I'm aware that technically no one speaks English in Middle-Earth, But Cassie doesn't know that.

Shoulder the Blame

The slim passageway delved deep into the mountain, twisting and turning in the gloom. Soon the sounds of battle faded into the distance and were replaced with an oppressing silence, occasionally broken by the drip drip dripping of water trickling down the side of the stone. Once or twice, the rock above would narrow down and we were forced to hunker (at least, Gandalf and I were. The dwarves and Bilbo faced no such problems). Eventually, the ceiling opened up in a jagged crack, revealing the sky above.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I smelt fresh air ahead. My ear was becoming sore to the touch and I was pretty sure the wound was swelling. It must be coated with grime from all the times you threw yourself down into the dirt. You need to get it tended to. I made a mental note to ask Oin to look for infection as soon as we stopped for the night. Unlike the majority of the other dwarves, the old healer didn't seem to be giving me the cold shoulder, probably because he knew just how easily head wounds bled and that without proper treatment, they were hard to staunch.

"Don't let it worry you lassie," he said when he noticed my dejected look. "There was nothing you could have done. At least no one was harmed." He patted my arm reassuringly before speeding up his pace and moving towards the front of the line.

I watched him go gloomily, guilt twisting my gut. There was something I could have done.

Don't be stupid, I scolded myself, pushing the emotion away. Distracting the warg would only have gotten you killed. Remember what happened the last time you put your life on the line for someone else? I shook my head sharply as the memories threatened to resurface. There was only so much I could deal with at the moment. You're not a hero Cass. Don't you ever forget that.

Distantly, I heard the sound of a waterfall and knew that we were nearing the end of the tunnel. Ahead, the chasm widened. Sunlight streamed through, brightening the passageway. I quickened my pace. Bilbo and the dwarves stood at the mouth of the crevice, staring out into the valley beyond. I halted at Gandalf's side and followed their gazes. My jaw dropped.

"Bloody hell," I murmured.

The valley was bathed in light, the sun reflecting of the river below in pale shimmers, giving the impression of liquefied gems. On the opposite side of the mountain, delicate structures were assembled, evenly distributed amongst the sloping rocks. I could make out small paths and bridge ways connecting the buildings, which almost seemed to have been crafted from a dream. The whole scenery breathed peace and tranquility. It was impossible to think that something as vile as an orc pack could have been hunting for us a mere three hundred feet away.

Gandalf smiled and stepped forwards. "The valley of Imladris," he said, gesturing to the scene below. "In the common tongue, it is known by another name."

"Rivendell," breathed Bilbo, awestruck.

I perked up at this. I seemed to recall the old man mentioning this place before the troll attack, a million years ago. What had he said again? 'You may see it, if Thorin decides to set his grudges aside.' My eyes swept over the dwarves, who were all shifting uncomfortably, shooting wary glances at their leader. I could see why.

Thorin was glaring at the Gandalf in silent rage. "This was your plan all along," he said. "To seek refuge with our enemy."

Enemy? What enemy?

"Who lives down there?" I asked.

"Elves," Thorin spat. His animosity towards the small, docile creatures must have been strong because he deigned to meet my eyes while formulating his response. Damn. He seemed to hate them even more than he hated me. Do wonders never cease? What had house-elves ever done to him to merit this kind of hostility anyway? Serve him cold tea? Forget to iron his socks?

Gandalf sighed. "You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself."

Thorin's scowl grew more pronounced. "You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Um, not to sound overly confident," I interrupted, "But how exactly could they stop us? Can't their masters just forbid them from coming near us?"

Thorin shot me an incredulous look. He seemed to be trying to determine whether or not I was mocking him.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "Of course they will try to stop us. But we have questions that need to be answered." He readjusted his grip on the staff, eyes sweeping sternly over the band of dwarves who were all looking into the valley below with various degrees of mistrust. "If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact. And respect." He gave me a pointed look. "And no small amount of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me." And with a swish of his cloak he strode past the dwarves and down the narrow path leading to Rivendell.

