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Chapter Seven

Miluiel was unsure which woke her from slumber, the pale fingers of dawn tugging at her eyelids, or the hushed sound of voices coming from somewhere to her left. She opened her eyes to half-slits and surveyed the sleeping Dwarves, many of whom were snoring gently to themselves. All were accounted for, except Thorin, but she simply ignored this fact, deciding instead to investigate the mysterious whispers.

She sat up slowly, brushing her hair from her face, and turned to the sound. As her grey eyes settled on the source of the noise, she let her breath out in a whoosh; there, at the edge of the courtyard, stood three Elves, who were discussing the Company at length, it seemed. Their musical voices played on the breeze, and despite not understanding their words, Miluiel could gather that they were comparing the Dwarves rather unfavourably to themselves. They surveyed her blankly, their lovely faces betraying nothing of their thoughts, and departed swiftly, making no noise on the polished stone.

"Think nothing of it lassie," Balin said softly from his bed roll. He too had been woken by the soft voices, and was sitting cross-legged and eyeing her with an amused expression.

"But, they were laughing at us!" she replied indignantly, preferring to refer to herself in terms of the Dwarves than placing her allegiance with those beautiful creatures. She snorted and furrowed her brow, feeling slighted.

Balin chuckled indulgently, "Aye lass, they were. But, they were but children, and allowances should be made when taking in the hospitality of their Lord." His diplomacy quietened Miluiel, and she felt childish annoyance wash over her. It put her in foul spirits.

Her eyes swept over the Company again, and alighted on Thorin's empty bed roll, just as Balin caught the object of her gaze. Her eyebrows were drawn together, and the generous mouth turned down.

"I would pay that no mind either," he said conspiratorially, "Thorin is not quick to trust, and you came into our Company with so little explanation. He does not understand your purpose with us, and Gandalf has not illuminated the situation."

Miluiel ran a small hand over her face and huffed out another breath, chewing her bottom lip and finding a sudden interest in the foliage surrounding the courtyard veranda. "I have no idea as to why Gandalf came to our home. I did not feel there was time to ask questions of him, and have had no opportunity since. I apologise for my intrusion, as I know I am probably seen as a burden," she paused, smiling wryly at the old Dwarf. He chuckled again, a good-natured, fatherly sound, and nodded.

"Perceptive, I see," he replied. He stretched his arms above his head and grinned at the popping sound of his joints, before rising to his feet and gathering the fallen firewood strewn about the dying embers. Stoking it gently, he raised a small flame and smiled, content to sit in silence with the strange young woman.

She, however, was curious.

"Balin," she began in a wheedling tone as she knelt beside him, her hair twisting in a curtain of glinting colour over her shoulders. He watched her carefully as she scanned his face, taking in the deeply etched lines and furrows, but also the light in his merry eyes, and she continued carefully. "I was wondering if you could tell me what you are doing here, on this quest."

"Well lass, I am here to accompany my King. I have sworn my allegiance to him and the kingdom, as have a few others. Some are here for the adventure, some are here because they feel it is their duty, and some are simply here as they could not stand living as they have been doing. But we are all here because we love our home, and wish to reclaim the land which is rightfully ours. How much do you know about Erebor? I assume your grandfather must have told you some tales?" His white eyebrows were drawn together as she shuffled into a comfortable position and held her fingers towards the now-established flames.

"Grandfather told me of Smaug, the Fire Drake from the North. He used to talk of the devastation of Dale, and all those who were killed; but he didn't mention it much, not even to Mother. Does he still live, the dragon?" She turned to him with wide grey eyes as she asked her question, her skin paling at the thought. A dragon was a terrible thing, evil and selfish, driven by avarice and a destructive desire for all things beautiful in the world; Miluiel had heard of the terror that was Smaug and shivered at her memories.

"Well lassie, we would hope that he has perished in the sixty years that he has remained hidden, but I fear that is too much to hope for," Balin smiled, patting the back of her hand gently and swinging a pot over the now leaping flames. Miluiel frowned again, her nose wrinkling like that of a confused child, and she cocked her head to the side. Her eyebrows were raised slightly as she surveyed the still sleeping Dwarves, and Balin took this time to take in her appearance, unnoticed by her.

