The featured song for this chapter is "Dirty Paws", once again by Of Monsters and Men. I just love their music :) But oh my goodness, I saw Les Mis not too long ago and it was amazing! So I bought the soundtrack and as I was re-listening to it last night "I Dreamed a Dream" came on and my first thought was "This would fit Elva perfectly..." So of course I must now fit that song in somewhere in the second or third parter (as this is obviously following the movie more than the book). Per usual, I own nothing recognizable as Tolkien's works or characters. I only own Elva, Isil, and Aerin. Reviews are welcomed and flames shall be used to burn prisoners at the stakes. Enjoy! :)

Chapter 7: To the Mountains

Thorin led the company along a trail up the side of the mountain to get them out of the Valley. Elva glanced back over her shoulder. The sun was shining brightly on Imladris. And the Elves would certainly be aware by then that they had gone. But there was nothing they could do about it. Gandalf had kept Elrond's attention long enough for them to sneak away unnoticed. Thorin walked at the head of the company. He paused and turned to look back at everyone.

"Be on your guard." He called to them. "We're about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on."

The older, white haired Dwarf agreed and took to the front. Bilbo glanced back at Imladris sadly. He had grown to love the Elven city in only the short time they had been there. No wonder of it, too. The city and its people were grande. Elva paused as the company continued on for a moment to shift back into her wolf form. She found it much easier to traverse the terrain they tread on four paws rather than two feet. Thorin waited for everyone before walking along himself. He would have no one in his care be left behind. Even if he couldn't care less whether they came or not. They traveled high into the mountains and made their way to the plains. The trek took nearly six weeks to get to the heart of the mountains. Elva traveled in the back under guise as a lookout, but mostly to keep to her thoughts in privacy. She noticed that there was little talking among anyone in the company. Of course, Elva did not mind in the least for silence. But she knew her solitude would not last forever. Bofur often slowed up his pace and fell back to walk along side her. Bofur did his best to get her to open up more. She did her best to ignore him. So, the pair of them mainly walked in silence. He would often shoot glances her way, making it obvious he wanted to talk, and still Elva spoke as little as possible. The wolf woman felt as though she had told him more than enough back in Imladris, what more did he want? But finally, at the end of the fifth week, Elva got tired of his silent pestering. She glanced at him, swiveling her ears in his direction and then back to their original pinned position.

"Yes?" She asked in irritation.

"Yes what?" Bofur replied.

"Do you require something?" She huffed.

"No, not me." He shook his head. "I thought you might be lonely and in want of some company."

"I was not lonely." Elva stated. "My solitude was not unwelcome."

"Ah, then I'll just go back with the others." Bofur said, making it obvious he wanted to ask something.

"What did you want?" Elva growled in exasperation.

"It's not important." He waved.

"Blast it all, Dwarf." She snarled. "Tell me what you wanted to or I will jump you right here, Thorin already overly suspicious of me or no."

"Is that a promise?" Bofur winked.

It took Elva a moment to register what he was implying. Bofur chuckled as he waited for her to understand. Finally she figured out his innuendo. She froze, jaw open, eyes wide, and ears pricked in shock. Then it took her another moment to decipher if he actually said what she thought he said or not. Elva curled her lips and trotted back up to him. Bofur had a wide grin on his face and Elva snapped her jaws in annoyance at him. This only caused him to grin wider.

"What is your problem?" Elva questioned warningly.

"Well, I slept wrong last night so I've got a slight crick in my neck." Bofur said, glancing at the sky in thoughtfulness. "Something got jostled in my pack and it's jabbing me in-"

"You know what I meant!" Elva snapped.

"Certainly I don't." Bofur replied. "Please enlighten me."

"Why is it so impossible to have a serious conversation with you?" She growled.

"I find seriousness too monotone for my taste." Bofur grinned.

"By the Valar..." Her hackles raised threateningly. "What did you want, Bofur? I am losing patience."

"Alright, alright." The Dwarf raised his hands in defeat. "Was it true?"

