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CHAPTER TWO
Araniel sat motionless on the edge of the bed as she stared up at the night sky. She could not sleep and it would not do to toss and turn.
She knew she had almost slipped up after hearing the Dwarves sing. But she could not speak her fears nor goals until she was absolutely certain that their Arkenstone was indeed that stone that she was after. A stone that could bring Káno back. Hours passed as she sat there, her mind reaffirming her thoughts.
One shining light in the night sky outshone all the others in the sky and she knew it was not one of Varda's stars. Scowling, she moved to a small table where a brush lay. She unbound her dark hair and let the brush run through the waves that fell past her hips.
Daybreak would be on them soon, she thought, as she slowly plaited the thick bundle and tied it back with a leather band. The bright red light from the sunrise filtered through the window and the light reflected on her open palms.
For a split second, the light stained her hands red, the same red of the blood of her kin. Kinslayer. She growled and stood up and just as quickly, let her mind pass from the unpleasant moments of the past.
She made quick business of removing her cotton slip and loose pants and slipping on a far more practical tunic and dark pants.
Araniel welcomed the warm sunshine on her face as she made her way towards the Dwarves and Mithrandir who were busy reading their steeds.
"Where's the Halfing?"
Mithrandir turned to her, "I cannot speak for Bilbo and whether he will be accompaning us to Erebor."
A Naugrim, Dwarf, with a rather large hat piped up, "Twenty coins for you lads! I say he shows up!", his accent thick as some other of his companions shouted agreement while others raised the prices on Bilbo not appearing.
Voronwe, her horse stood among the others, a tall steed with a handsome chestnut coat. Well was he named the swift one. Araniel mounted him, now laden with several packs that would be needed for the journey.
As the Dwarf King moved the Company out of Bag End, she turned back and looked at the smial. From her understanding, a burglar was needed to retrieve the Arkenstone. Not that it'll be needed if I succeed, she thought darkly.
"And you, lass?"
The voice of the same Dwarf with the large hat, Bofur, yes, that was his name had called to her. She lifted her head in question.
"And what's your bet? Is Bilbo goin' to turn up this fine day, then?"
Araniel spread her hands out in a gesture of truth, "I have nothing to part with, this fine day, Master Dwarf. I'll just watch some of you lose money."
Another Dwarf with eyebrows so long, it had been incorporated into his hair lifted his head. "An' what about that ring? Worth a pretty sum of coin, I'll say."
He was met with the ridicule of Dwarves, "Eh, Nori?" "Course, you'll be looking to make a profit?" "Like the betting pool ain't already rigged."
Araniel turned a swift glare onto Nori. "I don't think so."
The ring in question was a pretty piece. Silver that had been coiled and an eight pointed star adorned by small rubies had been inlaid in the middle of the ring, it was all that she had left of her husband.
And to think that she would bet with it!
They had been riding for about twenty minutes before a voice rang out. "Wait!"
The arrival of the Halfling brought the Company's slow pace to a stop. She could make out the figure puffing towards them, a parchment fully unrolled and flapping in the wind.
Araniel felt a twitch at the side of her mouth as many of the Dwarves groaned at their lost bets.
One of the more age ridden Dwarves, Balin, pulled up the contract and examined it with a close eye. She had not received a contract as such, the Dwarf King had pulled her aside to tell her of the contract that he would get Balin to write and the terms covered.
But Mithrandir had taken one look at her stony face at the thought of any type of sworn oath or binding document and told the Dwarf that it would not be necessary and left with a warning look in her direction.
Balin smiled kindly, "Welcome, Bilbo Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."
Araniel set her horse to a calm canter as the Halfing was given a pony despite his earnest requests.
Small bags started flying over their heads as the Dwarves started giving in their bets, some ending with triumphant shouts at the considerable coin while others moaning the loss.
Bilbo looked up at Mithrandir quizzically. "The Dwarves took bets on whether you would turn up or not."
"And you?", Bilbo said.
