The mist was cold and damp and smelled of the grave, but Betta held up her head defiantly and kept her eyes on the few stars bright enough to shine through the thick clouds above her. Every dozen yards or so, she would look down and around her to be sure that she was not walking toward some obstacle or nearing a edge of a cliff, but it was mainly to the stars that she looked for guidance and by their light she found her way. She kept the steeper slope upon her left hand and her right hand was clenched at her side, holding on to hope as if it were a thread to guide her through the labyrinth the mist wove before her.

Many nights she had spent under the stars, and although they were not exactly where they had been over Lebennin during the gentle evenings of her childhood, they were still her old friends. Without them the grasping fingers of the mist might have caught her and led her to despair.

And yet, the night was still bitterly cold. She wrapped her scarf around her hood to keep out the wind, and only her eyes looked out from between the folds of cloth. This was her land, she told herself again and again as each deep drift struggled to hold her sinking feet and each burst of strong wind pushed her back from her goal. This was the land of her father's fathers, and she refused to be troubled by its ghosts or the whispers of the wind.

She had no way of knowing that it was those same ghosts and whispers that would harry the dwarves and lead them on false paths, slowing their pursuit of her.

"There is a land far over sea, where green is grass and leaf of tree," Betta sang softly to herself. "Where stars are bright, and silver light will shine a path from there to me…"

Her voice was strong, but she felt a growing sadness in her heart. Kili had been sleeping peacefully when she left the camp, and she had smiled, knowing that he would easily forget her for the next quest that presented itself. She could not say how Fili would feel when he woke and found her gone: relieved or angry. He had been sleeping as well, but fitfully and wrapped in bad dreams. His face had been turned to the wall and she had not been able to look at him.

It was for the best, she told herself. If she had seen his troubled face, she might not have been able to leave him. She would have woken him from his nightmares to comfort him, and then he would have known that she had planned to leave in secret. He would have tried once more to convince her to give up the quest, and she was not sure that she would have been able to say no to him a second time.

She shook her head and walked on; it was too late now to regret. After spending so many years to the quest, after coming so close to the end of her journey, if she gave up now, then she would regret. She would regret it for the rest of her life. And if she allowed herself to be led out of the north, she would forever resent the dwarf that had convinced her to go.

No, she had come too far. She must see this through to the end, and then…

But the dwarves would find a safer road. They would not know that she had gone until the sun was up and daylight shone cheerfully upon them. They would count themselves lucky that she had left them and, in time, even Fili would realize that it was all for the best. The brothers would return to their mountains and the family that they had left behind; they would bring with them many tales and few regrets.

Betta's stomach grumbled at her, angry with her for having set out on the road without a proper breakfast. It had no right to complain – they had eaten a full meal the night before – but she had put several strips of well-cooked meat in her pocket, and she took one out now to chew on for strength, but she did not stop her march.

After the first hour had passed, she felt the land under her feet grow steeper, sloping up toward the hills on her left. She was in mountain country now, and the hills became steep cliffs that rose up high overhead until she could not see the tops of them in the dim light. Even so, it gave her hope. There would be better chance of finding caves for shelter in the mountains than upon hilly ground, and she had left the sturdy, portable shelter behind with the dwarves.

At the end of the second hour of her march, the moon had not yet risen, but she expected to see it soon, and after that would come the sun. She had made good time, and the mist seemed to have given up the hunting of her. It was thinner now, or perhaps it was only that her heart felt lighter the farther she was from the dwarves. When she had first left the camp, her steps had been slow and heavy, her mind still in doubt, but it would take too long to return to them. They would know that she had been gone.

Even so, she felt more comfortable now than when she travelled alone. The responsibility was lifted from her shoulders of guiding others, and the conflict of deciding whether to follow her own will or the will of another was gone. She must follow her own path and be her own guide even if the snowy lands were unknown to her and the bitter cold pained her. She must be content to be alone.

These things and many others she told herself on that long march, and much of it was true, but there was much more besides that she did not say and many feelings that she kept secret within her heart. What good was there in looking back? She must look ahead and be wary. There was danger in the mountains, and she no longer had dwarves to protect her from it.

Her hunger grew, and she began to look out for a sheltered place to rest and to determine her future course. Through the mist, she saw a darker shadow near the cliffs and approached it slowly, her knife in her hand and her ears open for any noise. The mist and snow seemed to deaden all sound, and even her own steps were muffled, but she trusted the silence and walked forward.

She reached the cliff face and found a narrow cleft in the rock, split it seemed to have been by the frozen temperatures. Remembering the shallow cave where she had hidden from orcs between the hills of Evendim, Betta listened long before venturing inside – caves in the mountains were seldom unoccupied, or so she had been told.

The gap was small, but large enough for a small woman to pass through even if she wore a thick coat and carried a pack. The broad shoulders of a dwarf would not have had so easy a time entering the cave beyond.

It grew wider once she passed through the doorway. She walked forward, her hands feeling along the sheer walls on either side of her. The cleft was narrow and did not go far back. At the end, the two sides having been split asunder met again until a thin crack was left between them that only a very thin field mouse could have explored.

Looking up, there was even less to see, and her vision was blurred by the shadows of night blindness, but the cave was not wholly dark. She could see dim shapes in the gloom and so knew that some light at least must enter into it from above. There was no sound or sign of movement. After exploring every inch of stone with her hands, Betta was satisfied that the cave was empty and the narrow gap was the only entrance.

She did find along the right hand wall, a rising pile of broken stone. Searching it with her hands, she was surprised to feel that each stone rose higher than the next and were cut nearly smooth at the top as if there were a staircase. But her hands were not used to seeing and it might only be a natural formation that fooled her in the dark. She sought further and found that each crude step was as wide as two hand spans and as far as she could reach, each step was between one span and two, but no steeper than that. She might climb it with little trouble but for the open side and the risk of a fall.

