassed and very out of place. Very human.

The next act is a flute and voice duet that sounds eerily like a 12th-century Catholic psalm. The next one sounds like a Gregorian chant. And another. What is it with elves and early Catholic music? Did an elf somehow cross into our world and influence it? Is there any trace of Sindarin in our words now? I'm ashamed to say these thoughts occupy my mind as the acts slip by unheard, until I see Elladan and Elrohir ascend the stage.

One carries an instrument like a mandolin, the other a lute. What they play is entirely unlike what little I've heard so far. Indeed, the piece is almost jarring, the notes offending my Western ear; the intervals and melodies suggesting what on Earth would be called an Eastern sound. It leads into something so evocative that I hold my breath, waiting for it to resolve the tension in my bones.

And then in a rush it does, sliding into a simple and haunting melody. And when they sing, oh it's beautiful. One has a baritone; the other a tenor, and their voices fill the space, a cappella style. I don't recognize the language, but it's not Sindarin.

And then they're done, and I find it a shame elves don't clap.

The acts continue, songs sung and poems recited. At the very end, up walks Thorin, holding his travel harp. I wonder if it's really him, because I can't believe he would ever agree to play. But the Khuzdul rolls across his lips as his voice rolls across the space. Again I cannot understand the words, but when Thorin locks eyes with me, I know what he's singing.

A lament.

My eyes fill with tears, and I suspect the same is happening to my fellow listeners.

And then the concert is over, and the listeners drift off or linger, speaking to the musicians. I make my way to the front, where Thorin is overwhelmed with complimentary elves. I congratulate Elladan and Elrohir, who smile and say they learned the song on their travels south.

We chat for a few minutes, then I feel a touch on my arm. It's Thorin. "Would you care to accompany me back to the rooms?" I give my goodbyes, Thorin and the twins nod to each other, and together we walk down the halls towards our rooms.

"Thank you," I say, and Thorin hums in response. "How are you feeling?" I think for a bit. "Better than I have in days, but still not great." He nods. "Aye, I imagine. Lord Elrond has said that we should be at the hidden entrance by Durin's Day. We will leave on Midsummer's—"

His foot slips, sending him scrambling for something to hold onto. I grab his arm, but he's too heavy and we both go tumbling down, his harp landing with a clatter some feet away. I groan, doing a quick body scan to make sure nothing is broken.

"Thorin?" "Aye," he grunts, trying to push himself off the floor. "I don't know what happened." "Aging, perhaps?" I tease. Thorin shoots me a glare, and says, "We both need rest. Come now before anyone finds us in this humiliating position."

The rest of the short walk passes without incident, and we separate with the unspoken agreement we will never speak of the fall.