"Was what true?" Elva questioned.

"Your story." Bofur explained. "About the Children of Stone. Was it true?"

"Every story has a grain of truth in it." She stared at the ground.

Bofur walked next to her in silence for a while. The sun was high in the sky by the time Thorin called for them to stop to rest and eat. Elva clambered atop a large rock and searched the plains they were on. There was plenty of game around, so she went hunting. After a quarter of an hour Elva had caught three rabbits and a groundhog. She ate them quickly and headed back to the others at the camp. The dwarves were speaking and laughing and joking with one another. After a short time The two young brothers called for a song.

"Master Baggins!" Bofur exclaimed. "Why don't you enthrall us with a tune from the Shire?"

"Oh, I don't think I could." Bilbo mutter, his face going red.

"Surely you know something." Fili called.

"Go on then, sing something." Kili nodded.

Bilbo went quiet for a while trying to think of something to sing. Elva began to lick her paws, she had managed to cake them in mud during her hunt. That gave Bilbo the idea he needed. All Hobbit songs were rather silly and strange, but that suited the Dwarves' tastes well enough. And so the Hobbit began to sing.

"Jumping up and down the floor,

My head is an animal.

And once there was an animal,

It had a son that mowed the lawn.

The son was an ok guy,

They had a pet dragonfly.

The dragonfly it ran away,

But it came back with a story to say.

Her dirty paws and furry coat,

She ran down the forest slope.

The forest of talking trees,

They used to sing about the birds and the bees.

The bees had declared a war,

The sky wasn't big enough for them all.

The birds, they got help from below,

From dirty paws and the creatures of snow.

And for a while things were cold,

They were scared down in their holes.

The forest that once was green

Was colored black by those killing machines.

But she and her furry friends

Took down the queen bee and her men.

And that's how the story goes,

The story of the beast with those four dirty paws."

The Dwarves cheered his song merrily but Biblo, red faced, stated he couldn't recall any others. Thorin had decided that to move on would be a good idea. So the company packed camp and headed off again. Elva, as usual, kept to the back. And Bofur, also as usual, dropped back to walk with her. Elva gave a huff at him but was beginning to, grudgingly, accept that telling him off would do little good. Dwarves were incredibly thick headed and stubborn after all. They walked together in a mutual silence. Bofur because he was beginning to figure that if she wanted to talk, she would initiate conversation. And Elva because she did not feel like doing so. But, as was becoming inevitable, Bofur spoke up.

"You never answered my question." He stated.

"And what would that be?" Elva asked.

"If you aren't an Elf, even if you look like one, what are you?" He questioned.

"I am a skin changer, if you will." She replied.

"Do you have a proper title?" Bofur prompted.

"Yes." Elva nodded.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"Alright then," Bofur glanced at her. "How about this. Why are you on this quest with us?"

Elva gave him a sidelong look and kept silent for a while. She wondered whether or not to tell him. She pinned her ears and curled her lips back. Part of her wanted to tell him, to just let everything go. She had fought for so long to hold up the walls around her heart. The longer she stayed with these Dwarves, the weaker she felt. And she was afraid; for Elva was, deep down, a coward. In over a millennia she had frozen her heart to all, yet here after just a few months of travel, this Dwarf had begun to melt the ice. Could she really trust him with her fragile heart? It would take a long time before she was ready to forgive the Valar for the wrong they had done to her... but perhaps she could begin letting a few people back into her life. Her soul ached to know closeness. But she was too afraid to let anyone get close to her again. How could she when it caused her to take her own sister's life. And now these blasted Dwarves were wriggling their way into her heart. If anything were to happen because of her she could never live with herself. Not again. But her brother's words echoed in her mind 'That is the risk of allowing others to hold the key to your heart.' Was that a risk she could take again? Her cowardice said no, never. But her heart begged yes. Yet in the end cowardice won over and she couldn't say anything.

"I owed Gandalf a favor." She replied.

