The Princess of Mirkwood: Book 1 of The Greenwood Trilogy

by Kathoran

Princess Aeyera of the Greenwood has been alone for over a century. She has been exiled by her people and driven nearly mad by the darkness haunting Dol Guldur. She has lived with the elves and the Dunadain, but she doesn't belong anywhere. When Gandalf approaches her with a chance for redemption, she is unable to refuse, and is swept off her feet on the adventure of a lifetime.

9. Chapter 9

Edited on January 28, 2015

As I said before, I am editing this book. This chapter was around 3,000 words, it is now 8,900 words, so there are a lot of changes going on. They won't come all at once, but I hope you'll come back once I'm done, because I'm excited about these changes! Let me know what you think!

After the dwarves' song, I went outside. The air had cooled considerably, but it still was comfortable enough for one to stand outside without need of a cloak. I looked out over the Shire, crossing my arms as a warm breeze tossed my curls playfully before going on its way. Crickets and cicadas sang from their perches on the ground and in the trees, and owls would call out on occasion to one another. The lights of other hobbit holes still burned bright on my right and left, but no one had built their homes ahead of me. A lake stood there; beyond that, an enormous tree. A forest stood behind the hill the tree resided on, and through it was dark, the canopy shone bright with the light of the stars. The lake before it shone like burnished silver in the moonlight. The scent of flowers and newly tilled earth permeated the air, and I found myself wishing that I could stay here, at least for a little while.

I twisted my ring absently and sighed, banishing the thought. I belonged here no more than I belonged in the Greenwood. I sank down and sat on a bench perched beside the road, inside of Bilbo's fence. It had been too long; too long since I had walked beneath the eaves of my old home. Too long since I had seen my brother. I buried my face in my hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.

I found myself wishing that I could sleep. It is not unheard of for elves to do so; it is simply unusual, since we are able to go without it. I, however, cannot. On the rare occasion that I do sleep, I am plagued by horrible nightmares until I either am awakened by a frightened passerby or eventually wake naturally.

The dwarves in the home behind me were preparing for bed; I could hear several calling goodnight to the others. Some were returning chairs and plates to their rightful places. They all seemed so happy: they were about to go home.

I lifted my head up to look at the stars, reveling in their light. A bright smile appeared on my lips as I caught sight of a constellation hanging over the lake. It was so achingly familiar that I nearly cried out in joy at seeing it again. Darkness was growing in the east, and the stars often were veiled. "Ali sanar,Desh'mieve. Er ari i barith taur kanuva mi an ly."

I miss your light, Mother. One day the seas of chance might lead me to you.

"What are you saying?" I turned around, started, and saw the blonde dwarf standing several steps up, watching me curiously. I was impressed; there were very few in Middle Earth who could sneak up on me.

I turned back to face the stars but gestured him to come forward. He moved down the stairs until he reached the bench, and he sat down next to me. I was once again surprised by how short I was; he and I stood at exactly the same height. I could feel the tension he felt at being so near to me, so I spoke first.

"My mother passed away many years ago," I said softly, keeping my eyes on the stars above me. "Do you see that constellation there?" I asked, pointing. The tip of my finger hovered over the crown of the collection of stars.

He looked where I was pointing and nodded. "Yes, I see it."

I rested my hands in my lap. "I named it after my mother many years ago," I said quietly. "It has been my source of comfort for a long time. It has been hidden from my sight as of late, but tonight it has revealed itself to me once again."

"You say that she passed many years ago," he said cautiously, tearing his eyes off the stars to gaze at me instead. "But you look even younger than I."

"I age differently than you do," I replied, smiling a bit.

The dwarf pressed on. "Yes, but I am of age, and yet you still look younger than I. You must be a very young elf to look this way," he said, scrutinizing me.

Rather than anger, I felt sadness at his observation. I replied slowly, thinking. "I watched Erebor fall," I said, my voice sad and quiet. "I have travelled Middle Earth alone for over one hundred years. I am not so young as you might think."

He sounded shocked. "You watched…?"

I turned to him, finally, and looked him in the eye. His eyes were blue, which surprised me. Most dwarves other than Thorin that I had seen had brown eyes. His eyes glimmered in the starlight. As I spoke, my voice echoed my desperation as it rose to a higher pitch. "I watched as innumerable dwarves were slaughtered by a beast that clawed the mountain apart. I tried to help the dwarves of Erebor and was repaid by exile. I have experienced much, dwarf, in my life. Do not—" I would have gone on for the rest of the night, but a Bofur appeared in the doorway and looked between us, looking confused.

"Fili… it's time to come in," the dwarf said, eyeing me nervously as if I were about to rear back and shoot him.

"Alright, Bofur," the blonde dwarf said.

Bofur went back inside, and the dwarf turned to leave. I faced the stars again but froze when his voice carried over to me. "My name's Fili," he said, a smile in his voice, "Just in case you wished to speak to me again."

I turned and faced him, smiling. "Aeyera," I said, feeling happier than I had in a long time. Someone had accepted me. "I'm Aeyera."

