Father led us down into the earth behind the dwarf. His face was like stone, and the torchlight cast strange shadows across his features. His eyes were kind, though, unlike those of my father. I stayed close to Legolas, and he held my hand as we walked. After nearly half an hour of silence, we emerged from the tunnel into the dwarf city. Several gasps came from the other important elves that had travelled with us. I froze, gaping at the stone world around me.

Everything, the floor, walls, ceiling, columns—all were formed from a clear green stone and had been carved out of the mountain itself. Enormous columns held up the stone roof of the palace, which I now recognized as the floor of the world. Dwarves moved in all directions, bedecked in jewels. Everyone, man, woman, and children, had beards, a fact which startled and delighted me. Quite a few stared as we entered. The children with wonder, the parents with distrust.

Just then another party, this one of men, came up next to us. Their accents and voices revealed them to be men of Dale. Lord Girion, whom I had seen but never met, bowed to my father, who bobbed his head once in return.

"It is an honor to see you again, King Thranduil," he said, rising from his bow and beckoning to a young boy who stood behind him. The boy was as tell as I, and had dark, shaggy hair. His father placed a loving hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently as he spoke. "This is my son and heir, Bain," he said, smiling down at his son and giving him a loving shake. The boy grinned up at his father, then smiled shyly at me. I smiled back, and waved slightly. His smile grew bigger.

"This is Legolas, my son," Thranduil said slowly and clearly, beckoning him forward. My brother, without releasing my hand, moved forward and bowed. My father made no motion to indicate that I was remotely related to him. I may as well have been one of the dwarves scuttling around the hall. "… And heir," he added.

"Father? Why does she have a crown?" Bain tugged on his father's hand and whispered, looking over at me curiously. We all could hear him, despite his attempt to lower his voice, and several of the guards shifted uncomfortably. I twisted a strand of hair absently around my finger and looked up at him nervously.

My father's nostrils flared, and I pursed my lips together. I was afraid that because of Bain's comment, my father would become angry, and take it out on me later. "Ah, yes, I forgot," he said absently, shaking his head. His eyes were as cold as those of a snake. "This is my youngest daughter, Aeyera."

I bit my lip as Legolas' grip on my hand tightened. I could feel the waves of anger rolling off him, and for once I was unafraid of my father. My brother would protect me. I curtsied to the Lord and his son.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Girion," I said sweetly, raising my eyes to meet his. "Both you and your son."

He smiled, and both he and his son bowed. "And you," he said. "Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn."

I blinked in surprise and repeated the phrase back to him. Few men knew the elven tongue well, and few knew our customs. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.

Legolas pulled me slightly behind him as the king's back stiffened. At that moment, the dwarf guide returned.

"Come along, your majesties," the dwarf guide said gruffly, though not unkindly. "King Thrór awaits you."

Without waiting for a response, the dwarf turned and began ushering us into the Hall of Kings. My mouth fell open as I beheld the beautiful room before me. An enormous green stalactite hung from the ceiling at the end of the room. Deep veins of gold twisted through it and connected to the king's throne. A beautiful gem of starlight hung above the dwarf-king's head, and—did I imagine it? The stone seemed to be emitting light of sorts, although to me it seemed tinged by darkness.

A kind-looking dwarf with piercing blue eyes and a greying beard sat upon the throne, his thick beard braided with gold and gems. His shoulders were laden with furs, and a crown sat upon his brow. Two other dwarves stood beside him, each younger than the king himself. The youngest of the three watched the procession approach with wary eyes, although they softened when they landed on Bain and I.

The dwarf king stood and spread his arms wide, smiling brightly. "Welcome Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. Welcome Girion, Lord of Dale. I thank you for gracing me with your presence at this time." His smile faded slightly, and he resumed his seat. "I would ask that the Lord Girion and the other noble of Dale; King Thranduil and his court, and their children remain here with me while the others be led to the great hall for the feast. The royals will be along shortly."

Father turned and tried to usher me towards the door before anyone else noticed, but Legolas grabbed my arm, forcing me to stay where I was. My father looked up at him sharply. "This is no place for a child," he hissed. My eyes narrowed. I hated the way he spoke to me—as if I were worth nothing.

Legolas glared back, nonplused. He was as tense as a bowstring. "Aeyera is the princess and, should anything happen to me, your heir. She will stay with me."

Thranduil stared back at his son for a moment before turning around and bowing to Thrór. "As you wish," he said, a mocking tone in his voice. I doubt the dwarf king caught it, although the youngest dwarf tightened his grip on his sword.

