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Chapter Five

Thorin was still staring moodily down at his plate, pushing the greenery around with a fork and thinking sullen thoughts, when Miluiel reappeared, seemingly well rested and revived after her bath and change of clothing. The storm grey silken material of the dress fell in soft drapes around her slim figure, emphasising her large eyes. The neckline exposed her collarbones, and the sleeves ran all the way to her tiny wrists. The Elf-maidens had combed through her russet curls, and they shone in the dusky light from the steadily rising moon and reflected the flickering tongues of the torches which lit the courtyard. Pausing shyly on the steps leading up to the company, Miluiel searched quickly for an empty seat, before settling on the place between Bilbo and Fili. She ascended as if she were floating, her small feet moving daintily over the polished stone floor.

"Miluiel! You look beautiful," Bilbo smiled up at her as he rose to his feet, helping her into her seat and gesturing to the still laden table. She thanked him quietly and turned to smile at Fili, who had dropped his fork with a clatter onto the stone floor. All the Dwarves had momentarily ceased their grousing as to the lack of meat at their table, and were all gazing openly at Miluiel as she arranged her skirt about her legs and smoothed the material nervously. She was conscious of the many eyes, and she felt a heat creep over her chest as they inspected her soft features, her large eyes and her gentle beauty.

She smiled shyly, and began to gather food onto her plate, hopelessly trying to ignore the curious stares as she speared a green leaf.

"Aye lassie, you look a treat," Balin grinned at her from across the table, "I'm afraid the food leaves a little to be desired for us; we have all been searching for the meat!"

Ori leaned forward furtively, trying not to catch the attention of any of the Elves who were singing and playing music as they dined. He glanced about himself, then cleared his throat. "Have they got any chips?"

Miluiel snorted and laid down her fork, shaking with silent giggles. The other Dwarves looked upon her almost fondly, and Bofur cuffed Ori on the shoulder.

Thorin glowered silently at his kin as they laughed and talked with the strange woman – her name, Elvish in origin, made his tongue feel like lead as he spoke it – and he stabbed viciously at his plate. Here, in this place, she seemed different, as if she belonged in a place filled with splendour and light. An errant thought flashed through his mind; I could not provide her with such beauty. As quickly as it had flitted into his brain, it vanished, and he was left festering in his own irrational anger as he watched the gaiety with which his company conversed between themselves.

Breaking through his reverie, Gandalf placed a hand on his arm and motioned for him to follow. There was a separate table which was set back from the rest of the party, where the Elf-lord was already seated. Thorin swung himself upright and wordlessly followed the wizard, his sword swinging at his side. Elrond nodded to him as he sat down, and motioned to his blade; Thorin unbuckled the weapon and handed it to him reluctantly, his brow furrowed as he watched the Elf's long fingers trace the lettering which ran down the blade.

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well." Elrond smiled slightly as he passed it back to Thorin, who almost snatched at it, so as to return it to his waist. The Dwarf king had the grace to blush gently as he fastened his belt. Gandalf held out his own sword from the troll hoard to Elrond, his robes fluttering in the soft evening breeze.

"This is Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer. Sword of the king of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the first Age," his fingers traced the hilt with an almost wistful air, before passing it back to the wizard. It was then that the Elf-lord rose, followed by Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Bilbo, and they disappeared into the relative gloom of one of the many rooms in the Last Homely House.

Meanwhile, the other Dwarves had moved from the tables set for them, and had somehow discovered sustenance more suited to their palate. They were congregated on the stone floor of the courtyard or perched on stools, tossing food to one another and talking quietly, as is the way of Dwarves. Their propensity for mistrust had moulded their communications, and as such, they could be found muttering and whispering amongst themselves, careful to guard any secrets from those outside their trusted circle. Somehow, a large fire had been cultivated; the company were gently toasting various food over the flickering, fiery tongues as they talked and laughed together.

"You do look lovely," Ori whispered to Miluiel, his cheeks flushing as she smiled at him and brushed her shoulder against his for a few seconds, her contact causing his tongue to dry and stick to the roof of his mouth. Being as young as he was, he had not had any real experience with females, in any way, and Miluiel was the first woman he had been in such close proximity to, besides his own kin. It terrified him, seeing her as this ethereal creature who seemed to float on the scented air around them, and he decided in his own, sweetly childish way, that he preferred her as she had first come to their company, dressed in her tunic and leggings. Her dirty boots had made him smile, and her unkempt, wild hair reminded him of flames as they danced in a soft breeze.

"Thank you, Ori. If truth be told, I prefer my own clothes, but the Elves have been so kind that I didn't have the heart to refuse their beautiful dress," she grinned impishly at him and turned away, accepting the proffered sausage from Bofur. The Dwarf in question then tossed another sausage to Bombur, who was perched on a delicately carved table; it gave a sudden groan and the splintering of wood rent the air, before the red-headed Dwarf tumbled to the ground, crushing what was left of the intricate furniture.

Laughter filled the dim evening air as the luckless dwarf glanced about himself in confusion, and then returned to his bowl with a merry grin. It was to this scene that Thorin returned.

Dwalin watched his King as he moved slowly around outer edge of the Company, his fingers laced together in contemplation, before coming to a halt behind Bombur and the ruined table.

"We shall stay for a while, to rest. Stay together, and do not wander in this strange place; do not let the Elven magic take hold of your senses," his voice was a deep growl as he met the eyes of them all. He lingered for a moment on Miluiel, holding her gaze for a second too long, before sliding his eyes to Dwalin. The loyal Dwarf understood the unspoken command, and rose to his feet. Miluiel watched as he moved through the group and to Thorin's side in a surprisingly graceful manner, before the two of them wandered a short way from the others and began to converse in low tones, as they were wont to do, with Balin joining them shortly after.

Dori nudged Miluiel's shoulder gently, and gestured to a neatly placed bed roll near the smouldering fire, "I think it best to leave them to themselves lassie, and try to get some rest."

She smiled gratefully at him and made to settle down, drawing the blanket over herself to retain her body heat. Her cloak had been deftly folded as a makeshift pillow, and for the first time since the early dawn, she realised how truly tired she was; it lightly skittered across her mind as to how tired the Dwarves must be, and she felt a small, almost guilty feeling tug at her stomach. She had wandered into this journey with no idea as to why she had been included, and the only things she knew of the Company's plight was the recollections of fireside tales from her grandfather. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest as she looked over the group with half-closed eyes, thinking of how lost they must be feeling, and how terrifying it must be for them, to have the future of their kin resting on their shoulders, and on the success of their quest.

The last thought that wound about her tired mind like smoke from a pipe was that of Thorin; the taciturn, cantankerous Dwarf King had unsettled her with his piercing gaze, and despite the irritation that seemed to roll from him in waves, he had deigned to allow her to stay with them.

Perhaps, Miluiel thought in a startling moment of clarity, she was coming to wonder about him in more than a politely interested way.