I hesitated, then scrambled after him, falling in step beside the old man. We hadn't gone far before the trampling of boots on stone reached our ears, accompanied by the sound of the dwarves grumbling in their own tongue.

The hike down the winding trail was a pleasant one. I certainly enjoyed it, despite the fact that the king's dark mood hung morosely over our heads like a thunderstorm.

"What's Thorin's problem with elves?" I whispered to Gandalf as we reached a narrow bridge stretching over a deep chasm. There were no railings to keep us from toppling over the edge, but he wizard marched across without showing the slightest fear of falling. I proceeded with more caution, peering down into the gully at the river flowing swiftly beneath our feet. I gulped and crossed the rest of the way without looking down.

Gandalf waited until I had joined him on the other side of the chasm before answering, glancing first towards the rest of the company to make sure that no one could overhear us. The rushing of the river drowned out his voice and I had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. "On the day the dragon attacked, the dwarves sought the aid of the woodland elves to defend Erebor. Their plea for help went unanswered. Had Thranduil mobilized his forces, Smaug might have been defeated and the city saved. Ever since that day, Thorin has nursed a strong feeling of resentment towards their race."

"Who's Thrandin?"

"Thranduil," Gandalf corrected, emphasizing the last syllable, "is the Elvenking."

The elves had a king? The thought of one of the little creatures sitting on a miniature throne, an oversized crown precariously balanced on its wrinkly forehead suddenly filled my mind and I fought back a snicker. Hey, I'd had a stressful day. Under the circumstances the idea of house-elf royalty seemed both absurd and laughable to me. I sobered up a little when we reached a pair of magnificent and imposing statues erect on either side of the bridge. I had to hand it to the elves, they sure had a good sense of style. I vowed that if I ever made it back home, I would have a word with Professor McGonagall about letting them redecorate the school.

The bridge ended in a large circular courtyard with a flight of stairs at the far end. I slowly revolved on the spot, taking in the city with barely concealed wonder. Rivendell was even more breath-taking up close. I could now make out details in the architecture that had not been visible from the mouth of the cave. The dwarves huddled together, muttering in low voices. Bilbo stood a little to the side, his face mirroring my sentiments exactly - although, I hoped I didn't look quite as flabbergasted as the hobbit.

Gandalf seemed to be the only person who was completely at ease with our surroundings. I remembered from our earlier conversation that he had friends in Rivendell and wondered if one of these friends was going to greet us. Right on queue I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye and I turned my attention to the far side of the courtyard to see a tall figure slowly approaching.

"Mithrandir!" the stranger called in greeting. The figure descended the stairs with such grace, he almost seemed to glide. I felt my eyebrows jump up into my hairline in shock. Of all the unearthly creatures to cross my path since the beginning of my insane adventure, this was definatly the least expected.

There was no mistaking the man's striking features, his smooth dark hair, his pale, almost translucent skin. I didn't know Veela could be male. I sure as heck hadn't anticipated seeing one here of all places.

I tore my eyes away from the dark-haired man just as Gandalf stepped forwards, smiling warmly. "Lindir!"

The Veela said something I didn't understand. I frowned, trying to recognize strange, musical tongue, but it didn't sound like any language I'd ever encountered.

Gandalf paused before the man and said, "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

The Veela tilted his head and replied in English. "My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here," the wizard echoed. "Where is he?"

As if in answer, a horn blared through the air and the thundering of hooves clamored up from behind. I whirled around to see a company of armored men cantering across the narrow bridge.

The dwarves gave a shout of alarm. "Close ranks!" They moved fluently, seizing Bilbo by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of sight. I felt a sharp tug at my sleeve as Dwalin, who was closest, grabbed hold of my arm and shoved me beside the hobbit. The dwarves formed a tight circle around us, shielding us from danger as the riders surrounded the company. It was nice of them, I suppose, but utterly useless in my case seeing as I was at least a foot taller than my companions, and therefore stuck out like a sore thumb.