"Excellent!" Thrór cried, beckoning to other dwarves to bring benches forward so we could sit. As we situated ourselves, he continued. "Before we being, I would introduce my son, Thráin, and my grandson, Thorin."

I was the only one still standing, and I curtsied, well aware of the tension between the three races. As I did so, the tension eased just the slightest amount, although I could feel my father's anger as though it were heat. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lords," I said, my young voice a chirp to their ears.

Thráin and Thorin both smiled and both bowed to me in return. "It is our pleasure to welcome you to our halls, Princess," Thorin said, his voice deep and kind. "I would guess that you are the daughter of King Thranduil," he said, bowing his head to my father. I nodded. "Would you grace me with your name?"

"Aeyera, you majesty," I said softly. I smiled back at him happily, but it faded as my father gripped my arm and pulled me back to my seat. Legolas pulled me closer to him, away from my father.

"My Lord, you had urgent business to speak to us about?" he urged through gritted teeth, glaring at me. I shrank down in my seat, afraid. I was not ashamed of speaking to the prince, but I was embarrassed by my father's actions towards me. I feared his anger, and his wrath. Legolas took my hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Darkness stirs in the South and the East," Thrór said, his voice grim. The youngest prince, Thorin, turned gravely towards the king, his eyes dark. "Goblins have been seen roaming the mountains," the king continued, "And large spider-like creatures have been seen near Dol Guldur. This is quite near to your borders, Thranduil," he added suddenly, turning his bright eyes to my father, "Are you willing to dispatch soldiers to rid these lands of them?"

My father rose slowly, acutely aware of every pair of eyes on him. His piercing eyes stayed on those of the dwarf king, and I shifted uncomfortably at the expression in them. "I do not wish to send my kin into such a cursed place so unprotected," he said, drawing each syllable out slowly and precisely. "Perhaps if my soldiers were… better equipped, we could speak of it differently."

"Perhaps," the king said, twisting one of his many rings. He frowned, and for a moment I saw a darkness hovering over him like a cloud, glittering ominously. I blinked and it was gone, but the uneasy feeling remained. I squeezed Legolas' hand, more afraid than I had been at all that day. Suddenly the mountain did not seem so welcoming. "We could discuss a form of payment for you and your men. Perhaps armor? Or weapons?"

My father opened his mouth to speak, his eyes glinting greedily. I knew what he would ask for: mithril. Before he could utter a sound, however, the youngest prince stepped forward, cutting him off with a glare. He glanced around distrustfully before turning to the king.

"Rik, ek d'gronit…" Prince Thorin bent and began speaking in his grandfather's ear, muttering in a language I did not know. The king frowned as Prince Thráin stepped up and began speaking as well. After a minute, he brushed his heirs aside and stood.

"Be silent, both of you," the king murmured. "I will speak to you later." Thrór ran a hand over the golden arm of his throne, tracing patterns over the gems inlaid there. "My guests," he said. A strange lilt filled his voice, a sound I somehow recognized as madness. "I will discuss payment with you later, though helping your allies should not be considered a chore." My father sank back into his seat, his eyes narrowed at the now smirking dwarf princes. "However, another matter is upon us. Saruman the White has called the Kings and Lords from each nation and great city to meet with the Council and discuss what to do about this growing threat."

"Saruman has ordered this?" It was Girion who spoke. He stood and placed a weathered hand on his son's shoulder. He turned and faced the room. "Since when has Saruman been concerned with what happens on our borders?" All eyes turned to the young Lord, who steadily grew angrier and angrier. "And even if he is truly sincere, what does he expect us to do? Do we leave our border and lands without a leader until we return?" He gave a cold laugh. "Rather, if we return? Saruman has never shown interest in any eastern lands. Why would he start now?"

He sat, and the room grew quiet. Everyone seemed started by the lord's outburst. Some wore thoughtful expressions, while others seemed mutinous. Several of the elves murmured to one another. I stood, shaking, and laced my fingers together behind my back. All eyes turned to me. "King Thrór," I began, my voice a squeak. I cleared my throat and started over, my confidence building with each word. I ignored the rage radiating off my father and instead focused on the dwarf lords before me. "King Thrór, has Saruman the White ever summoned any of you before to this… council?"

The old king, now seated once again on his throne, shook his head. His eyes shone with amusement. I could not tell if he was humoring me by answering my questions or if he was truly engaging me in conversation. "No, he has not. He rarely comes to my halls, and when he does it is to ask for riches for his tower." He all but spat the last few words.

"And what of the rest of you?" I asked, looking towards Girion and my father.

