I would like to thank my readers yet again for their remarkable patience with my sporadic postings. I cannot express my gratitude to you all enough…

"Shh – your father was wrong – I can say that because he was my brother. And as your foster and your elder - you have to respect me in that judgment! Just remind this tinker that Ve son of Ullr son of Redthu of the Sharp Eye, Kin of the House of the Firebeards, has something to say about your future…"

VVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Arwen looked at him searchingly and Finglamir was suddenly reminded of his companion's illustrious ancestors; Melian the Maia and Luthien Tinuviel, Thingol's daughter. He saw the piercing glance of Galadriel reflected in her granddaughters face, and a profound shudder of fear raced through him at her glance.

She spoke very quietly "My brothers will be taking a hunting party outside the valley in a few days … you ought to go with them - act while you still have time…"

Two days later he was traveling with Eladan and Elrohir, working their way outside the Valley and all the time he could not help but think as he tugged at his riding gloves, his eyes suddenly sparkling with unbidden memories of the dark haired mortal and their secret forests trysts at the edges of Thranduil's realm - he had secretly dreamed of the many opportunities to surely 'accidentally' meet someone all unexpected in an empty corner of a remote hamlet or on a quiet woodland pathway? A breeze blew past with the taste of snow still lingering in the air. A storm was coming.

VVVVVVVVVV

Thorin left the colonies without any great ceremony, Dis had finally stopped nagging him and Balin seemed to have calmed down too - no doubt Dwalin had had a word with his brother. While he was not happy about misleading his kin, he felt a sudden genuine relief upon starting out and felt calm and content as he traveled towards Bree. In an attempt to make better time he travelled in a party with a few merchants, and some families of men traveling to their scattered villages to celebrate the remainder of the winter holidays. The weather was cool with intermittent rain - but not as bad as it had been when he had initially discovered Morwen. He smiled gently as he thought about her and the circumstances of the storm that had brought them together. He was wrapped in his own thought as a small man child chatted with his even younger sibling about various myths and folktales …

Never go out alone in a bad snow – you'll get lost and then the Hudrizschy will find you - they bring you in out of the storm but then they trap you – so you can never be free. Even if you escape them you will always hanker after them and look for them and never rest wherever its wintertime…" the little boy was startled into silence by the piercing look he received from the dark haired dwarf seated near him in the cart. And older woman put her hand on the child's shoulder and whispered for him to be quiet.

"I'm sorry master – he's just excitable." She said apologetically.

Thorin's face was inscrutable, but after a moment he leaned closer to the boy

"How can you tell what these Hoodreeeche look like?" he asked very quietly. The boy's eyes were as big as saucers as he stuttered out - "They … they have feet like bird claws …"

Thorin stared at the boy very seriously indeed…"And how do they trap you?"

"They steal your heart." The little boy replied pounding his fist to his chest and then drawing it out as if to examine the remains of the organ while making a loud popping noise… "See?"

Thorin wouldn't ever want to admit it, but Dwarves tend towards being a wee bit superstitious - and for a few moments he pondered that there might possibly be something otherworldly - that something unfathomed might have had a hand in his meeting Morwen. Then, as he reflected on the fact that her feet were perfectly appropriate and not at all talon like, he had to admit that she did possess his heart. Well he would woo her and then she would give him her heart - and that would be a fair exchange. At the hired wagon approached the Last Bridge he paid his fee and collected his bundles. From here to Thandlon was only an hour or two and it would be late afternoon by the time he reached the old hall - halfway before the Swanfleet meets the Greyflood.

As he approached the northwestern gates of Thandlon he noticed an older dwarf moving in the opposite direction with a large wolf dog drawing a seljet (travois) frame. He was a handsome fellow with silvery white hair cocoa coloured skin and a most magnificent nose, and for a second Thorin felt terribly insecure.

"Greetings Elder." He intoned quietly.

"Aye - greetings to you friend"

The other dwarf nodded as they paused out of respect. The elder's accent was clipped and precise and with a tendency to gently trill his "r's" and carefully pronounce his "t's" – He was from one of the southern mountain ranges, Thorin guessed. They stood quietly together as two unfamiliar dwarves were wont to do. Normally he would have simply announced himself as "of Durin's kin" but as he was incognito he kept his eyes averted and after a moment he drew out his pipe and a small bag of pipe weed.

"Share a pipe with me ?"

The southern dwarf smiled and drew out from his long coat a silvery beech wood pipe with a carefully carved stem and a broad shallow bowl. Thorin passed him the bag first and watch him gently fill his pipe and with a deft gesture he passed his own pouch back to Thorin on top of Thorin's bag. He took some of the older dwarves' sweet subtle blend and nodded. By the time he'd filled his pipe the elder had lit his pipe and offered a flame to the younger, an exchange - a good sign.

