So, all of the poems/songs in this fic are my own. Although I'm not as accomplished a poet as the Master himself, I hope that they add to your enjoyment.

Fili crouched down by the fire and rested his hands on his knees. Kili was still frowning at him, and he would not sit down. He kept his hand on his sword and kicked the snow at his feet restlessly. Betta was silent as she stared into the fire.

"This woman is, as you have guessed, from the southern lands of Gondor," Fili went on. "My brother and I dwell in the mountains of Ered Luin with our folk. Her family is dead, and she came to us seeking dwarves to open a box that was an heirloom of her father and a relic of older days.

"For a small fee, we agreed to do this work for her. We opened the box and inside we found a riddle and a map to the answer that would be found in the far north. The woman was determined to go in search of it and, for reasons of our own, my brother and I agreed to join her quest and guard her on the journey. As you have said, the northern lands are dangerous; she needed protection and we were eager for adventure."

Fili glanced sideways at Betta, but her face was unreadable. Kili stood by and said nothing, but Fili saw disappointment on his brother's face. He knew that neither of them agreed with him that he had revealed so much of their story. He thought half of it strange, at least, for it was usually Kili who was too quick to trust.

Harandir listened carefully to Fili's words. His eyes were narrowed, but he did not question the truth of what he said. "If answers are all that you seek," the Ranger said, "then I will aid you in what small measure I can. I know the lay of the land, but I also know something of the history of Arnor and the peoples that once lived along its boarders. Will you show me your heirloom box?" He turned his eyes to Betta.

She did not answer and looked long into the fire until the dwarves wondered if she had not heard the question. Fili considered taking out the box for her, since he knew where it was kept, but he did not dare to move that close to her. He saw that under her cloak her hand was on her knife.

"You say that your people are called Rangers in this land," Betta said, speaking finally. "I have heard that title before, though I have not been long in Eriador and have not met anyone here by that name."

Harandir nodded. "You speak of the Rangers of the south, of Ithilien," he said. "I must confess that I know very little of them. Our peoples have been long sundered, and it has been many, many years since I have walked within sight of the Gap. My home is in the north, and I have never been to Gondor."

He leaned towards her and his eyes were eager. "Have you seen the Great River, then? And the White Tower of Ecthelion? I have heard that it is fair indeed, like a sculpted spear of white silver thrust into the sky."

"Fair indeed," Betta echoed, and she nodded. "Yes, I suppose that it is, but I prefer the yellow fields and blue rivers of my home. Anduin is as great as the old tales tell, but I would rather see again many small rivers and breathe the scent of the sea as it is carried over green hills upon the wind."

"You speak of Lebennin, I guess. I have heard it described in many songs." Harandir smiled and then, to the surprise of the dwarves, he began to sing in a quiet voice.

Fair Lebennin by the Sea
The five streams of Lebennin

Brightest blue Erui runs wild and free
Beside my Fair Lebennin
Serni runs swiftly over green grasses
That grow tall in Lebennin
Powerful and fair runs Gilraen there
On the hills of Lebennin
Sirith runs laughing, and Celos runs sweet
Through my land of Lebennin

The five streams of Lebennin
Fair Lebennin by the Sea

Betta smiled as the last verse ended. Her mother had used to sing that rhyme when she washed clothes in the brook near their farm; the stream was a tribute to a tribute that flowed into Sirith many miles away. It was an old rhyme but one that Betta had nearly forgotten, for she had not heard it in many years.

"You have given your name," she said to Harandir, "but you have not asked for mine. I will not speak for my companions; for that is not my right," she said this with a sharp glance at Fili, "but gladly now I tell you that I was called Anbeth when I lived in the land of your song. Now I am only Betta, but if you will aid me in my search, then I will be happily at your service."

Kili stared at her as she spoke, and Fili frowned, for a new voice seemed to come from her that was younger and less wary than the woman that they knew. Her words were strangely twisted in an accent that she had only hinted at before. Fili guessed that she must have deliberately taken on the speech patterns of the north during her travels; that, and learning that she had kept her true name a secret, woke his suspicions again, and he thought it bitter that she had told Harandir her true name before he and his brother knew it.

