The dwarves did not spar that night, nor did they spar for nearly a week. They were caught in a never-ending rainstorm, it seemed like, and it poured for nearly a week without ceasing. The storm led to high tempers on account of their damp clothing, rusting weapons, and cold food.
On more than one occasion, one of more sour dwarves would actually accuse me of using some sort of elvish sorcery to hinder them on their journey. In response, Gandalf scoffed and reprimanded the dwarves, yelling loudly that I had no more power over the weather than he did. The dwarves would sulk and glare at me behind the wizard's back, muttering later about how I was too frightened to speak up for myself.
The only good that came from the long, long rain was that Fili, Kili, and I grew closer. Every night we would sit together, either by the campfire or in some slightly less wet spot and trade stories. I found out that they were the sons of a warrior, and that they trained to be like him. I learned that they had convinced Thorin to let them come because of their skills with weaponry and nothing else, and I was impressed.
On the final night of the rainstorm, in which the rain had thinned to a fine drizzle, the three of us sat in a circle under a small outcropping of rock. There were several others, so most of the company was settled and relatively dry. The ponies moved around in the shelter of a grove of trees a few yards away, neighing softly to one another.
Kili was speaking, telling me of his weapons training as a young dwarfling. "Well, the first time I picked up an axe, I was probably around… what was if, Fee, fifteen?"
He turned to his brother, who nodded and looked up from the knife he was sharpening. "Aye," he replied, rubbing down the blade so that it glimmered in the near darkness. "I was twenty at the time, and had convinced him that Master Dwalin wanted to teach him right away!"
"I'm guessing he didn't?" I laughed.
Kili scowled playfully and gave his brother a light shove. "Eh, no."
I leaned back against a rock, absently running my right thumb over the bandage covering my left palm. "Was Dwalin the weapons master for all young dwarves?" I asked, looking over at the two of them curiously.
"Aye," Fili replied, following my lead and settling back against the stone. "He taught us nearly everything we know. He and our other instructors, of course."
I sighed, running my uninjured hand through my hair. Elves healed considerably faster than humans and even dwarves, so Oin, our healer, had told me that morning that in the next week, he probably would take the stitches out but for me in the meantime to avoid any weapons training. I wondered if the dwarves were trying to get me killed. How could I not train? "I envy you," I told the dwarves.
They looked up, confused. "In what way, Aeyera?" Kili asked, frowning. I didn't understand why, but his presence comforted me, and I found myself wanting to open up to him. I did, to my surprise, more than I had even to the rangers.
"Among my people, very few—all things considering—are able to train to be a warrior. I was unable to because of my age and gender. And," I sniffed, picking at the edge of my sleeve, "because I was the princess." I scoffed. "I still trained though. Tauriel—she was one of my dear friends, although she is a few centuries older—taught me to shoot a bow. Once my brother found out, he took it upon himself to teach me. The rangers taught me to fight using the sword, and I've always been rather fond of knives." I pulled one from its sheath and twirled it expertly around my fingers, catching the hilt with my fingertips and shifting it to my palm.
"Do you carry throwing knives?" Fili asked eagerly.
Kili groaned, and I grinned. His brown eyes, sparkling with laughter, met mine. My heart fluttered, and my smile stretched wider, although I wasn't sure why. "Don't get him started, milady. You'll never hear the end of it if you let him begin."
I laughed and moved to sit with my legs crossed in front of me, placing my hands on my knees. "I would love to speak of weapons, Fili, but not now. Kili was telling us a story, weren't you?" I directed the last part to him, and he swelled up, looking happy that I had remembered him.
"I was. Anyway," he jumped right in, speaking quickly in case his brother tried to interrupt him. "There we were, the first day of weapons training. Dwalin had left to do something, I don't know what. Fili here," he glared playfully at his brother, who glanced at the ceiling in an attempt at feigning innocence. "Told me that Dwalin was going to teach me how to wield a battle axe. Now, I was the equivalent of a young human child's age, very young. This wasn't even weapons training, really; we wouldn't start that for a few years yet. However, our mother and uncle wanted us to be prepared for—" Fili suddenly shifted, knocking Kili in the ribs with his elbow. Whether on accident or on purpose, I couldn't tell, but Kili quickly moved on, leaving the statement and jumping to the next. "So I went and tried to pick it up. Of course, my arms are the size of toothpicks at the time," he joked, face reddening. I wondered what the two were hiding; they kept steering clear of some important detail. I felt that I should know it, but couldn't place my finger on what it was. "And I can't even lift the handle off the ground." He paused. "Fili, would you tell the next part? I can't recall what Dwalin said—but I'll be right back." He stood and exited the cave, but I was too preoccupied to notice.
I thought back to what Gandalf had said, about how we three could change the course of the future. I thought back even farther, to a secret meeting so many years ago, where the princes and kings of the East had gathered together. I remembered a young, dark haired prince with laughter in his blue eyes, and I knew. I knew, and I was so, so angry. I stood suddenly, startling Fili into silence.
"Princess, is something wrong?" he asked, starting to his feet. I turned an icy glare on him, and he froze, blue eyes widening in realization.
"Please sit," I bit out, sheathing my knife with a sharp click. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, Prince."
I turned on my heel and stormed out into the rain, letting the cold water run over my skin and dampen my hair. The dwarf did not call out to me; I had a feeling that he had been stunned into silence. I moved over to where the horses grazed and picked my way to Gwairoch, who raised his head and watched my approach with liquid eyes. I reached him and pressed my forehead against his nose, hugging him tightly. I took deep breaths, shutting my eyes. I was trembling, but not because of the cold or the rain.