Ve watched the dark haired stranger out the corner of his eye – He was an unfortunate looking fellow, it was true, but he wouldn't hold that against him. After a bit, the younger traveler interrupted Ve's revelry.

"Where are you headed to, Elder?"

"Working my way toward the colonies in Ered Luin - always keeping an eye out for a good opportunity… Do you know the area?"

"The Colonies are prospering."

"I'm also keeping an eye out looking for a particular craftsman – saw some of his workmanship and I wanted a word with him – a member of Thrane's sons guard."

"What craft? Was the work shoddy or flawed?" Thorin felt himself bristle, but tried unsuccessfully to disguise his reaction.

"No, no – but he needs to know something important and I need to tell him… So where are you bound?" Ve replied quietly looking in the general direction that the dwarf had come, and tapped the stem of his pipe on his teeth.

"Looking for work wherever I can find it…"

Ve scrutinized the younger traveler. "Aye… well the Firebeards of the White Mountains protect their own…" He didn't say anything more – he had a feeling he'd been fully understood.

Thorin pondered the words of the southern dwarf. "Who has offended the Firebeards?" he stated quietly.

"No one– yet … I just want to insure that everything is handled properly." The older dwarf, having finished his pipe tapped the bowl on the side of his foot and tipped the ashes by the northern side of a large stone. He turned and smiled brightly at Thorin, who was brooding and still smoking. Ve noticed his companion's radiant sapphire eyes, currently slightly unfocused, and sensed the intensity and charisma of the wanderer. He felt a prickling on the hairs at the back of his neck.

"Good fortune friend." Ve stated as he stroked Gryma's patient head and turned to go.

"Wait."

Ve, having taken a few steps, glanced back at the other dwarf. He'd drawn himself up to his full height (Morwen was right, he was quite tall) his legs were slightly spread and his weight distributed evenly, and his head was held high with pride and dignity. "No disrespect will be tolerated to the Firebeards." He spoke in a deep penetrating voice – it was quiet, but Ve doubted that even the deafest of Dwarves might have missed that statement.

Then Thorin bowed to him, a clean slow bow – a sign of genuine respect and deference. Again the hairs on the back of Ve's head seemed to tingle and he set his hand to his heart in silent reply. The younger dwarf nodded, quietly collected his bundle and turned to enter the city gates.

"It would appear that my wee niece has very good taste!" Ve murmured to Gryma as they walked northward, away from Thandlon.

Thorin hurried through the town although he stopped at the Merchants Guild hall to declare that Eikenskjaldi the Smith hadreturned and was available to contract out. He noted that no one had registered any complaints about his work and indeed a few customers had even posted signs complimenting his labour. Working his way towards the southern gate he heard a familiar voice, it was one of the cheese makers. He'd helped to repair some of their curding tanks and restored a damaged oven. Doucette – a young apprentice originally from Far Harad with golden brown skin and almost blue black hair waved eagerly at him.

"Master Smith" – she cried out - and approached him.

"Greetings." Thorin struggled to remember her name but before he could finish she spoke again.

"I'm so happy that you've returned - are you going back to the widow Morwens hall? We have to stop there with supplies - won't you join us?" she gestured to the wagon and Thorin considered himself lucky at the offer. Doucette wrapped in a huge heavy coat and massive boots sat down next to Imogen, another of the apprentices, who seemed utterly indifferent to the weather in her simple kirtle and shawl, while Thorin settled into the back of the cart and within two hours they were approaching the hall. Before they got there Thorin asked them to stop.

"You good merchants go and make your deliveries - but don't tell Morwen that you've seen me. I want to surprise her." Doucette shrugged her shoulders- as far as anyone could tell under the layers of cloth - but Imogen smiled knowingly. They let him out of the cart and continued on while he waited just beyond the hill. Soon they had exchanged tubs of cheese and yoghurt for cases of mead and honey then they departed quickly having explained to Morwen that there were other deliveries to make.

Once the supplies were delivered, Morwen watched Doucette & Imogen ride off. She found herself lost in thought - until she heard the crunching of boots and turned to see Eikenskjaldi approaching with an almost bashful smile on his face. How she'd missed him and she felt herself eager to squeal with joy and leap into his arms - it felt as if her heart was in her throat. But before she could move – or speak or act at all - he spoke.

"I love you, my Morwen."

"Welcome home - my love."

What more was there to say?