Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters

Chapter One

The large flat rock the company had been deposited on stood proud in the otherwise smooth landscape, and they could see the lush green of the grass around them, dotted with trees and boulders. There was an almost imperceptible sound of babbling water which Miluiel strained to hear. Moving water often meant some sort of encampment or civilisation in the Wilds of the world, and she was unsure if she were ready to meet yet another terrifying foe. Her bones felt leaden, and her temper was easily flared as she gazed around at nothing.

Gandalf had explained the Lord of the Eagles had told his subjects that they were to take the company no farther than the rock upon which they stood, for if they ventured nearer to fields and pastures, Men may try to bring them down with their arrows. He had pointed out that they were more than amiable to assisting the Dwarves and their endeavour, especially if that involved thwarting goblins and Wargs, but they would not risk the lives of their own kin.

"Where to now, Wizard?" Dwalin asked, peering over the edge of the rock. His fist was clenched on the hilt of his sword as he leant forward, as if the weapon would somehow protect him if he were to fall.

"We simply climb down the stairs," Gandalf replied, sweeping away from the group and moving to the other edge of the rock. Here, as he bent down a little, he could glimpse the edges of the stone steps carved into the rock-face. They were meant for those blessed with long legs, and he furrowed his brow as he puzzled through getting the Dwarves, a Hobbit and Miluiel down the steep incline without using them. He decided that they would simply have to work together. "Off we go then."

The Dwarves began to form a jostling line as they looked down at the stairs, each of them gulping at the steep angle of every step. Thorin then strode forward.

"We shall lower one another down. Fili, Kili, do we have any ropes?"

The two brothers hastily began patting themselves down and pulled forth a length of twisted rope each from around their waists, concealed underneath their heavy tunics. Other Dwarves began to follow suit, and soon there was enough rope to lower down two of their number at a time onto each stair. The company then busied themselves with organising the task. It was decided that Dwalin and Thorin would be the last of the Dwarves to descend, as they were slightly taller and could drop themselves from one stone step to another, whilst Gloin and Bombur would be the first, and they would be able to catch each member of the company as they swung down.

"What is this place, Gandalf?" Miluiel asked softly as she appeared at his elbow. He looked down at her, surveying her pale little face as it was tilted skyward and smiled. She had changed, whilst being out in the Wilds. She was no longer a timid child, but an earnest young woman with a hunger for knowledge; she reminded him so much of her mother, and yet also of her father, the absent Elf. Her grey eyes were a mirror of the Elf's, and staring down into hers was as if he were looking straight at him. How he longed to tell her of what he knew, and how he wished her grandfather had not been so stubborn and unmoving. Balel had forbidden even the mention of his name, and as such, the poor child had no idea of her heritage, only that she were born of her loving mother and a ghost of an Elf no longer remembered.

"We are at the Carrock," he replied. "We shall soon have to cross the Great River of Wilderland." His voice was a soft rumble which made her smile, and then she turned back to watching the Dwarves. Her eyes roved over the group before finding the Dwarf prince, and this made the observing wizard raise his eyebrows to his hairline.

"Miluiel!"

She snapped her head up from watching as Thorin lowered Bilbo down the incline, marvelling at his strength and precision in not swinging the poor little Hobbit as he clung to the rope with wide eyes. She turned to the wizard and quirked an eyebrow in question, waiting for him to continue.

"Why do you watch him so, child?"

She hesitated before replying, considering her words carefully. "I was watching the endeavour, not simply Thorin."

"Ah," Gandalf replied with eyes twinkling merrily, "What makes you think I was referring to Thorin?"

Miluiel stood rooted to the spot as her heart began to race. Of course he hadn't meant Thorin! Why should she be watching Thorin? What right did she have, to be staring at their leader? He was of royal birth, he would become the fearless King under the Mountain at their journey's end, and she was staring at him like a lovesick maid!

Gandalf watched as her horror at his discovery played over her features and smiled, before patting her slim shoulder. "He watches you too. He stares after you when you move away, and his anger is often more at himself than you, dear child. But you should tread carefully with him. His journey does not end when you reach the mountain; for him, it has only just begun." With that, the wizard moved away and leapt down a step as lightly as a child may leap over a puddle on the road.