"I know," he said, a cheeky smile on his face. "Goodnight, Princess."

He headed inside, but I stayed outdoors. I preferred living in nature anyway; besides, I doubted that the rest of the dwarves would give me as warm a welcome as Fili had. He seemed so familiar… I couldn't place my finger on it, but I could have sworn that I knew him from somewhere.

"Celebhiril."

I started and stared up at the wizard, confused. I replied in elvish; it had been a very long time since I had spoken in the language of my people, and I did not wish to stop so suddenly. "What did you call me?"

"Celebhiril," he said conversationally, seating himself beside me. He continued in my language without hesitation, and I was grateful for it. "Silver Lady. Or Tindómiel: Daughter of Twilight. I think that both describe you rather well. But then, you already know this, do you not?"

I shifted on the bench, crossing my right leg over my left. I answered carefully, unsure of where the wizard was taking our conversation. "Aye. Arathorn and Arador called me Tindómiel, for I did not share my true name even with the rangers."

"Why ever not?" Mithrandir questioned, turning to took at me. His bushy eyebrows shone like beacons in the moonlight, his eyes twinkling like stars.

"I did not wish for my lineage to be revealed," I told him, closing my eyes and running my fingers through my hair. "For a long time my ancestry was a thing of shame for me."

"How do you mean?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowing together.

I wondered how it was he did not already know. Surely he knew where I had been for the last century, if not before. 'No,' I decided, sighing. 'If he had known, he would have saved me.'

"How could it not?" I retorted. "My father," I spat out the word. "Betrayed his allies to dragonfire and ruin. He turned and ran and refused to fight. Mithrandir—" my voice turned desperate. "Understand why I left. Please. Understand why I did not want the rangers to know me as the Princess of the Greenwood."

"I understand, Aeyera," the wizard said kindly. "But you should know that running away never helps. Sooner or later your past will catch up with you, my dear, and you will not be able to escape it." I suppressed a shudder as he stood up. "I will not tell you what you should do, my lady, but I will offer you this piece of wisdom." He shifted, leaning heavily on his twisted staff. "Do not hold on to old prejudices like many in this world do. Your father is one who does this, as is Thorin Oakenshield. I once believed that his generation could move past it, but I was wrong. Now I believe that this is the generation to change everything. You have already met Fili; become acquainted with his brother, see what happens." When he stopped speaking, I stood and bowed.

"Good night, Mithrandir."

As I turned and walked up towards the tree perched on top of the hobbit hole, I heard the wizard say to himself,"Who know? Perhaps you three will change the course of the future."

-O-

I did not sleep the whole night, but rather dreamed and stared up at the stars. When the rest of the company woke up, I went with them into town, where they bought over a dozen ponies and a large quantity of supplies. To my delight, they bought it all from Lilliana's family. She ran out to meet me and wrapped her arms around my waist, smiling up at me.

"Oh, Aeyera, I'm so glad you've come back!" The way she spoke, it might have been decades since our last meeting rather than hours. I caught a glimpse of Fili's brother smirking in my direction, and I frowned, my eyebrows drawing together. Lilliana followed my gaze and blushed, beaming. "He's very handsome, isn't he," she said solemnly, partially hidden behind my legs.

I turned my head, glad to have an excuse to look at him and see why he was staring at me. "I suppose so," I said noncommittally.

The young hobbit moved out from behind me and slowly made her way over to the dark haired dwarf. I noted with interest that he was an archer; an unusual skill for a dwarf. "Hello," she said, looking up at him with her big golden-brown eyes.

He looked down, surprised, but smiled at her all the same. I caught his confused glance when he looked up at me, but I pretended to be fussing of Gwairoch's saddle and ignored him. "Hello there," I heard him say. "What's your name, princess?"

I could hear her smile in her voice. "Lilliana," came her shy reply.

"What a lovely name," he said. I laughed softly. Perhaps not all dwarves were like Thorin. 'If more were like Fili and his brother,' I found myself thinking, 'perhaps our races would get along.' Someone cleared their throat from behind me. I turned without thinking and found myself nearly nose to nose with the dwarf. We both backed up, blushing slightly. "Is she a friend of yours?" he asked. Lilliana smiled up at the two of us, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had pushed him into me.

"Yes," I replied kindly, placing my hand on her shoulder. "She was a great help to me yesterday, and an excellent host."

"She is very sweet," he said. I could sense a smirk in his voice, and I raised my eyebrows in warning. "She says that I am very handsome. I heard that you agree?"

I rolled my eyes and turned around, hiding my blush behind my hair. Truly this dwarf was different. Infuriating, yes, but different all the same. "Goodbye, Aeyera!" Lilliana called, waving as she ran back to her inn.

I raised my hand in farewell, my heart aching when I realized that I might never see her again. "Goodbye."

"Elf!" I turned and found myself looking up into the face of Thorin Oakenshield, who already was astride a pony. He glared down at me, blue ice as cold as ice. "If you are done, we are ready to depart."

Not breaking eye contact, I swung gracefully onto Gwairoch's saddle. I looked down at the dwarf prince innocently, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Lead on, Thorin," I answered, bowing my head.