She knew Bofur wouldn't believe her, but she didn't care. Why would she risk her heart being torn apart again? It wasn't even whole now. Elva gave a silent growl and ran ahead of the company. The one thing she wanted right then was to be alone. Bofur called her back, and Thorin demanded to know where she was going. But Elva paid them no heed. She simply ran on, never glancing back for a moment, or giving the company a single thought. She gave a hollow laugh at herself, she would never stop running, would she? After two hours of sprinting her legs gave out and she tumbled to the ground in a heap. Her sides heaved as she fought for breath again. Elva shifted back into her human form and curled into the fetal position. Her mind grew numb and she became dead to the world. Perhaps it would be better for her to die. The sun had long begun its descent by the time the Dwarves found her. She gave no acknowledgement that she even knew they were there. In fact, Elva didn't even know if she was dreaming or not; nor did she care. She was a coward, and her will was broken. Everything she had ever run from had caught up to her, and it was too much to bear alone. Her cowardice refused to let her give her burdens to anyone, and it refused to let her keep them to herself. And so she was caught in an impasse that threatened to tear her apart.

Bofur knelt next to her and tried to rouse her, but to no avail. Her skin was cold to the touch. Thorin called for the company to make camp where they were. It was nearly dark anyway. Bofur lifted Elva gently and carried her to a soft, grassy area; rather than the rocky patched she had fallen on. He lit the fire nearby and Bombur began to prepare a meal. Bofur set to caring for Elva. He set his pack under her head for support, and wrapped a warm cloak around her. He tried to get her to eat and drink something when the meal had been prepared. But she would take nothing. Eventually he resigned himself to sitting by her side through the night. Bofur pulled her head into his lap and stroked her hair with a gentle touch. He rested his back against a bolder and watched over her until sleep forced his eyes to close. It was a few hours before sunrise and Elva finally slipped into unconsciousness as well. Her slumber was devoid of dreams for the majority of the night. But just before sunrise her mind searched for an anchor. And the nearest one her mind found was that of the Dwarf who held her close.

Elva found herself standing in a vast city at the heart of Erid Luin. She blinked in confusion and looked around. People were speaking animatedly with each other and going around with their daily lives. The buzz of the city showed it was filled with life. Suddenly a person walked right through her from behind, and she realized that it was a dream. But whose dream it was, was the question. Elva glanced up and down the street and saw a familiar floppy hat. Of course she had managed to connect to Bofur's dream. With a huff the wolf woman stalked over to him and tried to touch his mind. She paused when she realized nothing happened. Elva slapped her hand to her face when she let it register. She was already in his mind, but somewhere she had no control over. Then Elva got close enough to hear and see what was happening. Bofur was at the market with a Dwarf woman. She was beautiful in Dwarf terms. And though Elva was impartial to beauty, knowing that it varied by race and culture, she could understand why human males might not find her attractive. The Dwarf woman was a few inches shorter than Bofur, coming to stand at only a little taller than four feet. She was rather portly, like all Dwarf women, but something about her stomach made Elva believe she was with child. Her eyes were a bright amber colour and sparkled with life and happiness. Long, red, curly locks framed her face, emphasizing her high cheeks and arching eyebrows. And a neatly trimmed beard adorned her cheeks and showed off her full, rosy lips.

She whispered something in Bofur's ear that Elva didn't catch, but he laughed heartily and his eyes sparkled with happiness. Elva noticed that they did not have the same wearied look in them that he always tried to mask with his laughter and jokes. Another person walked through her and she glared at the person's back as they walked away. She was getting tired of not being solid. Hopefully Bofur would wake up sometime soon and she could get out of there. But part of her was a little curious as to what he was dreaming about. So she stuck close by the floppy-hatted Dwarf. Elva smirked when she noticed he wore his hat even back whenever this dream was. After a moment of thought, she also figured that the Dwarf woman Bofur was with was his wife. Suddenly the wolf woman didn't feel as comfortable being in his dream. It was private and personal. These were his last memories of his wife before she and their daughter died in childbirth. Bofur placed a loaf of freshly baked bread in the basket his wife carried over her arm while she placed some fresh fruits and vegetables. Tilting her head, Elva watched them go about such normal activities. She had never done menial tasks such as these. Her life had either been in Valinor where everything had been provided for her, or she lived in solitude as a wolf in the wild. Certainly she had come across human villages with markets as she wandered, but she never went near them.