Girion shook his head but remained seated. "It is as I said before, Princess," he replied. His face sagged with weariness, but he seemed intrigued that someone so young would take such an interest in political matters. "Saruman does not show interest in our lands unless he wants something in return."

My father stood, towering over me, and I took a step back. My eyes widened when I caught sight of the murderous expression in his, and I gulped. Legolas tensed next to me but did not stand. "Elfling," Thranduil hissed, looking down his nose at me, "You are reckless and foolish and should not have been allowed at this gathering." I glared at him as a warm flush rose on my neck. I could feel my hands shaking. Several of the men murmured their disapproval at my treatment. Thranduil's eyes flashed, and I knew he heard them. He swung his head around, his voice taking on a more placid tone. "However, you bring up a valid point. Why would the White Wizard choose now to summon us to the council he has never before allowed us to attend? Saruman has never graced my realm with his presence. Why would he start now?"

"He wouldn't," a new voice announced. Heads twisted around to see whom this new figure was. I tilted my head in confusion as an elderly man in grey robes strode towards us, coming from the back of the room. His staff made a pleasant click whenever it struck the floor. When he reached us, he stopped a swords' length away from me and bowed to king Thrór. "I did," he finished, straightening.

I blinked in amazement as I realized who this man was. The grey robes, the twisted oaken staff, the obvious reverence the leaders in the room held for him; this must be the Grey Wizard, one of the members of the council. No one else in the room moved; it was as if they were under a spell.

I was the first, and the only. "Mithrandir," I spoke nervously, curtsying.

He turned to me, a wide smile on his face. "Well now," he laughed, eyes twinkling. "I am glad to see that at least one of you remembers my name," he said, patting my shoulder. "Although I don't recall meeting you before."

The spell broke. "She is my daughter," father said, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me backwards. "What do you mean that you have summoned the council? Only Saruman has that power."

"You are, as always, incorrect, Thranduil," Mithrandir said, turning away from my father. He might have missed the way the elf king's face turned purple with suppressed fury, but them again: he did have quite the satisfied smile upon his face. "But I did not come here to speak with you. Rather, I came to speak with king Thrór. The rest of you just happened to be here already."

"And what is it you want, Tharkûn?" Thrór asked, watching the wizard carefully. Mithrandir turned to him.

"I wish for you to spread out your wealth," he said, seemingly unaware of the dangerous territory he had just entered into. "Divide it among the three kingdoms present, but do not hoard it call in your great halls."

The king looked sideways at his son and grandson, whose faces were hard as stone. He turned back to the wizard, his cheeks growing ruddy with anger.

"I refuse," the king said angrily, voice rising alarmingly. "I will not go to your meeting, Tharkûn, and I will not decimate my kingdom at the word of an old man!"

I stood dumbfounded and did not resist when my brother stood and grabbed my arm, leading me from the hall. "This is not a safe place, sister," he whispered. "You do not wish to be near an angered wizard." I noticed that he also was bringing Bain, the son of Girion, with us. I looked up at my brother questioningly. "His father asked me to take him," he said, "I—"

The wizard yelled, and I jumped. Legolas moved faster. How long did this corridor stretch? The walk seemed to take forever. As my foot touched the threshold, my mind went blank. A roaring filled my ears like that of a swollen river. A voice entered my head, and what seemed to me like a poem sounded, clear and bright. "The King beneath the mountains, The King of carven stone, The lord of silver fountains Shall come into his own! His crown shall be upholden, His harp shall be restrung, His halls shall echo golden The songs of yore re-sung. The woods shall wave on mountains And grass beneath the sun; His wealth shall flow in fountains And the rivers golden run. The streams shall run in gladness, The lakes shall shine and burn, All sorrow fail and sadness At the Mountain-king's return!"

"Aeyera!"

My eyes snapped open and I sat up so quickly that I nearly cracked my head on my brother's. I lay in a bed in a room of stone, and the Grey Wizard stood at the foot of the bed.

"Princess, how do you feel?" he asked.

I groaned and pressed the heels of my hands to my temples. My head throbbed. "Mithrandir… what happened?"

"I suspect, my dear, that you hold the gift of Far Sight. Do not be alarmed," he added. "For although it is not a common gift, it is not harmful. What did you see?"

"I heard a-a song," I told him. I repeated it to him. He frowned thoughtfully. "What does it mean?"

"I do not know yet, my dear," he said, frowning down at the floor. He held a ruby the size of a marble, and he rolled it back and forth as he spoke. It stopped. "I do not know."