Disclaimer: I own nothing other than my original characters.

Chapter One

It was not until weeks later that Miluiel and Gandalf were again to meet. The wizard had ridden hard to arrive at their home as quickly as he had, and his unusual demeanour which fizzed with slight panic galvanised Miluiel into action. She loaded her pack with provisions, slung her short sword at her waist and her bow at her back; she kissed her mother goodbye and touched the flat, worn stone which marked her grandfather's grave with delicate fingers, before swinging herself up into the saddle and riding away with her old friend, her cloak billowing out behind her as she clutched at his waist.

"How far into this endeavour do we have to ride until you tell me exactly what is going on?" she gasped as she forced her face up to his shoulder, screwing up her eyes against the wind whipping around them. The afternoon had fallen into dusk, and they were pounding up a well-ridden path which twisted slowly through trees. If they had been travelling at a slower pace, perhaps Miluiel would have had the time to feel afraid, but as it was, the eyes of animals and other things passed her in a blur, and all she could hear was the heaving chest of their horse, and the rhythmic hoof beats on solidly packed earth.

"We will ride until near dawn, and I only hope we are not too late," he replied, spurring the horse on as they plunged forth into the inky darkness. Miluiel shrank back into the saddle and felt worry grip her heart in its icy fingers, as tendrils of fear snaked their way through her mind.

"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"

"Mine are the biggest parasites! I've got huge parasites!"

"We're riddled with them!"

Miluiel furrowed her brow as she watched Gandalf spring lightly from their horse and onto the ground, creeping around the huge boulders and carrying his staff. She could hear the tumbling yells and cries of male voices exclaiming about their parasitic insides and her stomach turned a little, but she too dismounted and made to crawl after the wizard.

Then she could hear the deep, booming voices of the trolls, and she wrinkled her nose at the smell as she approached, her nose and eyes appearing over a small boulder and catching sight of the unfolding scene. She gasped softly as she saw the three tolls – gigantic beasts covered in leathery skin, with wide eyes and a generally confused expression – as well as the dwarves, who were either trussed up in sacks or turning on a spit over the camp-fire.

"The dawn shall take you all!" The majestic bellow of the wizard caused her to whip her head around, searching for the origin of his voice. Creeping fingers of light were pushing insistently at the sky as Gandalf stood on a large boulder, holding his staff aloft in both hands. It was with an almighty crack that the boulder was split down the middle, sending the sunlight rushing into the clearing and turning the hideous trolls into stone versions of themselves, freezing them where they stood for all eternity.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she grabbed the horse's reins and clambered down into the clearing, gently hopping from stone, to tree root, to grass as quietly as she could, before catching sight of Gandalf as he helped to free the dwarves in the sacks. Those dwarves who had been turning over the fire had been knocked to the floor, spit and all, and were being untied hurriedly as she arrived, gazing up at the trolls in both disgust and wonder. She reached out a hand to touch the stone, then thought better of it and retracted the limb, just as Gandalf caught sight of her.

"Miluiel!"

Her hair flew about her head as she turned quickly, looking guiltily through her lashes as the wizard approached, but he merely touched her arm and motioned to the group. The dwarves, having righted themselves and, for the most part, thanked Bilbo Baggins – the Hobbit and resident burglar – for playing for time until Gandalf appeared, now stared openly at her. She lifted her chin slightly, looking so like her mother, and smoothed a hand over her tunic.

It was right that they should stare. What business did a woman – a dwarf woman – have, running about the countryside in trousers as a man would? She had always found that she preferred men's clothes to the frivolity of dresses and soft slippers such as maidens were usually found wearing, and trousers were easier to work in. Her grandfather had always laughed and said she should have been born a man, what with her desire to learn his craft and her excitement when he had taught her to wield a blade. Gandalf bought her thoughts crashing back to the present as he pushed her forward slightly in the small of her back.

"Miluiel Nuradrum, at your service," her voice came out as a quiet croak, and she frowned inwardly at herself. She did not wish for these men to think her a silly young girl, but her voice had definitely sounded as if she were indeed that. Her hair fell forward as she bowed slightly, and as she straightened up, she gazed unwaveringly around the group. Gandalf, meanwhile, was looking to Thorin, son of Thrain, trying to gauge his reaction to the addition to his company. The king's beetle-black brows were drawn together, and his lips were set in a straight line. His eyes met hers, and she felt the fury and the indignation, before they slid away dismissively and he turned on his heel.