He swung his pony around irritably and began leading the company out of the Shire. Many hobbits stopped and stared as we rode past, pointing and whispering to one another. I did not doubt that rumors would soon be circulating around the Shire about the band of dwarves that had stayed there, and I prayed that the Dúnedain would have the wisdom to curb them before they reached unfriendly ears.

Nearly a dozen halfling children followed us to the edge of the woods, giggling and hiding behind trees, before giving up and running back to their homes. Not a one of the dwarves had spoken to me since Fili's brother had teased me about Lilliana, and I had to admit, I did not appreciate the tense silence surrounding me. I had a feeling that had I not been present, the trees would have echoed with their roaring laughter, their excitement contagious. As it was, barely any whispers cut through the silence. Any dwarf that did speak was quickly silenced by the others, who gave me nasty looks as they did so.

After nearly half an hour of plodding through the woods, I had had enough. Spurring Gwairoch on, I cantered to the head of the procession to ride beside the wizard, doing my best to ignore the glares aimed my way.

"Gandalf?" I asked him, not bothering to lower my voice. At the sound, several dwarves began muttering, and I caught the sound of what sounded like a bet as I waited for the wizard to reply.

"He will come!" The wizard called back, tossing a small sack of coins over his shoulder. A grey-bearded dwarf caught it, looking dubious.

I glanced back at the dwarves, now busy with their bets, and began braiding a strand of hair, separating it into three strands and weaving it together carefully. "You really believe that the halfling will come?"

Gandalf looked down at me, brow hidden by the shadow of his blue hat. "I do. Although personally, I am rather surprised that you decided to come along." I nodded in agreement. "And pleased, of course." He paused for a moment, frowning down at me. "Why did you come, Celebhiril?"

"Wait! Wait!"

I started at the name and was incredibly grateful for the hobbit, for I was saved from the wizard's questioning by the sound of Bilbo Baggins' shouts. Several dwarves groaned, having lost their bets that master Baggins would not join them on their journey. Our journey.

Despite their irritation at having lost their savings to the wizard, they all began to halt their ponies, calling "Woah!" and petting their necks to calm them down. I suppose they might have ridden on and ignored him and so won their bets, but they decided against it. Gwairoch, startled by the hobbit's shouts, reared back onto his hind legs, neighing loudly. The dwarves looked at me, annoyed, as the horse slammed his fore-hooves into the turf, skittish of this small creature's cries. I turned in the saddle in time to see the hobbit sprinting ungainly up the path to the procession, contract trailing behind him. I smiled at him as he caught up to us and handed the papers to Balin.

He gasped, bending over, as Balin inspected it closely. "I signed it!" Bilbo announced proudly, panting. The old dwarf continued looking it over as fearing it might be a forgery, although what the hobbit might gain from it, I had no idea. Perhaps hobbits were more nefarious than they were given credit for. Or perhaps dwarves were even more paranoid than they seemed.

Feeling someone's eyes on me, I glanced around, hand drifting to my knife. I relaxed, however, when I saw that it was Fili who was watching me. He seemed amused at my paranoia and smirked, winking at me. I grinned back, glad that at least one of the dwarves didn't seem to hate me. Fili's brother noticed where he was looking and followed his gaze. When his brown eyes locked on mine, I held them for a moment. He and his brother both seemed familiar, but I couldn't put a finger on where I had seen them before. I was positive that we had never met, and yet something about them made me think that I had known them both before now.

We broke our eye contact as Balin began speaking. "Everything appears to be in order," he said, handing him back the contract. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield." The old dwarf winked at Bilbo, who grinned in relief. The dwarves cheered, but Thorin didn't look impressed. He glowered at the hobbit, annoyed at the interruption.

"Give him a pony," Thorin called, neither angry nor pleased.

Bilbo's eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly began walking at a slight curve as if hoping to avoid the ponies altogether. He sped up as the ponies began moving again, shying away from one of them as it snorted, tossing its head. "No, no, no, that won't be necessary," he looked ahead at Thorin, who looked thoroughly uninterested. "I'm sure I can keep up on foot. I-I-I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I even got as far as Frogmorton once—WAGH!" Bilbo's speech was cut off as Fili and his brother rode alongside him and picked him up from behind, easily setting him on a pony.

As we began riding up over a hill, I pulled back to ride beside the hobbit. As I neared him, I brought my hand up to cover my mouth, stifling the laughter erupting from me and turning it into a coughing fit instead.

The poor halfling looked utterly terrified of the pony beneath him and held its reins close to his chest. In response, the pony neighed and tossed its head, which only prompted the hobbit to clutch the reins tighter, ignoring how the beast rolled its eyes back at him and flattened its ears against its head.

"Master Baggins," I spoke softly, not wishing to startle him. He jumped, jerking on the horse's reins in surprise. I winced as it snorted, glaring at him irritably as if daring him to annoy it again. "Relax your hold on the reigns. I assure you that she will not bolt." Looking doubtful, he slowly lowered his arms and relaxed the reigns. The horse, noting the change, nickered and lifted her ears, bringing her eyes back to face the front.