I felt… tricked. Deceived. I had a horrible feeling that if Kili hadn't slipped up, I might never have realized that they were of the line of Durin. What if something had happened? What if they had gotten hurt or killed and I hadn't protected them because I had been focusing only on Thorin. Was he their father? I didn't remember if he was married or not, but there was too much a resemblance for them not to be closely related to him. I sighed and buried my head into the horse's shaggy mane. That wasn't it. That isn't why I felt so wounded. For a moment I had felt… accepted. Wanted. Now that I had a moment to myself, I found that the twists and butterflies I had felt were the beginnings of feelings. Feelings. For a dwarf?
Race doesn't matter, I thought sadly, petting Gwairoch's flank. Not to me, but to the dwarves it does. They hate me. They blamed me for the rain, for Eru's sake!
It was a good five minutes before I realized that it was not rain that wet my face anymore. I was crying. I couldn't remember the last time I had cried. I was sad, yes. Most of the time I was grieving, either for my mother or for my friends who had passed on. But always inwardly, never showing. I was angry though; so, so angry. I felt tricked; deceived.
"Your friends are worried about you, Tindómiel."
I turned to see Gandalf standing a few paces away, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. He watched me with ancient silver eyes, and I wondered how long he had stood there in the storm. "Why didn't you tell me?" My voice cracked, and I quickly wiped my face free of moisture, pulling up my hood.
"It was not my secret to tell," the wizard answered gravely. He knew, then. Of course he knew.
"I came to protect him," I said, voice rising. Without my realizing it, the language in which I spoke switched. "To protect the line of Durin! I cannot do that if I do not know whom to protect, Mithrandir! Why didn't you tell me? If they had died, their blood would have been on my hands!"
"Because you would have taken it upon you to protect them whether you knew of their lineage or not," the wizard replied, voice rising in tune with mine. "You know this as well as I."
I looked down at my bandaged hand. "Can you heal me?" I asked suddenly.
He frowned down at me, and I suddenly felt very small. Often when I spoke to him or even thought about him I would imagine him as an old man. However, he was one of the Istari; one of the Maiar created by Eru himself to watch over Middle Earth.
I looked down, unable to hold his gaze. "I just… If something happens, I want to be able to protect them," I murmured, a feeling of shame washing over me. "I can't fail again."
The wizard placed a gnarled hand on my shoulder, and I looked up into his face to see him smiling down with compassion at me. "You will not fail," he told me, his voice seemingly deeper than before; my chest seemed to vibrate as he spoke, my heart swelling. He took my hand and held it between his, unwrapping the bandages. Oin had insisted on cleaning the wound every morning (a most unpleasant process for us and whomever's hand I grabbed to keep from screaming) so there was no blood around the edges of the stitches. The wizard, pulling a small knife out of some hidden fold in his robe, began to cut the strands of string and tug them out gently. Thankfully, the wound was mostly healed, so the gash didn't simply fall open again. However, the process was still extremely painful.
When he was done, he clasped my hand between his and closed his eyes, murmuring words in a language I had never heard. It sounded rich; beautiful, even: and I felt that I had known it once. It was like trying to recall a memory from your childhood: you had it once, but it is no longer accessible to you. My hand tingled and itched, as if losing circulation, and it felt as if my skin were writhing under his. I was grateful that I could not see it. After several minutes, he finished and pulled away. The cut had healed and been replaced by a jagged, white scar that stretched from one side of my palm to the other.
I traced it gently with my fingertips, in awe of this transformation. Raising my hand before me, I slowly bend it into a fist, waiting for the pain to come. It never did. A smile burst onto my face, and I looked up at the wizard, who watched me with a kind expression. To his surprise, I knelt down, my right hand in a fist over my heart and my left fingertips touching my forehead. "Hantalëdh, Olórin."
He placed his hands on my shoulders and raised me to my feet, his eyes shining with something I could not identify. "You are very welcome, my dear. It has been a long time since anyone called me by that name," he told me kindly. "And I thank you for it."
I looked around; the sun had set completely, and the night was dark as coal. "I do not wish to face them," I said. Gandalf handed me a clean bandage, and I wrapped my hand, understanding of his intentions. Neither wished for the company to know I was healed: Gandalf did not wish to be approached for ever scrape that the company acquired, and I had no desire to be called a witch.
"Then speak to me tonight," he said, leading me past the dwarves on watch and towards the camp again. His voice was laced with humor, although his face remained impassive. "Tomorrow we can deal with the stubbornness of dwarves."
The next morning dawned bright and clear, with no indication that it had ever rained besides the wet ground. Both Fili and Kili avoided me, sending me nervous looks whenever my back was turned. Oin tried to inspect my hand, but Gandalf deterred him, saying that he had already done so. The healer went his own way, grumbling about meddling wizards.
Throughout the day, I moved between riding near Bilbo to riding with Gandalf. The hobbit had grown rather fond of me, seeing as how I was the only, and I quote, "respectable" person in the company besides himself. He asked me many more questions about life as an elf, which I did my best to answer. Some, including those that neared the topic of marriage and coming of age, I avoided without bothering being discreet.
However, there was an undercurrent of anger bubbling inside me throughout the entire day. Whenever I caught the blue or brown eyes of the dwarf princes, I would glance away angrily. For some reason, I was angriest with Kili. Why, I did not know.
During our break at noon, I was leaning against a tree, legs crossed under me, completely caught up in my thoughts. I therefore did not hear either brother calling me. One of them—I had a good guess at to who—threw a knife, which buried itself into the tree inches from my face.
"Princess!" Fili called angrily. "I'm talking to you."
In one fluid move, I ripped the knife from the tree and hurled it back in the direction that it came. It landed, blade buried deep in the earth, at Fili's feet. I drew my knives and rose to my feet, heedless of the bandage on my left hand. Both brothers watched me warily, and Fili didn't dare pick up the knife for fear of being attacked. Fili drew a set of twin swords, watching me carefully. Several of the members of the company that had been sitting around now were on their feet, looking between the three royals that looked to be about to tear one another to shreds.