She was beautiful, the whole company could admit to that, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn upward when she curled her lips in annoyance, as it was something he recalled about her grandfather, whom he had known in youth. Balel had been a great smith, forging some of the most desirable weapons of Erebor, before the great dragon Smaug had laid waste to the kingdom and he had fled with his daughter. His lovely wife had perished in the flames, and Balin felt sure that his old friend was tormented by his wife's last moments until the day of his passing. Udwaline had been a beautiful and sturdy Dwarf woman, as her mother before her; Balin could reconcile his memories of that young Dwarfling in the woman before him, with her russet curls and determined jaw, which jutted forward slightly to highlight her irritation. Her eyes, however, were something he could not fathom. They were nothing like the dark brown of Balel, and he distinctly remembered Udwaline to have possessed eyes of a sparkling green, so the misty grey of Miluiel's eyes confused him.

"Thorin doesn't like being here, does he?" she said suddenly, breaking the old Dwarf out of his reverie. He shook his head wordlessly and turned back to the fire, just as their leader reappeared.

Miluiel sat straighter on the bed roll, drawing her small hands to her lap and biting her generous lower lip. She was waiting for the derisive curl of his lip, and the slanting of his eyes at her presence, but neither was forthcoming. Rather, he motioned to Balin with a tip of his head, and moved to the edge of the group, pulling Dwalin with him.

"I'll be seeing you later lassie," Balin said softly, smiling at her as he pushed himself to his feet and began to pick his way between the blankets. She was vaguely surprised by his graceful movements, and she smiled as she too got to her feet. She wandered away, towards the opposite side of the courtyard to gaze out over the wonders of Imladris, and to ponder the mystery that was Thorin Oakenshield.

It wasn't long before she decided to explore the glistening pale city as it sprawled lazily over the landscape, its wonders hidden shyly behind curtains of greenery. The many elegantly carved homes peeped through the shafts of dazzling sunlight, as a maid would peer through her lashes at a handsome young suitor, smiling coyly with laughter playing upon pink lips. Her heart felt lightened in this softly beautiful place, and picking her way through the corridors to peer into decorated rooms made her soul sing to its splendour. Miluiel was not a vain woman, as years of working away in the forge had stripped away what little feminine trickery she may have had, but she could feel the eyes of the glorious Elves boring into her skin as she moved about. She had been given a few dresses, all beautiful and elegant in design, which made her feel both stunningly clumsy and hesitantly attractive.

In her wanderings, her feet had brought her to what seemed a small room in comparison to the surrounding splendour, but it was this small room which was most interesting. Its walls were pale and smooth, and circling the edges were stacks of books and papers, piled both high and low which gave the impression of a jumbled mind.

"May I help you, my dear?"

Miluiel leapt in fright, her small hands flying to her face as she felt the blush creep over her skin and she turned abruptly to face Gandalf. The wizard was accompanied by Lord Elrond, who was smiling gently. Her russet curls clashed horribly with her pink face as she stood before the two men with her heart pounding in her chest.

"I did not touch anything," she said softly, "I was simply wondering who such a room would belong to. It seems so…" her tongue grappled for a word which would encompass how different the room was. It was a mess! It was a complete contrast to the tastefully decorated areas in the rest of the Elven city, and it seemed a conundrum to her as to what self-respecting Elf would allow such untidiness to be displayed.

Gandalf began to chuckle in his throaty, reassuring way, "Miluiel, it is the study which I have graciously been allowed to keep as my own here in Imladris." He grinned conspiratorially at her as her realisation clouded her lovely grey eyes. She smiled then, softly at first, before the beam split her small face into the beauty Gandalf had long recognised as that of an Elven maiden, in some part at least.

It had always pained him to think of her not knowing her heritage, and not knowing of the kind, gracious Elf who had fathered her. He was a strong character, one who could be relied upon in the most dangerous of times to be steadfast and stoic; he also had a childlike wonder of the world about him, and yearned for a knowledge which would become his privilege in his elder years. Gandalf saw the best of her Elven father in her, and at that moment he resolutely decided that she must not know of him. Not yet, and not from any other than the Elf himself.

And with that, the wizard drew her away, choosing instead to show her the gardens and libraries of Rivendell, uncovering many small wonders which made her eyes shine in her lovely face. She was full of wonder and an as yet unknown grace, which made his heart glad. For she would become a vital member of their company, and an ideal foil for the treacherously angry Dwarf prince with whom they travelled; it was simply a matter of getting Thorin to recognise this, which seemed a daunting task.

Oh, how Gandalf cursed the stubbornness of Dwarves!