Kili, however, was smiling and shaking his head at himself for not having guessed this riddle before. Dwarves have their own names in the secret language that they use only among themselves and, though it was not a custom of Men that he knew, Betta had always introduced herself by saying that it was a name that her brothers had called her.

"You have a gift for words, Anbeth," Harandir said, "but I will call you by the name that you have taken. Betta, may I see the heirloom box? I would repay your trust with the best council that I can give, and that cannot be given until I know more of what it is for which you search."

The box was in the bag that sat nearest to her, and she retrieved it with her left arm. She was about to stand, to carry it around the fire to Harandir, but Kili stopped her.

"Let me," he said. "You may trust the Man, but I am still wary." He took the box and delivered it himself, keeping his hand on his sword. He did not really think that the Ranger was dangerous, but he was not willing to risk Betta's life, and he knew that Fili was still frowning at the man.

Harandir took the box and looked at the shapes in the steel. "I recognize this mark," he said, touching a sign that had been stamped on the inside surface of the lid. "I have seen it carved in stone somewhere that I cannot now remember. It was a long time ago when I was very young."

"Then it is of no help to us," Fili said, standing upright again. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Tell us what you know, not things that you cannot remember."

Harandir examined the box closely, but he shook his head. "There is nothing that I can tell you about this that would be new to you," he said. "I am not so bold as to instruct a dwarf in metalwork. Is there anything else you might show me?"

Fili frowned and felt the weight of the pearl in his pocket, but he found himself hesitating to give up that treasure. He knew that Betta carried the map with her, close to her skin, and so he said instead, "There was a map that was inside the box; perhaps you will not be so reluctant as to instruct us in that."

Betta looked up, and she was surprised. She had not reminded them of the map, thinking that Fili would wish to keep it a secret. Even a child could guess that it was a map to treasure, and Harandir was not a child but a wise man. She did not think that Fili would risk his profit by handing over every clue that they had, but if this was the choice he made, then she would not disagree. She would have handed over box, map and all if it meant spending one day less in the snow. Besides, she did not really believe that the Ranger could read what was written on the pages.

She had to move her right arm to retrieve the leather envelope from under her shirt and, doing that, she pulled at the bandaged injury there. If Harandir saw the pain on her face, he gave no sign. Kili took the map and once more made his way around the fire to hand it to the Ranger who accepted the pages politely and turned them over in his hands.

He looked long at the writing on the back, and his eyes moved back and forth over the small lines of elvish letters as if reading them. Betta began to doubt how much of it he could understand. The uncommon language written in common letters was old and, though it was similar to some of the dialects spoke in Gondor, it was also very much unlike them. Her father had learned it from his father and had taught it to his sons. Betta had learned it listening at doorways, which had proved lucky when all of her brothers had died in war and she was the only one left to carry on the line.

And yet, as Harandir searched the pages for meaning, he would look up at her now and again with a frown, as if he did understand them. Betta thought of what was written there, the hints of a dark betrayal that lay upon her father's family line, and she felt naked in the dark, shivering.

Fili saw the looks that Harandir gave their guide, and he did not like them; he saw her pale and anxious face and he scowled. He did not like the happy way that the man had spoken with her regarding her homeland, but even more, he did not like to see any member of their small company made more uncomfortable than all of them already were. He regretted bringing up the map. He regretted inviting the stranger into their camp. Why had he done such a foolish thing? Did he not know that all of his choices would go ill on this journey?

The night about them was growing dark and a shadow passed over Fili's face. Without knowing what he did, his hand fell to his axe again.

In the grand tradition of bitting off more than you can chew, I've started a second fic before this one is finished. "That'll Be the Door" will be a series of events in the life of Dwalin with guest appearances by his brother Balin (and others). I thought I'd cross-promote a bit, but don't worry, QtF is still my main focus and will continue to be updated regularly.

Review! Review! ;-)

-Paint