"What?" I growled, settling into a defensive position. Kili placed his hand on his sword, and I tensed, eyes flickering to him.
"We just want to talk," Fili said, raising his swords.
"There's nothing to talk about," I responded. Both our voices were deadly calm. Kili drew his sword, and I readjusted the grip on my long knife, eyes narrowing.
"Drop the knives, Aeyera," Kili said, voice tense. Green eyes met brown, and his widened as he realized his mistake.
"Make me," I spat, spreading my arms out and twisting one wrist so that the knife pointed out instead of in. Fili stepped closer, but I didn't move. I waited for them; I had no desire for this to turn sour; if I moved first, the spectators would claim that it was my fault. Surprisingly, it was Kili who attacked first. He swung his blade at my waist, but I nimbly leapt over it, blocking a blow from Fili's sword with my right hand.
I noticed two things after trading several more blows. First, the two worked as a nearly seamless team, moving as one entity. Second: they avoided my left side. Clearly, although they fought me, they weren't doing it to hurt me. Also, they still thought I was hurt. I grinned, and the brothers paused in surprise. I leapt back and sheathed my right knife, drawing my sword but keeping my left blade in a loose grip in my hand.
At one very fortunate point in the fight, Fili tripped and fell into a tree, giving me the precise opportunity I was looking for. Darting under Kili's arm, I drove the blade of the dagger through a hole on the armor near Fili's shoulder. It didn't pierce—or even touch—his skin, but it went deep into the bark of the tree, making it impossible for him to move away. I darted into the branches, ignoring the shouts from below, and leapt out, landing behind Kili in a crouch, now armed only with my sword.
He shrugged a bit, brandishing his sword. He looked a bit uncomfortable without his brother there beside him, but he also looked very angry, which was dangerous for me. "I suppose your hand is healed?"
I tilted my head in a slight shrug, but my eyes remained narrowed, watching his movements. I could see Fili struggling with the dagger behind Kili, so I knew I had nothing to fear from him, at least for now. "Why do you care, your highness?"
His face went slack for a fraction of a second before a guarded expression came up. "How'd you figure it out?" he asked, starting to the right. I didn't move. I knew that trick—circle your opponent, get them to do the same—and his brother would attack from behind. I had used the method many times before with Aragorn and Arador both.
When he saw that I wasn't moving, he attacked. Our blades locked above our heads, and we pushed against each other. The main thing keeping me from being prevailed against was my experience; I had to have at least seventy years on him. However, although we stood nearly at the same height, he was considerably stronger than I. Knowing that if we stayed much longer I would be overcome, I shoved against him, hard, and spun away. Although the force of my push had not knocked him off balance like I had hoped, I had gotten away.
He came after me, and I forgot about our audience, I forgot about his brother, I forgot about my promise to Olórin. I went into total survival mode, and I slashed wildly but precisely with my blade, landing blows with the flat of the steel but never with the sharp edge.
We danced together, swords sparking as we each parried and deflected blows that could have killed. We would come together, swords pressed against each other so that our faces were a hair's breadth away—and then shove apart, only to meet again seconds later.
My heart was pounding. I was barely sweating, but my heart drummed against my chest like a frightened bird. The old wound in my side ached, but still we fought on. "Answer me," Kili barked, his breath coming in short pants. "How did you find out?"
I jumped back to avoid a slash from his sword, noting that Fili apparently had stopped struggling against the knife—and caught the edge of his sword on mine, locking them. "You look just like him," I bit out. His eyes widened. "Now answer me—" I spun about and ducked under his sword, knocking it away from my face. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I didn't," he shot back. Sweat dripped off his face; his hair was soaked. He knocked my blade aside, but I ducked before he could hit me.
I swung at him as hard as I could without intent to kill. "Stop lying!"
That swing was my downfall. Quite literally, it turned out. Kili ducked under it and tackled me, knocking me to the ground. My sword flew out of my hands and landed in the grass a few feet away. Kili sat astride my waist, sword at my neck, looking shocked that he had won the match. Neither of us moved. His face was inches from mine, and he spoke, gasping for breath. "I never lied to you."
"Kili!" Fili finally had gotten free and moved over to us, taking Kili's sword before pulling his brother to his feet. To my surprise, he pulled me up as well. "Impressive job, Princess," he told me, offering me both my sword and my knife.
I glanced away and accepted the weapons without looking either of them in the eye. "Time to go!" Thorin strode out of the trees; where he had been, I was not sure. Talking to Gandalf, perhaps. It seemed that fortune was on my side; he had not seen our fight. As we mounted our horses, I saw quite a bit of money trade hands, and I wondered how many of the dwarves had placed bets on who would win our spar.
Gandalf rode up beside me, grey eyes watching me disapprovingly. "You need to control your temper, Aeyera," he scolded quietly. "Why did you attack them?"
"They attacked me," I shot back, the grip on my reigns tightening.
"After you provoked them," he replied.
"He threw a knife at me!" I all but yelled, turning to him angrily.
"That is beside the point," the wizard shouted. Several dwarves turned around to look at us, curious as to why the normally peaceful wizard was shouting. "If you lose your temper in a fight, do you know what will happen? Do you?" I looked away, the scars of previous fights stretching the skin of my back. "If you make a mistake like you did today, you will die." The wizard reached over and placed his hand on my shoulder. "There are no opponents you will face that are as honorable as young Kili," he said solemnly. "No warriors among the orcs or goblins or even most men who, when they have you at their mercy, will let you go free."