He shouted to his men to find the troll hoard, as he was certain that they would have possessed one, and the group began to disperse, still staring at her as they moved in all directions. Some made their way back into the trees, she presumed to pack up their fallen belongings in their camp, and others surged forward after the angry king, searching for gold and finery as was the way of dwarves. The Hobbit, Bilbo, approached her slowly and held out a tiny hand to her.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he trilled as he shook her hand with a surprisingly firm grasp. His feet were dirty and bare, and she smiled as she noticed his hairy toes. His kindness seemed to radiate from him, as he recognised another outsider, and he reached into his pocket absently, before stopping as if with a revelation, and taking his hand out of his pocket once more.

"Does something trouble you, Master Baggins?" she asked politely, inclining her head at the small man. She stood a head taller than him, and his slightly rotund belly gave him an air of jollity which belied the soft flick of sadness in his eyes.

He signed gently and shook his head, "I know it's a very silly thing to be worrying about, what with all we've been through already on this journey, and what we're yet to encounter, but I do regret not pausing before I left my house and selecting a pocket handkerchief." He looked dejected as he forced his head up to smile at her, and it caused her heart to constrict almost painfully for the little Hobbit. Reaching behind her, she pulled her pack off her back and began to rummage deeply, tutting and sighing to herself, until her small hand closed upon something. She triumphantly yanked at a small scrap of fabric and presented it Bilbo shyly. It was a delicate handkerchief edged in lace and embroidered with a single flower. Her hand moved towards him, holding it within his reach.

"Oh no Miss, I could not accept this, it is yours!" he exclaimed quietly, yet reached out to stroke the lace gently, as if mesmerised. She thrust it at him again, and smiled a little more widely.

"Master Baggins, please. I have no need of two handkerchiefs, and it is entirely obvious that you are in desperately dire straits without one," she pushed it gently into his hand and looked on as he stroked it in wonder. How such a small thing, which had once seemed ordinary and expected, had brought him so much joy at this time on his journey.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jerkin and smiled back at the young woman before him, and touched her arm. "Thank you, Lady Nuradrum."

"Oh, I am no Lady!" she laughed, her grey eyes dancing, "I am simply Miluiel, please call me such and offer me no station, Master Baggins."

"Then you shall call me Bilbo, please, and we shall become great friends I feel," he smiled and trotted away, leaving her smiling after him and gazing around herself.

It was the cry of surprise and perhaps joy, which alerted Miluiel to the position of the rest of the group. They had all moved towards the troll hoard, and were exploring the riches they had found there. Leaving Gandalf's horse with the other ponies, she followed the excited sounds to a cave, where the dwarves had disappeared. The stench met her as if in a wall, and she wrinkled her nose again; it was harder to stomach this smell, as it was a concentrated odour, no longer punctured by the fresh, sweet air around them. Peering into the entrance of the cave, she saw the dwarves burying chests of treasure and handling the fine things with wonder, their eyes shining. Her mind fell back to the memories of her mother telling her stories of dwarves of old and their lust for creating and possessing beautiful things. Udwaline had laughingly said that it was due to the fact that dwarves themselves were not as beautiful as other races, such as elves, so they craved to surround themselves with fine jewels and shimmering metals.

Bilbo inclined his head to her as he disappeared into the mouth of the cave, and she returned the gesture and waited patiently. She did not yet know why Gandalf had seen fit to travel to her home, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, and ask that she accompany him. He had not explained his actions at all, and she felt wary around these dwarves. She could feel their stares, as if they were noticing all the minute differences between herself and their own dwarf women, and she could feel their minds whirling at the thought of her parentage.

At last, after what seemed like an indeterminate age, the dwarves began to re-emerge into the sunshine, their faces glowing. Bilbo and Gandalf were conversing quietly as they reappeared, before Gandalf moved to speak with Thorin. The king had been staring at Miluiel, his eyes dark with the mixture of feelings crashing through his mind; he did not understand her presence within his company any more that she did, and he resented the wizard for unceremoniously dumping her with them without a word of explanation. He felt that it would have been only right that the wizard ask him for some sort of permission in regards to the addition, and yet none had been forthcoming; after all, was he not the leader?

And, he thought venomously, what good was a strange woman? It was evident that she was not simply a Dwarf, and yet she was not simply an Elf or a Man either; her height conflicted with her grace, and her determined chin opposed the softness of her eyes. Gandalf interrupted his disjointed thoughts as he approached. They conversed in low tones, all the while with Thorin feeling her grey eyes staring into the back of his head.