In amusement, Araniel watched, as a leather bag flew into Mithrandir's hand as he chuckled, "My dear fellow, I never doubted you."
It seemed the Halfing took this is great stride and they rode on in silence which was soon interrupted by an awkward hacking sound coming from Bilbo.
Allergies, she thought, something that mortals definitely seemed to suffer from.
"Oh, horse hair," the Halfing lamented. He started rifling around in his pocket before a look of shock and pain overcame his face that Araniel turned fully in concern.
Surely, allergies could not affect mortals thus.
"Master Baggins, are you alright?"
The Halfing shook his head, before turning to Mithrandir, "Stop! We have to turn back!"
The Maiar paused in alarm as the rest of the Company stopped. The Dwarf King looked suitably peeved.
"I forgot my handkerchief!"
Peels of laughter and snickering broke out among the Dwarves and Araniel scoffed in mirth. Handkerchiefs, a frivolous issue, though Bilbo looked rather put off.
She offered the Halfing a small smile before turning Voronwe away as she heard Mithrandir tell him, "You will have to manage without pocket-handkerchiefs, and a good many other things, Bilbo Baggins, before we reach your journey's end."
The Shire was a beautiful place, it held a still calm punctuated only by the soft wind blowing through and the warm light streaming and lighting the land with a golden caress.
As she felt rode on, she allowed her thoughts to move away from the present. These lands reminded her so much of Eldamar, further in the South of Aman, where many would ride to the Forests of the Hunter.
She reminisced on a particular time where she rode with her family as a young elfing.
Her mother, Tinwiel, was a great beauty of the Third clan of the Eldar with her crisp, white curls and full lips, the traits coming from her father, Olwe and her mother Nendis, Queen of the Teleri.
She had taken all by surprise by bonding with Nandion, son of Tanwon, a Noldorin scholar, a tall, dark haired ellon and they had three children, Araniel, Mistion and Eatarmo.
Araniel had been their eldest daughter, prideful but nurturing and a renowned healer and a suitable athlete among the Teleri. Her anessi had been Vayanis, woman of the sea, for as a child she would frequent the shores of Alqualonde and Uinen herself, had once saved her life in her early years.
Mistion had always been the quieter son, he found the presence of words comforting and he saw the world far differently than the other Eldar.
His focus had been determined and passionate on great works and he had often been fascinated by how things worked, the nature of the world and the creatures that walked upon it.
However, there were difficulties that came close behind with these clever gifts.
Mistion had been clumsy at times, he occasionally would lose his words, nor did he enjoy company other than his family or loved ones, and he had not been able to handle bright lights or loud noises.
The overstimulation had been uncomfortable, and sometimes painful for him. But he had been called Turanindo, he of a great mind.
Shortly after Araniel's marriage to Káno, he had married Nyarte, sister-daughter of Anaire, wife of Fingolfin of the Noldor.
Eatarmo had been the youngest who had inherited their mother's hair, both colouring and curls as well as the eyes that would flash silver as opposed to his siblings who had their father's mahogany eyes.
He had been called Teldala, the last laugh, known for his quick wit, easy smile and jokes. He had stayed in Alqualonde and had never left the city.
Araniel smiled to herself, someday, she knew, she hoped, that the Exile would be lifted, and she would return home to see Eatarmo charming the whole city with a flash of his smile and Mistion with his new stories and ideas, dark eyes sparkling.
The day was growing darker, but not due to the time. Clouds were gathering up ahead and Araniel knew they would soon have to stop lest they get soaked.
As the first sprinkles started falling, she fell into ride with the Dwarf King who also looked far in thought.
"How are you, Master Oakenshield?"
The Dwarf turned to her, eyes glazed with mistrust. "I am well enough, why do you ask?
Araniel frowned, something about the Dwarf seemed off. "Your fea, Master Oakenshield.", at the Dwarf's confused look, "Your spirit, I meant to say. You are worried and there is something gnawing at you."