"I know, Mithrandir," I said softly. "I have been at both ends of such a fight, and have received and given many scars for my troubles."
He harrumphed and turned back to face the front, riding in silence for a long time.
Bilbo came up to ride beside me. "Um, Princess? Aeyera, I mean—"
I looked down at him, smiling thinly. "Yes, Bilbo?"
He fidgeted with the brass buttons on his waistcoat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Why did you—that is to say, why were you and—" he cleared his throat. "Why were you and Kili and Fili fighting?"
I sighed. "Bilbo—"
Thorin interrupted us with a shout. "We'll camp here for the night."
Grateful for the interruption, I dismounted my horse and planted my feet firmly on the ground, looking around.
Bilbo all but jumped off his pony, still waiting for an answer. "Just releasing some pent up anger," I told him, striding over to Gandalf. The wizard stood inside what had once been a house, looking around nervously. I glanced around as well, unable to shake the feeling that I had been here before.
I placed my hand against one of the rotten support beams, feeling the grey wood splinter under my fingertips. Thorin continued to give out orders as he walked over. "Fili, Kili, look after the ponies; make sure you stay with them."
"A farmer and his family used to live here," the wizard said solemnly, and I remembered. I remembered a fight with a troll, one of four, and the rangers and I barely escaping with our lives; we were unable to save the family from the others, who had escaped. Whether the other three still lived around here, I did not know.
"Gandalf—"
He ignored me and turned to Thorin, who had made his way over to us and now stood several yards away, eying me warily. "Thorin, I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley," the wizard suggested innocently. I looked up at him with raised eyebrows, both surprised and relieved. Perhaps I could receive help for my scars if we went there. However, I knew what the Dwarf's answer would be.
"I have told you already..." Thorin said, leaning towards the wizard and giving me a distrusting glare. "I will not go near that place."
"Why not?" I asked, stepping closer to him. "The Elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice."
"I do not need your advice," he snarled. "Nor that of your people."
"We have a map that we cannot read," he said, his sharp voice full of wisdom. Thorin turned back to him. "Lord Elrond could help us."
The dwarf prince scoffed and went to stand by the fireplace, which was the only part of the house not falling apart. "Help?" the dwarf repeated menacingly. "A dragon attacks Erebor. What help came from the Elves?" He spared me a look but said nothing in regards to my actions, the actions that had led to my banishment and torture. Granted, he didn't truly know of the consequences of my choices, but it was infuriating all the same for him to treat my sacrifices as nothing. "The Orcs plunder Moria; desecrate our sacred halls. The Elves looked on and did nothing. And you ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather, who betrayed my father."
"You are neither of them," the wizard replied, exasperated and angry. "I did not give you that map and key for you to hold onto the past."
"I did not know that they were yours to keep," Thorin spat, looking up at the wizard.
Gandalf glared at the dwarf before turning and storming away angrily, leaving the Company and heading back to the path we had just left.
"Everything alright?" Bilbo called.
"Olórin, where are you going?" I yelled, moving quickly to intercept him.
"To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense," the wizard snapped, glaring at me over his shoulder. I stopped dead in my tracks, not daring to pursue him further.
"Who's that?" Bilbo asked.
"Myself, Mr. Baggins! I've had enough of dwarves and elves for one day." With that, he disappeared alone the path we had recently vacated.
Thorin didn't seem abashed in the least, but continued giving orders to the others, who were setting up camp. "Come on, Bombur, we're hungry."
Bilbo turned to me, brown eyes wide. "Is he coming back?"
I shrugged helplessly, fingering the bandage wrapped around my palm. "I don't know."
"Princess!" I turned sharply to see Fili walking towards me. I nodded my head, never keeping my eyes off him. He nodded back and stopped a few yards away, noticing the way I tensed when he drew close. "Would you like to spar?" he asked. "Kili and I have to watch the ponies, so we don't have much to do."
I blinked in surprise. I had thought that he and his brother would not want to speak to me after the fight that afternoon. "I-I would be honored," I stammered, still stunned. He nodded and turned, leading me a ways into the woods where the ponies were grazing. There was a clearing in the center, and Fili took off his swords and propped them against a tree, drawing two long knives instead.
I mimicked his movements, setting my other weapons against an opposite tree. Kili leaned against one behind his brother, face impassive. His eyes gleamed in the light that trickled in among the leaves. Fili had already cleared a large circle, and we stood in the center. "Rules are simple," he said, twirling one of his knives lazily. "No maiming or killing," he began, and I nodded. Obviously. "First one out of the circle or first to surrender: loses."
I tilted my head. "Surrender?" I repeated. "Is that not dishonorable?"
"Not if your opponent is holding a knife to your throat," he replied cheekily. "Now—Kili will be judging the fight, making sure neither of us uses foul play, and determining the winner. He will not," here the blonde prince shot his brother a sharp look. "Interfere."
I understood then. Fili wanted a chance to prove himself after our last fight, where he had been pinned to a tree. "Alright," Kili said, pushing himself up. "Let the spar begin in three, two, one—"
We struck at the same time, blades singing as they whipped through the air. Knives were so much more mobile than swords, and therefore my smaller and lighter form was finally able to be an advantage. Not as much as it would have been had I been fighting someone like Thorin or Dwalin—Eru forbid—but enough for me to dance around Fili without getting caught on one of his blades.
We continued to spar, striking and darting away, knives clanging together. On occasion, fountains of sparks would shoot up as the metals collided, and I wondered if it was because of the conflicting races behind them—elf made knives and dwarf made daggers. As the day wore on, my energy faded with it. I was already sore and tired from my previous fight, but Fili seemed to grow in energy, even though sweat shone on his brow. The shadows thickened, and still the fight wore on.