He sighed in relief, looked up at me. "Thank you," he said. I noticed that he still held the reigns at arm's reach.

The dwarves began calling out to one another, tossing small sacks through the air to one another, all laughing. "Come on, Nori, pay up." I ducked as the dwarf in question tossed a sack of money to another behind me, not seeming to care whether he hit me or not.

"What's that about?" Bilbo asked me, momentarily forgetting about his riding situation. The wizard fell back to ride on the other side of the hobbit, chuckling under his breath.

"Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you'd turn up," I told him, smiling at him to show him that I meant no harm. He frowned, glancing at the dwarves ahead of and behind us, wondering who had voted against him.

"Most of them bet that you wouldn't," the wizard added, keeping his face facing the trail. His eyes sparkled with laughter, and I grinned, turning away from the hobbit for a moment.

Bilbo spoke again, sounding hesitant. "And what did you think…?"

I looked back up in time to see Gandalf catch a sack of money and throw it into the air, testing its weight. Chuckling, he put it in his bag. I laughed along, my heart lighter than it had been in years.

"My dear fellow, I never doubted you for a second."

Bilbo suddenly sneezed loudly, jerking his pony's reins once again. He sniffed and began searching his pockets for a handkerchief, muttering about horsehair and allergies. He looked up in shock, eyes wide, and I frowned in alarm, looking around. He sat up straight, raising his hand in the air. His other hand still fumbled through his pockets. "No, wait, wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around." The entire company came to a halt. The dwarves began objecting and asking what the problem was, many of them eying me distrustfully as if I had been the one who had called for a break.

The wizard, who apparently had not been paying attention to the hobbit's frantic search, looked down at him irritably. "What on earth is the matter?" The wizard asked gruffly.

"I forgot my handkerchief," Bilbo complained quickly, still searching his pockets. The dwarf I remembered was called Bofur pulled a strip of cloth from the edge of his shirt and tossed it to Bilbo.

"Here! Use this." Bilbo caught the rag and looked between it and its owner in shock. The dwarves laughed and began to continue their journey.

"Move out!" Thorin called, a hint of amusement on his face as he turned to face the front again.

Gandalf huffed and urged his horse forward again. "You'll have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs and a good many other things, Bilbo Baggins, before we reach our journey's end. You were born to the rolling hills and little rivers of the Shire, but home is now behind you; the world is ahead."

I hummed softly in agreement, bringing my hair over one shoulder and braiding it together, weaving the small braids into the larger one. Catching sight of the hobbit's crestfallen look, I urged Gwairoch over to trot beside the hobbit, trying off the braid with a strip of leather and allowing it to fall down the center of my back.

"Here," I said softly, pulling a much cleaner square of cloth from my pocket. I had carried it with me from Imladris (why, I did not know) and decided that now was as good a time as any to use it. I unfolded it and handed it to the startled hobbit, who took it hesitantly, brown eyes wide. "Use this."

"Oh, I-I—thank you," he stammered, baffled. He gripped it tightly as if it were made of diamonds, afraid to let it go. "I-I am afraid I didn't catch your name last night."

I laughed softly. "I am Aeyera," I told him, smiling.

"And—and are you really a-a princess?" he asked, looking up at me. My smile faded and I looked thoughtfully at the hobbit.

"I was, once," I replied, turning my head and fixing my eyes on the road before me. "But not anymore."

"Oh," he said, sounding ashamed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have intruded on a personal matter. Forgive me."

I glanced back at him, fondness for him growing. "You are not at fault, Mater Baggins. It is not your fault what happened in my past, and there was no way you could have known about it anyway. You are not forgiven, for there is nothing to forgive."

He looked startled, and I noticed that a couple of the dwarves were watching us out of the corners of their eyes. "What can you tell me about yourself?" he asked, clearly curious.

I smiled and laughed, tossing my head back. "Am I the first elf you have happened across, Master Baggins?"

He blushed, embarrassed. "Yes, b-but—please, call me Bilbo."

"Alright, Bilbo," I said, settling down in the saddle and preparing for many questions. "What would you like to know?"

The afternoon passed quickly, and before I knew it we were unloading the horses atop a cliff, which looked out over the land. It was easy to see the Shire from where we stood, and I wondered how the hobbit would be tonight away from his home. I stayed as far away from the edge as was possible; I never had been good with heights. Tree jumping was different; as long as you stayed in the branches, you would be fine. But fall of a cliff… there's no way to survive unless you had wings.

Two of the older dwarves began to work on lighting a fire while several others began clearing away stray sticks and pinecones in a large circle. When several of them began unsheathing their weapons, I grinned. Oftentimes amongst the rangers we would spar at night before dinner, and I was more skilled with twin knives than all the others and nearly as skills with a sword as Arathorn, their chieftain, was.