Balin approached her as she stood alone and took her arm. She smiled and let him lead her to the top of the steps wordlessly, before she was passed to Thorin. Her grey eyes stared at the ground as he fastened a length of rope about her waist; she could feel his warm hands through her tunic, making her pulse quicken. She was sure he could feel her thrumming heart as he gently guided her to the edge of the step, and helped her to crouch. He then took hold of the rope, and nodded at her.

With that motion, Miluiel deftly swung her legs out over the end of the step and grasped the rope tightly, feeling herself dangling in the air. She should have felt fear course through her veins as she was lowered into what felt like nothingness, but she had great faith in the Dwarf above her, for he was strong and brave; her racing heart quieted as he dipped out of view, and she was able to collect herself as she felt Fili's hands about her waist. She felt the tips of her boots encounter stone, and she bent her knees for the impact. Her rope had already been undone, and two quick tugs on the end saw it then pulled quickly out of sight, like a snake scurrying to hide from a soaring bird. They continued lowering Dwarves down until there was only Dwalin and Thorin left above them.

A few moments later, she saw two pairs of boots appear over the edge of the top stair, before the Dwarves they belonged to began lowering themselves down. They hung from the tips of their fingers, before suddenly releasing and landing in amongst the company with soft expulsions of air.

Thorin stood quickly, brushing his hands over his trousers and looking about himself. The group had turned to look at their next stair, but Miluiel was staring straight at him. Her grey eyes reminded him of storm clouds gathering, and her blush stained cheeks made him think of the wildflowers that grew in the fields of his youth, merrily springing up wherever the mood struck them. She was like a wildflower, deceptively hardy and ridiculously difficult to remove, and yet somehow compelling and pleasant to have around.

She continued to stare, and imagined how it would feel if she stepped forward, her small feet making almost no sound on the worn stone. One of her hands would raise, and her cool fingers would move over the broken skin on his face where the Warg had thrown him to the ground. Her breath came in short, soft huffs as she imagined stepping closer still, so close that he could almost feel the heat of her tiny body, and she would run a gentle finger down his jaw and over his rough beard almost curiously, before dropping her arm. Instead, she simply turned to him, her grey eyes large in her pale face.

"Thank you, for keeping us safe," she whispered softly, her voice almost lost to the breeze around them. Her curls were lifted off her shoulders, but kept back from her face by her intricate braids. Small wisps of auburn had escaped the confines of the plaits and played about her face gently.

"Come on lassie, we don't have all day!" Dwalin called to her as she stood before the prince. She seemed to shake herself swiftly and turned on her heel, throwing a soft smile over her shoulder as she moved away. Thorin watched as the rope was tied about her tiny waist and she was then lowered out of his view. For a mere second, his breath caught in his throat as she disappeared from his sight; as he strode forward to lower more Dwarves down the steps, he found his mind beginning to wander. The task was monotonous enough to warrant only half of his attentions, and so he began to think.

After the Warg attack, when he had felt certain that he would meet the great Aulë, the sharp tug that had left him almost breathless was the thought of leaving others behind. And at that moment, he had found that as well as his kin, and his dear companions, that Miluiel featured in those he was reluctant to abandon. She had begun her journey with them as a great inconvenience, with no proven talent in battle and a seemingly naïve view of the world around her, but during their fight with the goblins, she had shown her ability with a short sword. Thorin admitted that whilst she had saved him and several others from goblin blades, she did not seem particularly enthralled with ending the lives of others, which was a quality to be both admired and exasperated by. Perhaps he would one day educate her; given a little more training, she could become a fine warrior, not least for her deceptive appearance. She would have the element of surprise during most encounters, and he could teach her to utilise this. Thorin found that he could not bear the thought of harm befalling her, and as such, he resolved to give her the skill to protect herself; he would, however, endeavour to protect her as best he could.

After his musings, he found that the company had reached the bottom of the stone stairs, and were staring out at a rolling green landscape that seemed to stretch for miles ahead. Copses of trees and boulders were dotted about, and the rushing sound of water was louder and clearer than at the top of the Carrock. But these wonders of the Wilds were not what drew his attention. It was the Lonely Mountain, standing tall against the pale blue sky and reaching into the spun-sugar clouds which left him breathless.

They were almost home.