Fili suddenly darted forward and knocked one of my knives away, so that I only fought with one. I succeeded in kicking one out of his hand, but he quickly drew another from the folds of his coat.
"Not fair," I panted, glancing at his brother, who was tossing my blade from hand to hand, seemingly amused.
"All part of the game, Princess," Fili replied, eyeing me as we circled each other, wary of each other. We both darted forward, and within seconds, each stood centimeters away from the other. My knife was pressed to his throat, and one of his was pressed to mine. The other rested on the back of my neck. We stood, breathing heavily, for several moments, staring defiantly into each other's eyes.
"Draw," Kili said, swaggering over and eyeing his brother and I carefully. We stepped away from one another carefully, making sure not to nick the other with our blades as we withdrew them.
"You are an admirable warrior, Princess," Fili said, handing me my weapons.
I smiled and strapped them on. "And you as well, Prince." Kili stepped up and offered me my dagger, hilt towards me. I accepted slowly, never breaking eye contact, and slid it into its sheath. "Thank you," I murmured.
"You're welcome."
"Um, Kili? Princess?" Fili called. It had grown too dark for mortal eyes to see, but to mine, and to those of the dwarves, it was but twilight. Fili stood peering anxiously into the darkness, and Kili and I joined him. The ponies still grazed, but—where were Daisy and Bungo?
The faint sound of footsteps reached my ears, and I looked around to see Bilbo approaching, balancing three bowls of soup in his arms.
"What's the matter?" Bilbo asked, offering us the bowls of stew. None of us moved. A horrible chill began to creep up the base of my spine.
"We're supposed to be looking out for the ponies," Kili said flatly, staring blankly ahead of him. I could see his dark eyes darting back and forth, scanning the darkness for any sign of the missing horses.
His brother continued, clearly worried. "Only we've encountered a slight… problem. We had sixteen. Now, there's fourteen."
One, two, three… there's Gwairoch, good, he's alright; seven, eight, nine… eleven, twelve? That can't be right: Fili just said fourteen. I counted again. Twelve. Oh dear. Gandalf's and my horses were safe, both standing very close together with ears pricked for any sign of danger.
"There're only twelve," I said, counting a third time.
"Daisy and Bungo are missing," Kili said, looking around as if expecting the missing steeds to appear out of thin air.
"Well, that's not good. That is not good at all… Shouldn't we tell Thorin?" Bilbo asked. I glanced at the brothers, who were staring at one another with wide eyes.
"Uhh, no," Fili began, voice nonchalant. "Let's not worry him. As our official burglar—and tracker," he added to me, "We thought you two might like to look into it," Fili said conversationally.
"No," I replied flatly. The two dwarves gave me patronizing looks and turned to Bilbo.
"Well, uh... it looks like something big uprooted these trees," Bilbo stammered, looking around. He quite obviously did not like getting put on the spot, because he turned around nervously, searching for anything that could be used to explain the missing ponies.
Trolls, I thought, shuddering. "Kili—"
"That was our thinking," he said. He continued looking around, paying me no mind. I glared at him as my hands began to shake.
"Kili," I tried, very nervous by now.
"Something very big, and possibly quite dangerous," Bilbo went on, looking quite lost.
"Fili!" I tried, growing more and more afraid by the moment.
"Hey! There's a light. Over here! Stay down." As Fili spotted the fire, the three of them quietly ran through the forest toward it, and they hid behind a log when they grew close enough. I chased after them, merely looking to confirm my suspicions before running off for help.
"What is it?" Bilbo asked.
"Trolls. Aeyera, you're an elf; use your ears! Why didn't you warn us?" Kili accused.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he looked away, clearly sensing my lack of patience. "You—"
Fili and Kili ran toward the fire before I could retort, and I watched them for a moment before turning, muttering about the recklessness of dwarves. I hadn't taken one step back towards camp, however, when something crashed to my left. Without thinking, I jumped behind a tree and watched as a massive mountain troll walked toward the fire, carrying a pony under each arm.
"He's got Myrtle and Minty! I think they're going to eat them, we have to do something," Bilbo said, looking determined. I bit my lip. One of those ponies belonged to Thorin; he would not be at all happy if she was eaten. Without another word, I began sprinting through the trees back to the other horses, not waiting to see where the conversation went. My footsteps made little to no noise on the forest floor, and I was astride Gwairoch and flying towards the path in moments. With any luck, our wizard wouldn't be too far ahead.
"Fly, Gwairoch," I told him, crouching low on his neck as he began to speed up. "Fly!"
The forest sped by on either side of the old path, trees and shadows blurring together. The silvery starlight lit the way a bit, and I sped towards where I prayed Gandalf had gone. It had been nearly ten minutes, and I had yet to spot him. My quiver knocked a steady beat against my back as Gwairoch galloped on, and I was close to losing hope and turning around to face the troll myself when I spotted Gandalf's grey cloak ahead of me.
"Gandalf!" I called, pulling back on Gwairoch's reigns and slowing him to a halt. He pranced around uneasily, turning in circles. "Troll—He took the ponies—Quickly—"
"Has it found the dwarves?" he asked, eyes gleaming from under the brim of his hat. He reached over and grabbed Gwairoch's bridle, steadying him.
"Not when I left," I gasped. "But Master Baggins—"
He began running in the opposite direction, and I followed on horseback. "Gandalf, what are you—?"
"Go on ahead!" he yelled. I was surprised at his speed; he moved much faster than any mortal man of his physical stature could. "They need you now! I will be right behind you, now go!" At the last word, he swatted Gwairoch's flank. The stallion leapt forward and with all the speed of the wind began flying back towards camp.
The time it took to reach the dwarves seemed like no time and a lifetime. I dismounted Gwairoch and raced on by foot, not wanting to risk being heard by the troll. I followed the firelight until I reached the edge of the clearing and then stopped, frozen in horror.