Fili looked over at me, unsheathing his twin swords. "Princess," he called. Several dwarves looked around and leveled their gazes at me. "Would you spar with me? My brother seems too lazy to do so tonight." He winked at me, and I forgave his calling me 'Princess,' if only because I knew he meant no harm. I took off my quiver and bow as well as my sword and leaned them against a tree, letting one of the dwarves lead Gwairoch away.

I moved until I stood within the circle, hands at my sides. A knife was held loosely in each one, and I watched the dwarf carefully, waiting for him to make the first move. Several of his companions shouted warnings to him, cautioning him to be wary of me. Many of them commanded him not to fight me, saying that I could not be trusted. I focused on him, feeling the dirt shift beneath my feet. Small pebbles dotted the ground, but there were no rocks large enough to roll an ankle on remaining in the circle; the dwarves had made sure of that.

I lowered into a crouch, keeping my eyes on my opponent and waiting for him to move. He suddenly took a step forward, and I shifted my weight onto my right foot to spring forward, but heard the unmistakable sound of a sword whistling through the air behind me.

Knowing I could not block it, I threw myself forward at the last minute, tucking my knees to my chest and rolling out of range. I sprang to my feet several yards away and whirled around, eyes flashing. Thorin stood, breathing heavily, his sword buried in the earth where I had just stood. His blue eyes were like chips of ice, and I knew that could looks kill, I would be dead. I gripped my knives tightly, eyes narrowing. Fili, beside whom I now stood, looked shocked. His brother looked between his king and I nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Thorin asked, voice harsh. I immediately was on the defensive, and I gripped my knives tighter. Vaguely I wondered where our wizard was, but I was quickly distracted. "Do you really think I trust you enough to let you fight one of our youngest company members? How do we know you won't try and kill him and make it look like an accident?"

"If I wanted you to die," I growled, sheathing my knives angrily. "I would not have risked my life to defend you from a dragon. I most certainly would not have joined this quest to go back to reclaim your homeland and face the dragon again. If I wanted you dead," I turned and strode out of the ring to fetch my weapons, strapping them on again as I spat out the words. "I would have killed you last night while you slept."

His gaze had not wavered, but several dwarves had moved to stand behind their king, their weapons loosened in their sheathes. Fili and his brother were two of the ones who had remained where they were, both watching for my reaction.

"Why don't you fight her, if you're so wary of her fighting the others?" Gandalf had finally shown up and stood leaning on his staff, watching the dwarf prince disapprovingly. "You can test her strengths, see if she is as fine a fighter as she has claimed."

I glared at the wizard, but he ignored me, keeping his gaze fixed solely on Thorin. The dwarf frowned, lines appearing on his forehead, as he looked me up and down, weighing his options. I felt a wave of fear wash over me: he would have no mercy. He could just as easily overpower and end me as I could him. One thing he was right about was that I could possibly—possibly—have overpowered Fili. I was older by over a century. However, Thorin was older than I by a considerable amount. If you count years of actual weapons training as experience, I was behind by a good eighty years or so. I knew that he could not refuse and risk looking like a coward, so I lowered by bow and quiver to the ground, leaving my sword strapped to my hip.

He nodded finally, and the other dwarves stepped back from the circle. Balin had to pull Fili away. The tattooed dwarf was glaring at me as if warning me that should anything happen to Thorin, he would tear me apart. I swallowed and took a deep breath, relaxing into a defensive stance as soon as I entered the circle, crossing to stand a couple yards away. My knives had once again taken up residence in my hands, and I waited for him to make the first move. If we were to judge by strength alone, it would be an easy match. He outweighed me easily by a hundred pounds, and I knew that he had much more muscle than I. However, I was leaner and faster, which could work to my advantage. He drew his sword, and I felt a rush of apprehension. It truly was an even match now: large versus small, both in size of bodies and in weapons.

He struck first with such ferocity that I was forced to back up and block his stroke with both knives to avoid losing my right leg. Without pausing, he wrenched his blade away and swung at my unguarded left side. Once again I blocked, shocked at the hatred that seemed to fuel his motions. As the fight wore on, each of his strokes becoming sloppier and more dangerous than the last, I understood. He wasn't testing my strengths. He was trying to kill me. I was the only elf he had ever been able to fight: I was his enemy's daughter, however much I tried to deny the fact. As soon as I reached the conclusion, I leapt backwards, barely avoiding a slice that would have cut me in half, sheathed my knives, and drew my sword in one motion, blocking a strike meant for my neck.

Several dwarves murmured about how it was unfair to trade out weapons during a spar, but none interfered. Perhaps they, as I had, had figured out Thorin's true motive behind challenging me. Whatever the case, they stood by silently as I moved from the defensive to the offensive, pushing the prince back. My teeth were clenched in a snarl, eyes narrowed, as I pushed him back. Several times the flat of his blade struck me, and several times I managed to land a blow with the flat of my sword. The difference was that he wore armor and that he actually was trying to kill me, not test me. I hissed as the tip of his sword scratched my cheek, feeling blood trucked down into the stinging cut. The sweat around it made it burn. As we neared the edge of the circle, I brought my sword up to block an overhead stroke, and he struck out, kicking my legs out from under me. Might I point out what an underhanded blow that was; never would one do such a dishonorable thing unless their life truly was on the line.

