Legolas led the way to the stables, where the delegation awaited. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, bathing Middle Earth in light and turning the sky gorgeous hues of rose and violet. Tauriel was there as well, and helped me mount my horse Athelas, the descendant of the horse my mother had once ridden. Tauriel's hair shone rubicund in the early light, and she smiled sadly at me as I settled into the saddle.

With a blast of the hunting horn, we set off. The king led the procession on his steed, and other warriors flanked him. I rode beside Legolas, nervous that Father would call upon me to ride beside him. We began to gallop down the Elven Road, hooves clacking loudly on the pale paving stones. More than once, a white hart bounded out of our way, but other than that the forest seemed strangely empty.

Near noon, we exited the Greenwood. After so many hours riding in near dusk, the warm sunlight was a welcome change. It was magnificent. We rode down the path towards the light, the trees on either side growing stronger as the colors around us grew brighter. I sat up straighter in my saddle as we bust out of the forest, the sunlight blinding me for a moment. When my vision cleared, I gasped. Rolling green plains stretched far out to the East. The dwarf kingdom of Erebor stood directly in front of us, towering over the surrounding land. Esgaroth, I knew, lay to the South, but we would not be going there. The sky was a beautiful, brilliant blue, and I felt in my heart that I never would be happy again living in the Greenwood now that I had seen someplace else so fair.

"Oh, Legolas—" The sight stole my breath away, and my brother smiled softly at me. I reached over and took his hand, grinning from ear to ear. I laughed, wanting nothing more than to urge the mare forward and fly over the plains stretching out endlessly around me. However, Tauriel's story still rang in my ears. I glanced over at my brother and knew that never again would I worry him so. I promised. Someday, though, I would ride, and I would be free.

We did not stop to eat but rather ate on the way. As of yet, my father had not called for me, which was fine. I was perfectly happy with my brother, listening to stories forgotten by all but our kind. A new one was about the Silmaril and the Nauglamír, which were the first causes of strife between the races of the elves and the dwarves, many ages before.

We neared and rode beside the river that flowed from beyond Erebor to Esgaroth. As we passed beside it, I stared down at my reflection. I looked too old; too old for my age. Others my age looked to be the age of a six-year-old human. I looked to be nearly eleven or twelve. At least, that is what the healers told me, when Father took me to see what was wrong with me.

"Aeyera."

Legolas had grabbed my reins to keep me from moving too far ahead of the procession, which had halted. The mountain of Erebor loomed above us, even more magnificent up close. The setting sun gave it the appearance of being made of gold. Perhaps it was accurate: it was said that the dwarf king Thrór owned more riches than anyone else in Middle Earth. Others whispered that it was only a matter of time before a dragon came to claim the treasure.

"Father, when are we to reach the mountain?" Legolas asked, letting go of my horse and straightening on his own. The king did not answer but stared straight ahead, unblinking. "Father?" Legolas repeated his question, moving to position his horse in front of mine.

The elf-king blinked and turned to him, and though his eyes were on Legolas, they were unfocused as though he were looking at something no one else could see. "We shall reach the mountain by noon tomorrow, if we take no rest. Ride forward!"

And so we continued. The sun soon disappeared beyond the horizon, bringing cool twilight with it. The moon rose, bathing everything in soft, blue light, and that of the stars mingled with it. Each elf seemed to glow and grow in his own way, each truly looking immortal and ethereal. I wondered if I looked the same.

I rode silently, speaking not a word to anyone, lost in my thoughts. Sometime during the night as we paused to water the horses, Legolas pulled me aside. "What did Tauriel speak to you about?" he asked.

I sighed, suddenly feeling much too tired for someone so young. I pulled my cloak more tightly around me, feeling the night's chill for the first time. "She spoke to me of her family," I hesitated. "And of my recklessness." I looked over at him, feeling guilty and sad. "I am sorry for worrying you. I should have thought of the consequences of my actions before acting on my desires."

He smiled softly and embraced me, holding me tightly to his chest. I hugged him back tightly, my heart warming. "You are quite wise for one so young," he said. "I forgive you. When I was your age, many ages ago, Leänedil and I would sneak off to play soldier. We would use sticks in place of swords, and pieces of bark in place of shields. Once our weapons were sharpened, which involved rubbing the bark off the sticks with a stone, we would go looking for 'orcs' to hunt." He began to laugh, and I smiled, glad to see him happy. "I recall once going to hunt for an unfortunate bush and stumbling upon one with a rabbit hole under it. Leänedil wished to practice his swordsmanship on the bush, so he attacked. You should have seen his face when the bush began shaking; you would've though a warg was coming after him."

I laughed as well, ignoring the stares I received from my fellow elves. "Why have I never met Leänedil?" I asked curiously.

Legolas smiled sadly and looked at me with his deep blue eyes. He looked so sad, and I felt as though my heart were breaking. "Oh, Legolas," I stammered, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I thought—"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sister," he replied softly, looking up at the constellations appearing above us. "His star stands there," he said, pointing to the brightest star in the sky, directly in front of us. "He was the son of the our mother's sister, and she named the star after him when he passed."

"Do you have any other stories?" I asked. "What of Eärendil?"

He smiled. "I have told you his story, Sister!"

"Please tell me again," I begged. "His is my favorite!"

He laughed and began again, telling me the story of brave Eärendil half-elven, son of Tuor and Princess Idril. He was one of the greatest of our ancestors, the great seafarer who carries a star across the sky. When he was but a young child, "Seven years old! Younger even than you, Sister—" he had escaped the sacking of the ancient city of Gondolin. He married Elwin the White when he was twenty-seven, and Lords Elros and Elrond were born to them soon after. He built the great ship Vingilótë in order to search for his parents, who had departed across the sea. During the time he was gone, Elwing the White had come into possession of the Silmaril that had once belonged to Beren. When news came to the sons of Fëanor that she had it, they attacked her. To protect the stone, she threw herself and it from a cliff, into the ocean. While she fell, she was transformed into a great white bird. She them flew until she found her husband once again. They eventually reached the Undying Lands. "He has a star as well. We know it as Eärendil, our most beloved star."

I looked up at the star and felt a pulling in my chest. Directly about it was a cluster of stars—shaped much like a crown—that I had named Aeyleria; after my mother. I pointed at the cluster of lights above us, and Legolas followed my gaze. "I named them after Mother," I whispered. "I-I wanted to believe that she's watching over us."

He leaned over and placed his hand on my shoulder. "She is, Aeyera. Don't grieve; she is alright."

I nodded, my throat choked up. We rode in silence for a while until my father called for the procession to halt. He squinted in the darkness, looking at the cluster of lights that had appeared on the ground not two leagues from where we rode.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, urging his horse to ride next to the king's. I followed, bouncing on the horse's back.

"Dwarves," he spat, a look of disgust crossing his face. I never understood why he hated dwarves so much; they seemed kind, from what I heard. Well… kind enough. "Keep riding," he commanded.

We did so, and when we reached them, they were revealed to be lanterns of gold and silver, exquisitely made, leading down a carved stone passage into the earth. A single dwarf stood in front of the entrance, decked in mail of the finest workmanship. A long brown beard was tucked into his belt, and his eyes twinkled kindly.

"Welcome, Thranduil, elf king of the Greenwood," he spoke in the common tongue, "Thrór, the King Under the Mountain, welcomes you and your kin. Come," he said once we had all dismounted. He glanced around, smiling at me when his eyes locked with mine. "He is waiting."