Not one, but three trolls stood encircling a fire, above which most of the company hung, tied to a spit. I leaned back against a tree, feeling faint. How in Middle Earth was I supposed to fix this?
Muffled yells from the other side of the fire caught my attention, and I inched along at the edge of the shadows until I saw them: Thorin, Kili, Bombur, Bilbo, and several others; all tied up in sacks. Why, exactly, they were tied up in sacks, I will never know. However, I was extremely grateful and relieved when I realized that I did not have to do everything alone. If I could just get them free…
Thorin was silencing Kili and another dwarf, who were muttering to each other. "That spineless she-elf isn't coming back," he snarled. I didn't catch what Kili and his companion had said, but I heard Thorin full well, and I shrunk back, hurt. "She turned and ran at the first sign of trouble, tail between her legs. The princess is probably halfway to the Greenwood by now."
I turned away and shifted my attention to the trolls, who were arguing about how exactly to cook the dwarves. "Never mind the seasoning; we ain't got all night! Dawn ain't far away, so let's get a move on. I don't fancy being turned to stone."
Stone? I thought back to how exactly we had defeated the one troll years and years before, and I remembered, a slight smile growing on my face despite the horrible situation.
Bilbo's voice rang out through the clearing as he hopped to his feet, struggling to stay balanced within the sack. "Wait! You are making a terrible, mistake."
"You can't reason with them, they're half-wits!" One of the dwarves called out angrily from the spit.
"Half-wits?" Bofur cried, "What does that make us?"
Bilbo finally managed to stand up straight, although still tied up in the sack. He faced the trolls, turning his back to me, and I crouched down and set an arrow to the string of my bow, waiting for Gandalf to appear. "I meant with the, uh, with the seasoning."
The first troll leaned down close to the hobbit, his deep voice reverberating deep in my bones even from ten paces away. I shivered, recognizing him as one of those who had taken the farmer's family so long ago. "What about the seasoning?"
Bilbo scoffed, and I imagined that if he could have placed his hands on his hips, he would have. I pulled the bowstring taut, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. "Well, have you smelt them? You're going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up."
At his words, the dwarves all begin to shout at Bilbo. Some kicked at him, others called him a traitor. I nearly shot at them, if only to defend the brave hobbit who was risking his life to play for time.
"What do you know about cooking dwarf?" Another troll asked indignantly, peering blindly down at him.
"Shut up. Let the, uh, flurgaburburrahobbit talk," the third snapped, interested in what Bilbo had to say. He leaned in closer, enormous milky eyes fixed on Bilbo.
"Uh, the secret to cooking dwarf is, um—" Bilbo paused, thinking very quickly. I shifted my weight and, changing my mind, sheathed my bow. If this went south, arrows would be no good.
The troll began to grow impatient, and I slowly rose to my feet. "Yes? Come on, tell us the secret."
"Um, yes, I'm telling you, the secret is… to skin them first!" Bilbo exclaimed. Major objections broke out from the dwarves, and threats were hurled his way, although I didn't really blame them; some of them threatened to beat poor Bilbo, others threatened to skin him.
"Tom, get me the filleting knife," the same troll said, gesturing to the other, who sat behind him.
"What a load of rubbish!" 'Tom' said, not bothering to move towards the knife lying by his side. "I've eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all!"
I began striding forward quickly, fear rising up in me, as the troll spoke again. "He's right! Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy." One of them grabbed Bombur and dangled him upside down over his mouth, about to eat him.
"Not that one, he's infected!" Bilbo yelped.
Both the trolls and I froze, staring at Bilbo. The one holding Bombur pulled back, eyeing him suspiciously. "You what?"
"He's got worms in his … tubes," Bilbo said, sounding desperately confused. The troll holding Bombur let out a very feminine shriek of disgust and threw him back into the pile of Dwarves. "In fact they all have it, they're all infested with parasites. It's a terrible business; I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't."
"Parasites, did he say parasites?" Oin yelled.
"We don't have parasites! You have parasites!" Kili shouted angrily. The other dwarves began to rebel against their only hope of salvation, shouting at Bilbo.
"You fool!" One yelled.
"I don't have parasites!" Another snarled, holding his head up to prevent his beard from singing. "I'm clean as a whistle!"
Bilbo hung his head in frustration, and I watched as Thorin, suddenly understanding, kicked Kili in the shoulder, hard. There was a brief pause of about three seconds during which every dwarf in the pile seemed to realize what was going on, and they all chimed in at once, each claiming to have enormous, non-edible parasites.
"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"
"Mine are the biggest parasites, I've got huge parasites!" Kili yelped.
Tom the troll turned to Bilbo, finally catching on. "What would you have us do, then, let 'em all go?"
Bilbo shrugged. "Well..."
"You think I don't know what you're up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!" He yelled to his friends.
Bilbo spoke up, offended. "Ferret?!"
"Fools?" A troll repeated.
"What's that?" One asked.
With a horrible feeling of terror, I realized that when Bilbo had stopped the trolls from eating Bombur, he had stopped my rescue as well. I now stood, completely visible, in the midst of the trolls and the dwarves. And to be quite honest, I wasn't sure which I would rather have been with; both were giving me some pretty nasty looks.
"Hey, I know 'er," one said, loping over to me and picking me up around the waist as I tried to turn and escape back to the trees to formulate a new plan. "She's one o' them rangers."
"Right!" Tom agreed. "She was the one who killed Buck, she was." His companion tightened his grip, and I gasped, digging my fingernails into his skin. "What should we do with 'er?"
"Let us go," I said as authoritatively as I could while being squeezed to death. "Or I will bring an end to your lives as well."