As I fell, I threw up my sword and gripped the blade with my left hand, mindless of the steel slicing through my flesh. I heard one of the dwarves shout something, and then heard the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal followed by a sharp pain in my hand as my arms lurched back. I looked up and froze, my breath catching in my throat.

My sword had caught the edge of Thorin's and now held it at bay mere inches from my face. Fili and his brother strode to the center of the circle and stood between us, glaring at the prince. "That's enough," Fili growled.

Thorin looked the younger two up and down before stepping back and sheathing his sword and turning away. Most of the dwarves followed when he left, but Fili, Balin, Bilbo, Gandalf, and Fili's brother all stayed behind. Gandalf pulled me to my feet as I began breathing again.

"He—he just tried to kill me," I said to the wizard in my own tongue, leaning against him as one of the others took my sword from my right hand. I brought my left hand up to wipe my face but froze when I caught sight of the nasty cut that ran across my palm. Blood streamed down my fingertips onto the ground, and the healer came up to me, tugging me over to the fire.

"Don't know what he was thinking," the dwarf muttered. "It was just a spar! No need to press her like he did."

He sat me down on a log beside the now crackling fire and poured a bit of alcohol onto it. I yelled and jerked my hand back, but he pulled it towards him, tutting irritably. "None of that," he scolded, cleaning the blood from my skin before pouring some water over it as well and scrubbing it. I clenched my right hand so tightly that my fingernails bore into my skin, creating tiny crescent shaped grooves. When he pulled out a needle and thick thread, I nearly stood up and walked away. I tried, believe me, but Gandalf came and placed his hands on my shoulders, preventing me from escaping. I grabbed Fili's brother's hand as the needle began digging into my hand, sewing up the deep cut. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed stitches. I could see the white edge of bone at the base of my pointer finger and knew that it would become infected quickly if it weren't sewn up. However, that realization didn't stop the whimpers that escaped my mouth as I curled in on myself, trying to think about anything but the needle entering and exiting my skin.

Fili's brother remained silent throughout the surgery, although he shifted a few times as my grip tightened. When Ori finished, he took the rag and cleaned off the blood from around the string. Once clear, he wrapped it up and patted the back of my hand before standing and wiping the blood from my face with a piece of cloth, carefully avoiding touching my skin with his. "There," he said kindly as he finished, rinsing and wringing the rag out. "All better. Just don't use that hand for a few weeks and you'll be set."

I growled and leaned back against the trunk of a tree behind me, letting the warm breeze dry the sweat on my neck and face. I shivered, cradling my throbbing hand close to my chest. Fili and his brother came to sit beside me, the younger rubbing his somewhat bruised fingers. Thorin had not yet returned, but the largest dwarf was busy preparing supper over the fire and would glance up at me every few moments.

Fili opened his mouth to speak first, but I cut him off, glaring into the flames. "You'd best not speak to me," I warned, glancing up at him. "I'm out to get you, remember?" He shut his mouth. A few minutes later, I held up my bandaged hand, allowing the white cloth to catch the firelight. "Thank you," I said softly to the brothers, feeling guilty for snapping at them. They looked up again, eyes shining gold. "For interfering."

Fili's brother shrugged. "You were getting pretty beat up," he pointed out. I touched my cheek lightly and rolled my shoulder, wincing as the joint popped and ached.

"I know how hard it is to stand against your king," I said quietly. "Although I suppose that you are lucky not to be related to yours as I was mine. I thank you again, however, and ask for your forgiveness. I should not have yelled at you."

He shifted, brown eyes glinting. "You are forgiven, Princess. Although, anyone would have done it; they just were too surprised to move."

I chuckled softly, wincing as my shoulders creaked in protest. "I don't—"

Right then, Thorin and Dwalin reappeared. The brothers and I fell silent, and we all shifted away from each other discretely so as to not alert the king to our conversation. Dinner was ready, however, so all the dwarves gathered around and began to eat around the fire. I accepted the bowl of stew with a slight smile, balancing it awkwardly on my left hand while holding the spoon with my right. The stew was delicious, and I was rather surprised. The rangers, for all their virtues, were not the best cooks, and so good food was hard to come by.

"This is amazing," I told the dwarf who had cooked it. He looked up at me in surprise, brown eyes widening. He straightened up, braided beard bouncing.

He nodded his head, cheeks reddening as he looked around in confusion. "Me?" I nodded. "Oh… thank you, my lady."

"I'm not a lady," I said before I stopped myself. I pressed my hand against my lips, green eyes widening. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

He chuckled. "I understand. You are a lady, though. You're not a man, that much is clear." I grinned. "Bombur," he said, bowing slightly. "At your service."

I rose to my feet and curtsied, bowing my head. When I lifted it, I met the ginger-bearded dwarves eyes unashamedly. "Aeyera at yours."