The dwarves raised their weapons, daring the horsemen to approach.

One of the riders dismounted gracefully, long dark hair rippling with the smooth motion. "Gandalf!" he called.

Oh great. Another Veela. My spirits plummeted as I realized that all the horsemen possessed the same unearthly traits as their leader. I'd never seen so many of them at once. I thought this place was supposed to be occupied by elves. I was so thrown that I couldn't even muster up the energy to be surprised at the Veela's ability to speak.

"Lord Elrond!" The wizard smiled, quite unperturbed by the dwarves' hostile behavior. He said something in the unknown language as he strode forwards to embrace the new arrival.

"What is he saying?" I hissed to the dwarves. They ignored me.

The Veela – Elrond – responded to Gandalf in the same tongue. "Strange," he added, "for orcs to come so close to our boarders." He gazed accusingly at the old man. "Something, or someone has drawn them near."

Gandalf looked slightly embarrassed. "That may have been us." He admitted, gesturing to our tight band. Lord Elrond's eyes trailed curiously over the company, pausing on the dwarf king. Thorin slowly stepped forward, dark gaze assessing the taller man warily.

Recognition flashed across the Veela's face. "Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin's expression was guarded. "I do not believe we have met."

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed?" The king remained stoic but his voice had taken on an insolent tone. "He made no mention of you."

The atmosphere became tense as both dwarf and Veela engaged in a staring contest. It would have been interesting to see which of the two would be the first to break, but my patience was wearing thin. This needlessly dramatic introduction was taking far too much time for my taste.

I cleared my throat loudly, determined to speed things along. "Hi," I said when I was certain I had the Veela's attention. "Nice of you lot to take care of the orc pack for us. I'm Cassie, by the way. Cassie Morgan." I pushed my way past the annoyed looking dwarves and strode to the wizard's side. "You're Elrond, right?"

The Veela raised one eyebrow. "Indeed I am, Cassie Morgan." He tilted his head. "Daughter of…" he trailed off politely, inviting me to fill in the silence.

I felt my face stiffen. "None of your business," I snapped before I could stop myself.

To hell with my father. I'd been living in his shadow for as long as I could remember, his infamous reputation preceding me wherever I went. Ever since Seamus Finnigan had confronted me with the truth in the stuffy confinements of the Library, it had become my burden. I didn't care that my father's deeds were unknown to the people of Middle-Earth – the idea having his name associated with mine filled me with revulsion.

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then the first Veela – Lindir – made a choking sound of protest. His face was pinched, as though he'd just licked a lemon. Somewhere in my self-righteous mind, a small voice whispered that I'd just made a huge social blunder. Oops.

Gandalf stepped forwards, smiling tensely, and placed a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Please forgive Miss Morgan for her bluntness." His eyes flashed as he gazed down at me, warning me to shut the hell up. "She hails from a distant land whose civilization differs greatly from our own. You must not begrudge her for her ignorance of our customs."

I expected Lord Elrond to be offended – he'd just been insulted twice by the dwarf king and me in the space of five minutes. But the Veela merely gazed at me in interest, eyes alight with a thousand questions. They were old eyes – impossibly old. Something about his penetrating stare sent a shiver down my spine. I suddenly felt very small, as if the weight of all those years were crushing me, flattening me against the ground. My heart rate escalated. My palms started to sweat. A sliver of panic rushed through my veins. He can see me. I was transparent – my soul laid bare before his eyes, an open book for him to read at his leisure.

And abruptly it was over. Elrond looked away, his face carefully wiped clean of all emotion. A sigh of relief rippled through me as the Veela released me from the force of his gaze. I clasped both hands together and was surprised to find that they were shaking.

"Gandalf," Lord Elrond said. His voice was low and had a slight edge to it, an undercurrent I couldn't fully understand. "What is the meaning of this?"