"Pray, Elf, please do not try to look at my spirit again."
She then smiled, "I shall endeavour not to."
The Dwarf turned his head away again before turning back, "Why are you here?"
That caught her off guard, "I'm sorry?"
He tipped his dark mane, "Why are you here on this journey, Elf?", his words biting off at the ends, "Why are you really here?"
Araniel narrowed her eyes, "Why I am really here?", she turned away from him, "Can I not offer my services to those I need?
She patted Nenar, her steel sword, strapped to her waist, "I am rather good with this."
The Dwarf King raised his eyebrow, "A sell sword, perhaps? You must have been paid rather well."
She growled, "I'm not here for payment, Dwarf."
"Indeed?"
"Why are you so angry?," Araniel fixed the dwarf with a stern look.
The Dwarf glared at her, "I am not full of rage, Elf."
Araniel shook her head, "Yes, you are. Your spirit is so tangled with worry for those whom you care about, you are protective and shut anyone else out especially those who think with slight against the tragedy of your people."
In light of that, Araniel knew she should not have entered the Dwarf's mind without permission but she knew that she had hit close.
"What do you know of tragedy? Of the sorrows that befell my people?"
Araniel prodded further against the spirit of the Heir of Durin. She was no Artanis when it came to this skill, the Lady Galadriel was immensely talented with affairs of the mind and soul but all Elves who came from the Undying Lands could measure up against this power.
"I know enough. Many of my own people and those who I loved where stricken by grief. Some where taken in by the Enemy and tormented to a shell, others committed deeds of unforgivable brutality and never recovered, their words twisted into sorrow", Araniel spoke, pain clipping each of her words.
The Dwarf looked bewildered, "When did this happen?" He blinked, "Who are you?"
Araniel titled her head, "I am a Teleri, the tales of my people happened in another age, taken by the sea."
The Dwarf now had an expression of one who was now rather put out, and Araniel released her tense shoulders, the Dwarf hopefully would not question her further and she hoped that perhaps they could come to an understanding.
"I offer my apologies, Elf", the Dwarf spoke, "I spoke hastily for the warning in my heart."
Araniel smiled, "Accepted, truly, Master Oakenshield, I mean no ill."
They rode on in quiet silence, indeed, as comfortable as it could get through the heavy rain soon punctuated by a Dwarf yelling at Mithrandir asking if he could perform some action about the deluge.
To which the Maiar had a scathing reply to and to her great delight, the Halfing offered something far more biting concerning the Istari.
Several hours later, the rain was starting to ease and she rode back to Mithrandir, "Can we not rest soon, Mithrandir?" Araniel spoke, "The cold, I can handle, it is nothing new to one who lived on the cliffs of Alqualonde, but it is this constant feeling of being wet."
Mithrandir turned an eye on her, "Journeying is hard enough without the constant griping of a rain begotten elleth, so please, kindly, stay quiet and we may find rest soon."
She sniffed in hopes of reaching for some far hidden dignity as a High Elven Lady such as herself did, once thinking them so mighty in thought but realising they were under the gaze of one of the Ainur. Clever wit or not, one would not trifle with a grumpy Maiar.
The rain cleared and as afternoon started to fade away and Arien set her gazes lower around Arda, the Dwarves stopped to make camp.
Climbing off Voronwe, she took off her cloak and rung it out several times before draping it over the saddle. As she led her horse over to the other ponies, she could make out the sounds of Mithrandir and the Dwarf King arguing as well as the other of his kin chatting and soon, an ill smell wafted close to her.
Retching, she made her way over the Dwarves and then, she realised what the smell was. A string of smoke from the Dwarves' pipes reached her.
"What on Arda is that?" She coughed.
The strong smell that felt harsh on her throat continued to circulate around her. "Tis, pipeweed!", one piped up!
"It's horrendous," she griped but she was only met with laughter and the tall Dwarf, with the bald head and the tattooed pate chuckling, "Elves, no accounting for taste."