He smiled and refilled my bowl as I sat down. I devoured the second bowl of stew as well. I hadn't had its like since… ever, really. Maybe in the Greenwood, but it was so long ago that I was hard pressed to remember the taste of any food besides that of a plant. Soon after dinner, the dwarves laid out their packs and bedrolls and settled in for the night, many dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. I shuddered and pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. How they were unaffected by the height, I'll never know.

I rubbed my shoulder absently through the cloth tunic, wincing as my fingertips dug into the knotted scars that roped along most of my body. How my face remained undefiled, I do not know, but I was eternally grateful. I rubbed the lumpy skin, making my way from my forearm to the back of my neck, and pulled my braid to the side to reach it.

"What's on your neck?"

I jumped and released my grip on my braid, tugging the leather thong off the end so that my hair fell loose around my shoulders in a dark curtain. I turned to face Fili's brother, who was watching me closely. Fili was watching me as well, although he had not spoken. "What?"

"Your neck," he said, gesturing with the stem of his pipe. "Your scar."

I looked away and stared into the fire. The sun had long since set, and the stars were out. The area was silent except for the nickering of ponies, the crackling of the fire, and chirps and creaks of the woodland creatures, and the snores and sleepy mutterings of the dwarves. A log shifted, sending a shower of sparks high into the air.

"I got hurt a long time ago," I finally said, looking back up to meet the young dwarf's eyes.

He frowned, dark eyebrows furrowing together. "What happened?"

"I don't even know your name," I said, smiling wryly. "I can't give away my secrets to someone I can't know, can I?"

He smiled, sticking the mouthpiece between his lips. He stood and bowed, strands of hair falling across his face. "Kili. At your service."

I rose to my feet, finding that we stood eye to eye. I curtsied, breaking eye contact for a moment. "Aeyera at yours."

We both resumed our seats, and Kili puffed on his pipe contentedly. "What happened?" he asked. I looked up questioningly, crossing my ankles as I stretched out with my back against a fallen log. "To give you that scar."

I cringed at the memory. "I'd rather not say, young Kili. It is not a pleasant tale, nor is it one I like to recount."

He nodded reluctantly, but before we could speak again, Bilbo crossed over to where we sat. "Can you not sleep?" I asked him.

He shook his head irritably. "No. Too many distractions." I looked over and quickly discovered the source of his discomfort. Bombur was sound asleep, and his inhales were causing a small group of moths to be sucked inside his mouth. His exhales would blow them out, but they were quickly pulled back in again. I stifled a grin and turned back to the fire.

As I opened my mouth to speak again, a horrible screech cut through the air, and I sprang upwards so quickly that I tripped over my cloak and would have fallen into the fire had Bilbo not steadied me. I looked around, frightened, and drew one of my knives with my right hand. My left was all but useless.

Bilbo moved closer to the fire, looking around nervously. "What was that?" Bilbo asked, wide eyes reflecting back the firelight.

"Orcs," Kili said, a solemn and shocked look on his face. He removed the pipe from his mouth and leaned forward.

Thorin, who had been dozing several yards away, jerked awake upon hearing the word "orcs."

"Orcs?" Bilbo repeated, horrified. Thorin met my gaze, startled, as the brothers continued. I glared at him as I twirled my knife angrily, and I saw his gaze drop to my bandaged hand. A look of guilt crossed his face, but I turned back to the fire before anything else could happen.

Fili was speaking now, his voice low and dangerous. He looked around at his 'audience,' blue eyes glittering with mischief as mine narrowed in suspicion. His voice was both nonchalant and cautious, a mixture that confused me. "Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

Kili picked up where he left off, voice husky and low as if he were sharing a solemn secret. "They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep." I shuddered, the hair on the back of my neck raising. My scars itched and twinged with discomfort. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."

Bilbo looked away in fright, eyes adjusting to the darkness. Fili and Kili looked at one another and began laughing quietly. I narrowed my eyes at them and rolled my shoulders, relieving some of the tension built up under the scar tissue there.

"You think that's funny?" I bit out. I turned in surprise; mine was not the only voice that spoke those words. Thorin crossed to stand beside me, glowering at the brothers.

"You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" The prince asked, glaring menacingly at the brothers as he crossed his arms, one hand fingering the hilt of his sword.

Kili looked down, abashed. Shame crossed his face as he turned his head, dropping his eyes to the ground. "We didn't mean anything by it."

Thorin scoffed. "No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin turned on his heel and walked off to the edge of the cliff. He stopped at the edge and looked out over the valley, breathing heavily. I moved so that my back rested against the gnarled trunk of an old holly tree, beyond irritated at the brothers. Balin walked up to us and stopped next to Fili and Kili, leaning against the wall of the stone outcropping.

"Don't mind them, laddie." Balin glanced over at me, and I wondered if Gandalf had spoken to the old advisor about my past. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria." The old dwarf stared into the fire, reliving the story as he told it. Sorrow clouded his features, and I turned over to face them. "But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler." My head jerked up as the scars on my back gave a particularly painful throb. The shadows of madness that so often haunted my mind were back, clamoring for attention, but the knowledge that I was safe—at least for now—kept them at bay. "The giant Gundobad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began," Balin spoke sorrowfully, looking down into the fire with wet eyes, "by beheading the King." I could hear Thorin's bellow of disbelief and pain and rage echo through the tale into the present, and I closed my eyes as tears stung my own eyes. "Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing by an oaken branch as a shield. Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."