The old man tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Regrettable, I know, for a young lady to demonstrate such little respect towards her elders." Gandalf's tone was light, devoid of the tension that was radiating from his every pore. He very discreetly twitched his head, gesturing to Thorin who was watching the exchange closely, distrust etched across his features.

Elrond's eyes flitted to the side, taking note of the dwarves' discomfort. He gave a small nod of understanding. The movement was so brief that I wondered if I'd really seen it.

Before I could ponder the matter any farther, Lord Elrond spoke loudly, addressing the company his unknown tongue. It must be the Veela's language, I thought. Strange. I wasn't aware that they have their own dialect.

"What is he saying?"

I glanced over my shoulder to see that Gloin had stepped forwards and was glaring at Lord Elrond suspiciously. "Does he offer us insult?" The dwarves backed up his allegation, shouting accusations of their own.

"No Master Gloin," Gandalf said firmly, eyes dancing with amusement. "He is offering you food."

The dwarves seemed taken aback. They muttered amongst themselves in dwarvish for a few seconds. "Well, in that case," Gloin finally said, "Lead on!"

"Lindir," Lord Elrond called as the company filed up the flight of stairs. "Would you be so kind as to escort Miss Morgan to the Medical Wing and remain with her while her injury is tended to?"

"No, it's okay, I'm fine" I started to say, but the Veela waved away my protests. Gandalf squeezed my shoulder and left, following Elrond out of sight.

I was left alone with Lindir, who looked as though he'd just been asked to take the dog outside for a walk in the pouring rain. He eyed me distastefully.

I sighed. "Listen," I said, eager to be rid of the Veela. "You don't need to take me all the way. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be out of your hair."

This seemed to offend him. "My Lord has requested that I escort you myself, Miss Morgan," he said stiffly. "I hope you are not suggesting that I go against his will?" He didn't wait for a reply and swiftly strode from the courtyard. He paused at the top of the flight of stairs, gesturing me to follow. I hastily obliged.

After a few minutes of silent walking I snuck a glance at my guide, who was staring fixedly ahead. He seemed to have taken my earlier insolence to Lord Elrond very personally indeed. I casually tried to break the ice, but received only short monosyllabic answers in exchange for my efforts.

Eventually, I grew tired of our one sided conversation and went for a more direct approach. "Where are the elves?" I asked.

I had not seen a single one since entering Rivendell and was beginning to think that Thorin had largely exaggerated the number of house-elves living in the valley. It was obvious that the Veelas were really the ones to rule over this place – they were probably the elves' masters. This scenario made a lot more sense to me than the one I'd been picturing before, where house-elves were the sole occupants of the city.

My question caught Lindir off guard. He paused and shot me an incredulous look. "I am an elf," he spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable as if he were talking to a simpleton.

I scowled under his patronizing gaze. Who the heck did he think he was kidding. "Yeah, right," I snorted, rolling my eyes, "And I'm a mermaid."

Lindir's eyes flashed. He muttered something in his own dialect. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but I'd bet my few measly possessions that it wasn't anything pleasant.

I jutted out my chin. "What?" I snapped, "You don't think I can recognize a Veela when I see one?"

Lindir's expression was a mixture of irritation and confusion. It seemed as though he were about to retort with a few sharp, well-chosen words, then remembered at the last second that I was a guest of Lord Elrond's and bit down on his tongue. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, working to calm himself down. Jeez. I appeared to have struck a nerve.

"This way, if you please," Lindir said stiffly when he'd regained his composure. He made a sharp turn and swept down a dimly lit corridor.

As I hurried after him, I noticed for the first time that something was poking out from beneath the curtain of his lush dark hair. I squinted, trying to make out what it was through the gloom.

My gasp echoed across the corridor as I jerked to a halt. Lindir took a few more steps, then realized I was no longer following and fell back, an annoyed look on his face. "What now?" he asked impatiently.