Grumbling, she inched further over to a tree and sat there, her sore muscles resting as the smell of dinner wafted over, far more pleasant the burnt plants.
As the sun dipped over the horizon, one of the younger Dwarves, with golden hair and a facial hair plaited, came over, a wooden bowl in his hand.
"Here you go, Miss."
"Thank you kindly," she paused, "And what may I call you?"
"Fili."
Araniel nodded, "Thank you, Fili." She peered into the bowl, a stew with potatoes and meat chunks. She stood up, "Fili, I'm incredibly sorry but I do not eat meat."
"Elves don't eat meat?!", the Dwarf sounded incredulous.
"No, Fili, many Elves eat meat but I'm a Teleri, we do not eat meat. Fish, perhaps, but not meat."
"Oh, that's just strange," he paused, ears turning red, "No offence, Miss."
She laughed, "No offence has been taken."
Fili smiled, "Well, let's go to Bombur and see what he has."
Her question on who Bombur was died on her lips as she noted that he was the rotund, cheery Dwarf who had become the chef of this Company.
"Hello, Bombur," Fili started, "She doesn't eat meat."
The Dwarf's blue eyes widened as he folded his fingers together, "I see, lass, is there anything else I can get for you?"
Araniel felt almost embarrassed at the Dwarf's eagerness to help, "Nay, Master Bombur. I would dislike to be a burden."
"Oh, it's nothing! We have some baked bread, cram, if you please and I can whip something up in a jiffy."
She nodded, "That would be splendid. I am perfectly content with the bread and the potatoes in the stew."
The Dwarf nodded, pleased, as he went to retrieve the cram.
As Araniel sat back in her spot, she chewed the cram. It was no lembas but it still was rather filling and then she noticed something strange.
Mithrandir was missing. As was the Halfing. And the two young Dwarves.
And the Dwarf King was looking rather displeased. It most likely had to do with the row he had with the Maiar earlier.
A scuffle drew her attention, Fili and another Dwarf with wild, scruffy hair.
The latter spoke, "They've got Bilbo!"
Araniel started, "Who?"
"Trolls!," Fili exclaimed, "There's three of them!"
The Dwarves immediately moved, some drawing out weapons and she followed, Nenar glinting in the dull moonlight.
Their leader thundered, "Lead us there."
The two Dwarves shared a look of trepidation and moved quickly through the thicket of forest.
To think on it, Araniel had not seen trolls since the Battle of Dagor Dagorlad, the Enemy had breeded thousands of ugly and misshapen beasts that were a mockery of the legendary Tree-Herders.
As the clearing came into view, the Halfing seemed to be…dealing with them? But it was too late to observe the happenings, as the Dwarves leaped into action, a cry on their lips as they ran straight for the Trolls' legs.
Araniel followed, Nenar moving swiftly and lightly in her hand like its namesake, sea mist. She drove the sword past the calves of the smallest Troll who cried out in pain as the blade moved back, a slice against the stone-grey skin.
Ducking underneath, she noticed around her, the Dwarves were intense fighters. Some fought with blades, though far more fanciful than her own and others with axes, swirling the steel in a deadly whirl. Bombur fought rather effectively with a ladle inspired weapon, the heavy end clumping against a Troll.
Even Fili's companion, the wild haired one, fought with a bow and arrow, rather unpopular among the Dwarves, the weapon producing a sharp twang as it hit it's mark.
The Trolls were slowly being overpowered, and Araniel paused to take a breath. As many of the Dwarves grew lax with their weapons, a cry caught her ears.
The Halfing was being held by his arms between the hands of the largest Troll. Everyone moved to a still, the silence deadly.
"Lay down 'er arms, or I'll rip 'is off!"
Araniel scowled as the other Dwarves and a bitter Dwarf King threw their weapons down, soon following with her spiking Nenar into the soil.
They were rounded up and she had yelled at the indignity as one of the Trolls had lifted her promptly and tied her up in a sack of rough hessian before throwing her down on to the pile of squirming Dwarves.