The troll holding me threw my down in front of the fire. I landed hard on my side, and the momentum carried me nearly into the fire. The force of hitting the ground knocked the wind from my lungs, and I managed to pull myself to my knees, drawing my knife from its sheath as I gasped for breath, my chest burning.
I looked up, eyes ablaze, as one of the trolls gripped me by the back of my neck, quite effectively cutting off any means of escape. He held up his knife; I could see its shadow on the ground. I felt the edge touch my neck, and I looked up, meeting Kili's eyes. They were wide and filled with fear, both for his kin and for me. I gripped my knife tighter as the troll pulled back, then reached back and stabbed the blade through his hand, launching myself forward as his grip faltered. I fell forward a couple paces away, but one of the trolls pressed his foot down on my midsection, pinning me to the ground. I yelled, fighting him, but I couldn't escape. My heart sank as I heard a loud snap, and then several smaller ones, and I realized quickly that my bow and most of my arrows were now useless.
"Anythin' you'd like to take back?" the troll asked as his friend handed him the knife. He pointed down at me with one finger.
Gandalf's voice cut through the clamor. I hadn't noticed, but nearly every dwarf had been shouting at the trolls to release me the entire time. "The dawn shall take you all!"
"Who's that?" the troll on me asked, moving off just a bit.
"No idea."
"Can we eat him too?"
Gandalf struck the rock with his staff, splitting it in half and allowing the sunlight behind it to pour into the clearing. The instant the sunlight touched the trolls' skin, they began turning into stone, flesh steaming. Their screams echoed through the clearing as they twisted away from the light. The one pinning me down jerked away, giving me enough time to squirm out from under him before he became permanently immobile. As the trolls ceased their motions, all the dwarves began cheering for Gandalf.
The dwarves on the spit, Dwalin included, were still quite irritable about being strung up like a sack of meat. "Oh, get your foot out of my back!"
I moved off a bit as the difficult transition of moving the dwarves from the spit to the ground began. Many—all—of the dwarves were in their long underwear—including the royals—and I had no wish to see anything by accident. I circled the troll statues, glaring at them and hugging my middle. I wouldn't have been surprised if my ribs were very badly bruised. Broken, no. My entire chest had been crushed before. I knew what true pain was, and although this hurt, it was nowhere near the agony I had felt before.
I pulled my ruined bow and quiver off my back and lay them on the ground before me, surveying the damage. The bow was snapped in half, completely unfixable. Of the two-dozen arrows in my quiver originally, only five remained unscathed. The others either had broken shafts or torn fletching. I moved over to the fire and was not surprised to see several arrowheads sprinkled around the center. Several of them must have fallen out when I was thrown over to the fire.
The dwarves, now fully clothed and armed, began moving around, checking for any missing weapons and eyeing the troll statues warily as if afraid they would spring back to life. I tossed my useless bow and arrows into the fire. No point in leaving them around for orcs to find.
Thorin strode up to Gandalf, and I listened quietly, watching them out of the corner of my eye even as I climbed up onto one of the troll's wrists, in which my knife was buried. I grasped it tightly and pulled, but it didn't budge. I doubted that anything could move it. With one last half-hearted tug, I jumped back to the ground, whipping my hands on my tunic. "Where did you go to, if I may ask?"
"To look ahead," the wizard replied, moving to the next troll.
"What brought you back?" Thorin asked, following him.
The wizard gave him a sidelong glance. "Looking behind. Nasty business. Still, you are all in one piece."
Thorin scoffed. "No thanks to your burglar, or your elf."
I glanced away, tears of anger stinging my eyes. I blinked them back. "Bilbo had the nerve to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that. As for the princess, she is the reason I looked behind. If she had not found me and brought me back, you would be a troll's breakfast by now." Thorin looked down thoughtfully, and I moved away as he and Gandalf continued examining the statues of the trolls together.
"Princess."
I turned to see Fili and Kili next to the statue of Tom, and I moved to stand next to them, no longer eavesdropping on the wizard's conversation. "I heard what Gandalf said," Kili blurted suddenly. I turned to him, blinking in surprise. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I thought you had run away and left us to die. I was wrong."
I couldn't tell whether I should feel hurt or humbled. I bowed slightly to him, keeping my hand pressed against my aching side. "I understand your concern, Kili," I said softly. "As well as your prejudices. But please understand that I would never betray you or your company."
It was the brothers' turn to be humbled. They both bowed. "We know. Fili," the prince said.
"And Kili," the other finished. They came out of their bow. "At your service."
"Aeyera!" Gandalf strode over and placed his hand on my shoulder. "You have been here before, have you not?" Without waiting for a reply, he plowed on, ignoring the miffed stares from the brothers he had interrupted. "I believe there to be a troll hoard here somewhere; a place the trolls could have gone during the day. Do you know where it is?"
I shook my head, shuddering. "No, Mithrandir. The last time I was here was several decades ago, and the rangers and I did not search for the rotting chasm they crawled out of. We were lucky to escape with our lives."
His eyes searched mine for a few moments before he finally nodded. Giving my shoulder a squeeze, he turned and headed back towards the main bulk of the company, leaving Kili and Fili and I alone.
"I am sorry for the way I acted towards you both before," I said softly, turning to look both of them in the eye. For some reason, it was harder to look into Kili's brown than it was to peer into Fili's blue. "I should not have responded in the way that I did; it was uncalled for and unnecessary. For that, I am sorry."
The company began to split into several groups to search for the cave, with a couple staying behind to watch the ponies. Gwairoch trotted over to me and pressed his velvet muzzle against my cheek.
"No, no, I understand," Kili said, shuffling his feet. "We shouldn't have hid out heritage from you. It's just that…" he trailed off and looked to his brother for help.