I gaped, unable to quite wrap my head around what I was seeing. I quickly flitted through the short list of things I knew about Veelas. They were nymph-like creatures, beautiful and unearthly. Their melodious voices could charm ever the most uptight of men, but when angered, they transformed into something more like Harpies – their faces turning into cruel-beaked bird heads while long scaly wings burst from their shoulders. I'd seen them at it during the Quidditch World Cup of 1994, where they had been the mascots of the Bulgarian National Quidditch team.

But one thing I knew for certain was that Veelas did not have pointy ears.

I gulped, suddenly aware that I may have been a little hasty jumping to conclusions.

Lindir was still gazing at me expectantly.

I raked my brains in search of something witty to say, but all I could come up with was, "You're an elf?"

Hey, I'd had a very long day. I was sleep-deprived from my night spent distracting trolls, exhausted from our close encounter with orc pack. I'd lost at least half a pint of blood and had had nothing to eat since the previous day. So no, my mind was not as sharp as I would have liked.

Lindir raised one eyebrow. "Indeed," he said rather coolly. There was an awkward silence.

"I thought you'd be… shorter."

This was not the right thing to say. I reached that conclusion just as Lindir huffed indignantly and strode away without a backwards glance. I watched his retreating figure for a few seconds, feeling slightly abashed, before coming to my senses and tearing off after him.

We walked the rest of the way in silence.

Two hours later, after having been fed, washed and clothed, I came to the conclusion that I really didn't like this world's version of elves. Or maybe it was just Lindir and the two we'd met up with in the Medical Wing that were the subjects of my displeasure. Oh, sure, they had taken good care of me. Upon my arrival the female elf had taken one look at my bloodied clothing and rushed me over to one of the beds, speaking rapidly to her male colleague in what I now knew to be elvish. Lindir stood by the door, watching impassively as they examined the wound.

I tried to get the elves to give me a diagnosis in a language I could understand, but they only shushed me and carried on prattling in elvish, poking at my mangled ear from time to time. Occasionally, Lindir would also make a suggestion in elvish from his place by the doorway and the other two would acknowledge his presence, nodding and smiling in his direction.

It was unnerving. The medics continued speaking at me for a good half hour before finally coming to an agreement. Then they set to work. I couldn't see what they were doing but noted the effects of the treatment almost immediately as the skin around my ear stopped feeling so sore and puffy.

At this point, I had given up trying to get them to speak English and was scowling at Lindir, who seemed to be finding my frustration genuinely entertaining .

The female elf then grasped me by the shoulder and led me into a separate room, where a steaming bathtub awaited me. I immediately forgave her for ignoring me up until that point as I stripped off and slid into hot water, relaxing fully for the first time since my arrival in Middle-Earth. Two weeks of riding had left me grimy and sweaty and, judging by the color of the water once I was done washing myself, I must have been filthy.

As I clambered out of the bathtub, I noticed two things. Firstly, my clothes had mysteriously disappeared from the chair where I'd left them. Secondly, they had been replaced by a very formal-looking gown. I wrapped myself in a towel and poked my head through the door - much to the disapproval of the two men - trying to attract the woman's attention. She blanched as she saw me and ushered me back inside the bathroom, stammering excuses on my behalf. Once we were safely behind the door once more, she glared at me and demanded to know what the matter was.

Ah, progress. She was talking to me. In English.

"The problem," I said, "is that I can't find my clothes."

She sniffed. "They were drenched in blood and grime." She gestured to the gown. "I have provided you with new clothes."

I raised my eyebrows. "You do know I'm going to be scaling a mountain soon, right?" I lifted the dress of the chair, trying to hide my surprise at the weight of the fabric. Merlin, how do women manage to get anything done in such heavy garments? "Don't you think it would be easier for me to do that in something less…lacy?"

When the elf said nothing I sighed and pressed on. "Can't you give me men's clothes?"

She looked appalled. "Certainly not!"

We argued for a few minutes until, finally, she grudgingly accepted my logic and went to fetch me a pair of leggings and a tunic. My efforts were also rewarded by a thick green traveling cloak. Huzzah.