As Balin had told the tale, each and every dwarf had awoken. By the time he finished, every one of them had risen and stood facing their prince. I watched as Thorin turned away from the view beyond the cliff to see the entire Company awake and standing in awe, staring at him. Thorin walked between them toward the fire and I shifted, eyeing him carefully.

I spoke up, my voice hushed and frightened even to my own ears. "But the pale orc? What happened to him?"

I immediately regretted asking the question, although I desperately needed the answer. Thorin was not the same prince I once knew, and I watched him closely as he all but snarled his answer. "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Thorin stalked back to wherever he had been before as the other dwarves returned to their sleeping positions. I looked up in time to catch a knowing look pass from Balin to Gandalf, and I shifted uneasily. I moved back into the firelight and remained there, unmoving, until Kili's voice startled me from my thoughts once more.

"Azog the Defiler had something to do with your scars, didn't he?" he asked quietly, fingering the bowl of his pipe.

I didn't bother looking up but kept my gaze leveled at the fire, amazed by his perception. I waited a moment before replying. "I don't think you want to know the answer, mellon." Gandalf met my gaze and held it for a long second before glancing away, and I moved off the log and stretched out on the ground, my gaze fixed on the stars. "Goodnight."

-O-

Because I did not sleep, I was the first awake the next morning, and therefore was the only one not sopping wet by the time the sun rose. The dwarves awoke with much grumbling and shouting, but were pleased to see that someone had moved their blankets, food, and other perishable supplies into a dry spot under the rocks.

We loaded our horses and cleared the camp as best we could before saddling up and riding away. I avoided Fili and Kili that morning, not wanted to face questions of my past, and instead rode ahead with Gandalf. I pulled my hood to cover my hair as we rode along, silent.

One of the grey-bearded dwarves was the first to seek a magical solution to the rainstorm, which had yet to lift. "Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" He asked.

The wizard sniffed irritably, glaring back from under the rim of his hat. "It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done. If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

"How many are there?" I asked, curious. I was a friend of both Gandalf and Radagast, and I knew of Saruman the White, but I was unsure of any that could manipulate the weather.

"What?" Gandalf asked. He turned to face me, twisting on the saddle.

"Other wizards?" I repeated, pushing a sopping strand of hair out of my eyes.

"There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, the White. Then there are the two Blue wizards; you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

A feeling of sadness crept over me. How could one of the Istari forget about the others? "And who is the fifth?" I asked.

"Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown."

"Oh, yes!" I exclaimed, beaming. "He is a good man, he helped me when—" I quickly stopped speaking. I could feel eyes boring into my back and guessed that they belonged to Fili and Kili, but did not turn around.

Bilbo, who apparently had been listening in on our conversation, decided to add his own questions to the mix. He was hunched over, trying his best to avoid the rain, albeit futilely. "Is he a great Wizard or is he... more like you?"

Gandalf frowned, affronted, and I chuckled, amused at his expression. "I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way," he added. "He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East, and a good thing too, for always Evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

"Princess!"

I sighed, closing my eyes, and turned around. I opened my eyes to see that Fili had ridden up beside me and was beckoning to me to ride back with him. I agreed, if only because of the wizard's eerie words, and hung back to ride beside Fili and Kili. Kili spoke first, dark eyes trained on the saddle. "I'm sorry for questioning you like I did last night," he said, his voice soft. "I should not have interfered with business that was not mine. Will you forgive me?"

I was touched. I touched my undamaged hand to my forehead and then to my chest, bowing my head. "Curiosity is not a crime, Kili," I told him gently. "But my past is not a happy thing, and I do not wish to dwell on it." He nodded, relieved, and I asked a question that had been nagging at me for the past two days. "How is it that two so young came to be on this journey?"

Immediately the brothers' expressions turned guarded, and I sensed the walls that came up around them, blocking me out. I frowned, my own expression turning stony. "Fili, Kili!" Dwalin called from ahead. "Come here for a minute!"

Without saying a word, the two rode on ahead to join Dwalin. I watched them go, confused. Why had that question disturbed them so? Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned, shielding my eyes from the rain. To my surprise, it was Thorin that rose beside me, looking distinctly uncomfortably. "I apologize for my behavior yesterday," he said, shifting in the saddle. "I should not have attacked you the way that I did, and I am sorry for hurting you." His eyes lingered on the cut on my cheek and the bandage around my stitched up hand.

I let out a pent up breath, meeting the king's eyes. "Thorin, I understand your prejudices against my people, and I understand why you attacked me the way you did. However, you need to understand that I am not my father. I am not out to harm either you or your companions, and you should not treat me like a criminal."

He nodded, the same guarded expression on his face that had just been on Fili's and Kili's. His eyes were the color of steel in the half-light that surrounded us. "We shall see."