Bofur lifted a small coin purse and paid for their goods, then the pair strolled arm in arm down the street. Elva followed them as they went. A little child, human for he had no beard, ran up to Bofur and tugged on the back of his coat. The Dwarf paused and glanced down at the boy with a smile. He knelt down, to be at his level, and tousled his hair.

"Good afternoon little master." Bofur grinned. "What might I do you for?"

"Could you tell me another one of your stories, Mr. Bofur?" The little boy asked. "Oh please?"

"I'll be in the market tomorrow with my toys." Bofur replied. "I'll be able to tell you one then."

"But tomorrow is so very far away." The little boy whined.

"Aye, sometimes it seems that way." Bofur nodded. "But it's the same amount of time as it was from yesterday to today."

"I'll surely die if I don't hear one soon." The boy replied dramatically. "They're always the best stories ever!"

"Oh very well, Rogan." Bofur conceded.

"Thank you!" The boy, Rogan, cried.

"Now, would you prefer romance or tragedy?" The Dwarf asked him.

"Come now, Bofur." His wife chided in good humour, she had a lovely, soft voice; and not dissimilar to the bass of a man's. "Children don't wish to hear of tragedy."

"Oh, but I do!" Rogan bounced. "They're always the best ones because sometimes good things come from what was thought to be bad. You just have to get to the end of the story to figure it out."

"What a wise little child you are." Rona smiled.

"So do you have a story for me?" Rogan asked, giving Rona a grin.

"Aye, I believe I do." Bofur nodded. "Let me see here... There once was a Dwarf who was a master craftsman. He could make a flower from a stone, or an ocean from iron. The craftsman had a daughter who always played with a doll she had made of bark and leaves. She loved the little doll with her whole heart because it was the first thing she had made with her father. One day the master craftsman fashioned a soldier from tin. One would almost think it was alive from how perfectly the craftsman made it. It was a commission from the King himself for his son, the Prince. And so the Craftsman poured his heart and soul into his work. The man and his daughter went to sleep that night, and when the moon hit the tin soldier, it came to life. The first thing it saw was the wooden doll the master's daughter had made. And in the tin soldier's eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

He used his own magic to bring her to life, and the two fell in love. They spent the whole night together talking and enjoying each other's company. When the sun rose the next morning the life left the figures and they sat together with their arms intertwined. The master and his daughter woke up in anticipation. It was the day the Prince would come to take his toy. The daughter noticed her doll was missing, and went to look or her. She found her doll in the arms of the tin soldier and smiled. She showed her father and said 'They have a love made from moonlight. They can never be separated. I shall let the Prince take her as well.' Her father smiled at his daughter and nodded. 'I believe you are right.' He replied. And so, when the Prince came, he purchased the tin soldier and the little girl tried to give him her doll. She told him how important their love was. But the Prince scorned the doll and left with just the soldier. That night the doll and the soldier were devastated that they were apart, and so, the Tin soldier made his way from the Kingdom to the master craftsman's house again. It took him all night, but finally he made it. The tin soldier and the wooden doll were overjoyed to see each other again. But just as they embraced an alley cat leaped through the window and knocked the wooden doll into the fireplace. Distraught, the tin soldier leaped into the flames after her. And together, just as the sun rose and filtered into through the window, the two burned together in the fire, never to be separated again."

"That was a good tragedy." Rogan grinned. "Thank you mister Bofur!"

With that he ran off and found his mother done with her shopping. Bofur and his wife continued on their own way, and Elva followed them.

Bofur is a dirty little Troll. We'll get to the rest of the back story in the next chapter, I hope I did it at least a little bit of justice. The story here was based off of The Tin Soldier, which was a favorite of mine when I was little.