I slung my sack over my shoulder and secured the short sword to my belt before saying my goodbyes to the healers and joining Lindir outside the Medical Wing. He gave me a quick glance over, taking in my new clothes with poorly masked disapproval, and motioned for me to follow as he lead me back to the company.

I scowled, preparing myself for another long walk with the condescending elf. I found that I much preferred them when they were submissive.

By the time we reached the sunlit balcony where the company had eaten their meal there was hardly anyone left at the table. The dwarves and Bilbo had all wandered away to explore their surroundings. Thorin still remained, seated at the head of the table with Balin to his right, in deep conversation with the old dwarf. Dwalin was also present, sitting a little farther away, examining a long stick of celery.

He glanced up as I approached. "There you are!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the seat beside him. "Come. Sit. There's hardly any food left – If you can call all this greenery food," he added, throwing the celery stick back on his plate in disgust.

Lindir bowed stiffly and excused himself. I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue out at his retreating figure. Stupid jerk.

Dwalin noticed my dejected look as I slid in the seat bested him. "What ails you, lass?"

I glared down at my plate. "The elves are pissing me off."

He snorted. "You and me both. Far too prissy for my liking." He let his gaze slide around our lavish surroundings. "We sooner we leave, the better, I say."

I glanced up hopefully. "Any idea when that will be?" You'd think that after our many escapades on the road I'd be begging for a chance to kick back and relax – but truth was, I was feeling just as restless as the dwarves. Rivendell was too calm, too peaceful. I itched to be on the move again.

It was Thorin who answered my question from across the table. "At sunrise, the company will depart for the Misty Mountains." He leant forwards, fixing me with a hard stare. "But you shall be remaining here."

He said it so casually, with such calm assurance that at first, I thought I'd misunderstood. Then I replayed his words in my head and felt my stomach drop down to my toes. I searched the king's eyes, hoping to be mistaken. Thorin gazed back impassively, blind to my distress, and I knew there was no persuading him. His mind was set.

I liked my parched lips. "No." My voice was hoarse, but the king heard me all the same.

His eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"No!" I hadn't meant do shout, but the anger flaring up inside me was so sudden – there was little I could do to stop myself. I dimly realized that I'd jumped to my feet. "You can't leave me behind! Not after everything I've been through over the last fourteen days!"

Thorin's eyes flitted over to Dwalin. "Leave us." Dwalin hesitated, then bowed low and withdrew from the balcony.

The king slowly rose to his feet. I noticed that Balin showed no hint of retreat. The old dwarf, I realized, was not only Thorin's most trusted friend, but also his advisor. Of course he was in on this. It stung a little to realize he'd been plotting with the king behind my back.

Thorin stepped around the table, placing himself before me. It was amazing how, despite our height difference, he still somehow managed to make me feel like I didn't measure up to his boots. When the king spoke, his voice rang with authority. "You placed our company in great danger today. We were almost caught because of you. I cannot risk that happening again."

The accusation was perfectly legitimate – I had placed them in danger – but when I looked at Thorin's carefully composed expression, I knew it was bullshit. My careless blood spattering was not the reason we were having this discussion. It was a stupid mistake, for sure, but a mistake anyone could have made. Hell, I'd even gained the injury aiding the dwarves.

No. Thorin was leaving me behind for an entirely different reason – one he could not so easily admit to, because he was the only person to have witnessed my internal struggle as we hid from the approaching warg-rider.

He alone had seen me chose my life over the company's.

As I came to that conclusion, I also realized that it was impossible for Thorin to use that argument against me. In doing so he would have to admit to the dwarves that, for a second, he had considered letting me sacrifice myself for the good of the company. And no leader wants that kind of blood on his hands.

I felt my spirits rise. There was still hope. "That was hardly my fault," I argued. "I wasn't the one to suggest making our escape across open ground. Besides, it was only a matter of time before one of the wargs came across our trail, what with the way Radagast was leading them so close. And do I need to remind you how I lost my ear in the first place?" I paused for breath, watching closely as my words took their toll.