Fili picked up where his brother left off, blue eyes drilling into mine as if challenging me. "If the enemy finds out whom we are related to," he said, voice sharp. "It could very well be the end of us."
"Your father?" I questioned, glancing between the brothers and Thorin. Fili and Thorin had the same eyes and nose, and Kili shared hair color and facial structure. All three had the same regal bearing.
Pain flashed through Fili's eyes, and he looked away. "No," he said, voice laden with grief. "Our father died many decades ago." I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself to keep warm. He looked back up at me, eyes blazing. "He is our uncle."
I nodded. It made much more sense. I did not recall hearing of Thorin being married, so these would be the sons of either Prince Frerin or Princess Dís. "Are you his sister's sons?" I asked softly. "Or his brother's?"
"Our uncle Frerin died long before our time," Kili said, his voice much softer than his brother's. "We are the sons of Dís."
"What of your heritage?" Fili asked. I glanced away from his scrutinizing stare.
"I am the daughter of Aeyleria, Queen of the Greenwood, and sister of Legolas Greenleaf, Princes of the Greenwood."
"What of your father?" Kili asked curiously. "The king?"
I looked away, suddenly finding it impossible to meet his gaze. "Thranduil is no father of mine."
"But… he's your father," Fili said, hesitating. "Your family."
"No," I replied, clenching my fists so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palms, leaving small, crescent-shaped indents in my skin.
"What did he do to make you hate him?" Kili asked. I looked up, once again surprised by how little difference there was in our heights. We stood eye to eye.
"He left you," I whispered. "He left you to fire. When I tried to help, he—"
"Thorin! We found it!"
We all looked at one another and followed after the shout, not speaking a word. I could smell the troll hoard before we saw it, and by the time we reached it, nearly everyone was gagging.
Nori retched. "What's that stench?!"
Gandalf frowned irritably, face paler than usual. "It's a troll horde. Be careful what you touch."
I stepped inside first, passing by the other dwarves hanging back at the entrance, reluctant to travel further into the wretched domain. As much as I would have loved to follow their example, I knew I had to find weapons.
My eyes adjusted immediately to the darkness, and I looked around at the piles of gold. Small to one such as myself, or to the dwarves, but an impressive amount all the same.
"Seems a shame just to leave it lying around. Anyone could take it," one said, referring to the treasure. I moved further in, eyeing a bundle that looked to have been tossed carelessly into the corner.
"Agreed. Nori, get a shovel."
I crouched down next to the bundle and stifled a scream when a large spider crawled onto it. With a growl, I used my remaining knife to smack the arachnid off the package, glaring after it.
"These swords were not made by any troll," Gandalf's voice echoed through the cave. "Nor were they made by any smith among men." The sound of a sword being drawn reached my ears as I unfolded the wrapping of my own sack.
I gasped in awe as I beheld the twin mithril knives in my hand, both many centuries older than I. Engravings were etched near the hilt, in a language I could not read. I unwrapped the bundle further to reveal a quiver of mithril tipped arrows and a bow of yew, oiled and well taken care of, being magic. I stood and tested the bow, impressed by its strength. At that moment, Gandalf's words made sense. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age." I spun around, shocked. Thorin, who had unsheathed a sword of beautiful make, was placing it back in the barrel, a look of disgust on his face.
"You could not wish for a finer blade," I snapped, strapping my bow and quiver to my back. Unwillingly, Thorin held on to the sword, cobwebs sticking to his hands. He drew it out of its sheath a few inches as well, and I watched with a knowing smile as he marveled briefly at its craftsmanship.
As I made my way to the door, I saw several of my companions filling a chest with treasure, and then burying it in a hastily dug hole in the ground. Dwalin looked on in disinterest. "We're making a long term deposit," One said, smiling up at his cousin.
Thorin followed my lead and began leaving the troll hoard. "Let's get out of this foul place. Come on, let's go. Bofur! Gloin! Nori!"
I followed Thorin, and as I made my way out, I stepped on something odd, which clanged upon contact with my shoe. Confused, I knelt down and began brushing away old leaves and sticks to reveal a small sword, rather like the knives I now held. I picked it up, testing its weight, and headed out of the cave. Bilbo sat on a log several paces away from the others, looking on but not involving himself in anything. Kneeling before him, I held out the small sword to Bilbo, the blade balanced between my palms.
"Bilbo," I began, looking up into his startled face. "I give this to you as a gift. Every warrior needs a weapon with which to defend himself. Or herself," I added softly. "Also, I owe you a sincere apology. I did not realize that my absence would place you in danger, and I am very sorry that I left when I did. I thank you for your bravery and knowledge, for without you the company would be no more. Please accept this as a token of my gratitude."
The poor hobbit looked startled and afraid. "I can't take this."
I pressed the sword into his shaking hands, noting with pride that he grasped it tightly. I spoke again, not yet rising to my feet. "The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby."
"I have never used a sword in my life," he said softly, looking worried.
"And I hope you never have to," I answered, straightening up and placing my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me, and I held his gaze. "And if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."
The hobbit looked humbled and opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, lifting my hand into the air quickly to silence him. Something wasn't right. I turned my head, scanning the green woods for any sign of danger. Birds chirped in the trees, and squirrels raced from branch to branch, but there was no visible sign of danger.
Then I heard it: the sound of breaking branches, accompanied by the sound of many feet pounding against the earth. And it was heading straight toward us.
"Something's coming!" I yelled.
"Gandalf—" Bilbo yelped, looking around for the wizard.
"Stay together! Hurry now. Arm yourselves." As I watched, Bilbo slowly drew his sword and looked at it hesitantly, a growing determination in his eyes. It did not glow blue. Looking up, he followed the others, who had rushed to safety without looking back. With one last glance at the woods behind me, I followed.