Out of her whole lifespan on both Aman and Arda, Araniel, the Lady of the Teleri, had never been slighted so. This was not her finest moment.
A strange memory flashed in her mind. Several Elves sat around a camp fire, one standing up, his golden hair highlighted by silver strands, glinting in the light of the flames. It was the First Age.
"We ran into some trolls too, in the week just past this one!" Tyelkormo said, waving his arms with theatrical gusto.
"Great, large and ugly brutes they were!" Curufinwe piped in.
Nelyo laughed, a rough and hoarse sound, "I take it there was some sympathy then. Some feeling of familiarity?'
This had set the whole group in mirth save for the two offended before Fingon spoke, "So how did you get free?"
Tyelkormo shrugged, "Luck. And immeasurable skill too!"
Curufinwe shook his head, "They disarmed us and tied us up in sacks. But they are not so above us, they were rather dim and left us near our weapons."
Araniel scoffed, "They tied you up in sacks?"
"Make no mistake, Vayanis, they are vicious in terms of their sacks. Káno should compose a ballad for our bravery," Tyelkormo declared.
Káno grinned, "Indeed. Brothers, your brave sojourns shall be heard by all."
Now in the present, Araniel wished that the trolls that captured their groups were as dull as the ones who ensnared Celegorm and Curufin. Their weapons were on the other side of the camp, far too much to crawl.
But she praised the Valar, she was not one of the more unfortunate Dwarves to have been tied to a rotating spit over the fire.
The Trolls seemed to be deep in discussion as to how they were going to consume the group.
"Well, I say we eat the small 'uns first!", one Troll spoke, his nasally voice ringing, "A starter!"
One troll lifted a finger in her direction, "What about the Elf? They're nice."
The others seemed to be considering the possibility.
"All right, but cut the ears off first, I don't like Elf ears."
Araniel gaped in horror, her ears! She squirmed further but there was not much room.
A Troll picked up Bombur, who was yelling and moving, his beard loose and flying.
"Stop! You are making a grave mistake!" The Halfing piped up, standing up in his sack to face the Trolls.
The Troll paused, Bombur was so close to their mouth.
"You what?"
The Halfling shook her head, "You can't eat them!"
He was met with yells of the Dwarves, "Well, no kidding!"
A Troll leaned down, "And why not, flurgburgler?" Araniel felt her face twist with confusion, she could hardly tell what was going on.
"They're…" the Halfing paused, "They're…" He shifted, "They're infected!"
"Parasites, they are. Horrible business, I wouldn't risk it. I really wouldn't." Araniel had to grin, the Halfing was a good actor and at his face as he spoke, she chuckled. If they got out of this alive, he was an Elf Friend.
Unfortunately, the Dwarves seemed to not think so. Fili yelled in indignation as did Nori and many of the other Dwarves, who countered with "We don't have parasites, you have parasites!"
The Halfling rolled his eyes, "No, you have parasites."
The Dwarf King seemed to catch on and with a swift kick, the Dwarves had a change of tune.
"I have parasites!"
"I've got the biggest parasites! Mine are the biggest!"
"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"
The Trolls blinked and pointed at her again, "And wha' about you, Elf?"
Araniel hesitated, "I have parasites too?" she offered weakly and then realised her mistake.
She was an Elf, she didn't get parasites and the Trolls realised it too!
"They're lyin', all of 'em! The Elf can't get worms and she said she did!"
The other Trolls seemed to agree, "Just take them all!"
A thunderous voice rolled over the clearing, one that would have shaped the world in Ainulindale and rung out, one that belonged a Maiar.
"The dawn shall take you all!"
And with that, Mithrandir stood upon the cliffs and his staff touched stone, breaking off the cliffside and sun light streamed through the glade. Sunlight. Sunlight turned Trolls to stone. She twisted and watched as the light hit the Trolls, their skin drying and becoming that off the earth, all silenced.