Thorin's mouth pressed into a hard line. For a moment he said nothing. Then, just as I was beginning to believe I might have gotten away with it, he spoke again. "Why is your pack here?"

Huh? The question was entirely unexpected. I looked down at my side where the leather bag hung loosely from my shoulder, then glanced uncertainly up at the king. "What?"

"Your pack." Thorin repeated. His face was impassive. "All our belongings were lost when the orcs attacked us. And yet, you still have your pack. Why is that?"

I frowned, raking my memory. How had my belongings survived the flight to Rivendell? All our other supplies had remained at the campsite by the abandoned ruin. There had been no time for us to fetch them before the wargs had found us, and so they had remained behind. But not my pack. Why was that?

Of course! I had taken my belongings with me when I went looking for Gandalf, in case the wizard had decided to leave the company. That, and the fact that I didn't own much to begin with, was the reason my pack was still with me now. But what did that have to do with –

I froze as I realized where this was going.

Thorin spoke; "Before the troll ambush, I went over our supplies with Balin to assess the extent of the damage caused by the rain. I was surprised to notice that your belongings were not amongst the rest of our luggage. You were also missing for some time – I can only assume you were out searching for the wizard." There was suddenly a hint of steel in his tone. "But what I do not understand is why you felt the need to take all your possessions with you. Unless…" He paused, letting the tension build. "Unless you had no intention of returning."

His accusation hit home. For once, I had nothing to say.

My silence seemed to confirm Thorin's suspicions. He nodded to himself and slowly made his way back around the table. "If I cannot trust you to have my back in a perilous situation, then you have no place in this company." I heard the double meaning in his words and knew that he wasn't referring to the troll attack. "That is why I am leaving you behind. Lord Elrond has already assured me that you are welcome to stay in Rivendell for as long as you choose."

For a second, I was stunned. Then anger flared up inside me like wildfire, heating me to my very core. I clenched my fists, gritting my teeth against the rage as it threatened to overwhelm me. Who was Thorin to decide what I could do, where I was to go? How dare he make decisions behind my back and expect me to follow blindly? The feeling of injustice was so strong it clouded my common sense. "And how the hell do you plan to stop me from following anyway?"

Silence. Then Thorin spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Do not overstep yourself, Miss Morgan. I have overlooked your insolence at my expense on countless occasions, but you will not question me in this matter. I am king."

"King?" My voice was quivering with fury and, as much as I hated to admit it, hurt. I was wounded in my pride and I lashed out the only way I knew how. "You have no land, no throne – just a band of homeless dwarves trailing you around. Tell me Thorin, what exactly are you king of?" Somewhere along the line my brain caught up with my mouth and my eyes widened in alarm.

I caught the hard emotion in Thorin's eyes and felt my gut go cold. A slow, smoldering anger was burning inside him, like hot coals beneath a thin layer of ash. "Balin," he spoke, his voice so soft if I had to strain myself to hear it. "Give me the girl's contract."

I jumped as the old dwarf stirred in his seat, pulling a slip of parchment from inside his pockets. I had almost forgotten he was there. Balin wordlessly handed the parchment to his king who then held it up for me to see.

Thorin kept his hard gaze fixed on me as he carefully gripped the heavy paper in both hands. Then he slowly and purposefully ripped my contract in two. The pieces slipped from his fingers and I stared numbly as they fell to the ground. It was all over.

"Go." I jumped at the king's hard voice. "Get out of my sight." Thorin had turned away and was staring across the valley. I glanced at Balin but the old dwarf simply shook his head, his expression unreadable.

I backed away slowly, breath ragged, heart hammering in my ears – and as I left the balcony, I felt the first flickers of shame.

This one took me a long time to write. I hope everyone stayed in character. Please tell me what you think in your reviews!

My next update may take a little longer than usual. I apologize in advance ;)