Exhausted and with her injured arm aching from the work of searching the cave, Betta found a smooth seat on the stone floor and laid out a small fire. Taking out her things, she found what Fili had added to her pack. The thought of his kindness stuck a pin in her heart, but she ignored the pain, lit her fire, and then looked at what he had left her.

The flintbox was his, and held a better stone than her own. The iron skewers were from his cooking gear, made for roasting meat over a fire, and there were some smaller supplies for the healing and bandaging of wounds. There was more meat in her pack than she remembered putting there, and that explained why it had seemed much heavier than she expected when she put it on that morning.

She shook her head at him. How could Fili know that he and his brother would not need these things on their journey south? The truth was in her heart, he had known they would be needed, but he had decided that she would need them more.

She skewered the meat and hung it over the fire, then sat back with her head resting against the wall. She took off her gloves and her hand sought through the braids in her hair for the little, golden bead that hung there.

There had been no time to ask either brother what the gift meant in their culture, but she was glad to have it in memory of him. Her fingers were too cold to feel the fine, cut marks that decorated it, but the metal itself was warm from being held close to her skin by her hood. For a moment, and a moment only, she would allow herself to imagine what could have been. If they had met under other and better circumstances, if it were not for his family and hers, what life might they have built together?

He could not return to his uncle's mountain, but there were mountains enough in the world. Might they not have found even tall, rocky hill in some secluded valley that Fili could carve into a palace for himself and his family? In her mind, Betta delved deep caverns below ground for her husband to furnish with forge and fire. She raised tall towers that stretched up into the sky where she might stand and watch the sun and stars pass overhead. And between them, the cellar and the attic, would be many rooms with walls of stone where they might raise their children and be happy, where there would always be warmth and a bed waiting for Uncle Kili when he came to stay with them…

The smell of burning meat woke her back to herself, and she realized that she had drifted near to sleep. The fire had burned low. It was dangerous to slip into unguarded dreams with the cold outside stalking its prey.

The small cave was full of smoke, but also full of heat, and she was content to eat her breakfast slowly. She ate less than she would have wished, but food was precious now and a full stomach does not travel well.

What would her father say to see her here, shivering and hungry, with his bow on her back?

Not much, she decided. He had said little enough to her when he was alive, unless it were to criticize her womanhood. If his spirit still dwelt within the circles of the world and was able to take a care in the doings of the still-living, he would not waste his time watching her.

But, Betta thought with a smile, her mother would watch over her, and she would pity her daughter and be proud. She blew on her cold fingers and thought hard on all that she had gained and lost in her short life, and especially in the past few weeks. Fate was cruel indeed to offer her love just when she least wanted it, and crueler still to offer love without the hope of home or family.

She had come north seeking answers and treasure, but what had she found but snow and cold? Anwen had always said that her daughter would do great things, but what greatness was there in freezing to death in frigid lands? And yet, Betta knew that her choice was right. This was where she was meant to be, here and now.

There was a fable that her mother used to tell of a fair, white seabird that built its nest upon the steep cliffs of Belfalas near Dol Amroth. The bird had dwelt upon the shores of Middle-earth for long years past, but her nest she built of twigs and grass plucked from the land of Westerness before it sank beneath the sea.

There were many long leagues between this shore and that, and that shore had not even been so far as the fair Elvenhome, but the little bird had flown back and forth, back and forth over the hundreds of leagues of empty ocean waves where there was no land to rest upon. She had endured and finally set the last twig upon its nest, the fairest ever built; there she laid a clutch of precious eggs and rested, content in what she had made for itself. That bird had given no thought to who might see her labor; indeed, the nest was well hidden where none would find it.

That was the lesson of the tale, to set your sights high and complete the task you set for yourself, however difficult. Only if you do that will you be content.

Betta smiled and saw in the tale her own life and the struggles that she had endured. She had not yet come to the end of her path, but she trusted the stars that guided her, her mother and her heart, that she would find a place to rest. Even if her own nest was the blanket of snow outside, she would know that she had done all that she could and not faltered at the final test.

She put another stick on the fire, husbanding her fuel for the future, and in the flickering firelight, she could see more clearly the cave and the strange stairs that she had felt with blind hands. She could not be certain whether it were a feat of nature or primitive hands that had cut the stones, but they rose up and up, one after another, into the seeming dark.

Looking at the stone walls about her, Betta decided that the dwarves had one thing right, at least: she felt far safer here than she would have out in the open land, but she also felt cramped and cold. She looked up the stone stairs and wondered what was above, from what window fell the light that found its way into this hidden cleft?

Why not? She decided, and unbent her stiff knees. She left her pack and bow behind and began the long, slow climb up those steep and treacherous stairs. Her hands felt along the smooth wall, clinging to any hold she could find, but she did not turn back. What was up there? What might she see to guide her on the next leg of her journey? Her map had ceased to give true direction to her quest, and she hoped to find a clue as to where she was and how much farther she had to go.

Thirty feet above the floor, she finally reached the roof of the cave. There, the stone had cracked open and a narrow window let out onto the top of the cliff. Neither dwarf would have been small enough to fit through the gap; Betta doubted whether either of them could have managed the narrow stair. As it was, she had a difficult time squeezing herself through, but she managed it and was soon standing atop the cliff, looking out over a barren, winter landscape.

She tread with careful steps knowing that if the stone had broken open to allow her passage, there may be other cracks through which she might fall, but the ground was firm under her feet, covered with thick ice.

The moon had risen while she was wrapped up in darkness, and it shone down on the snow-covered mountains and hills. Below the cliff, she saw the winding line of the road as it trailed back the way she had come and curved ahead the way that she was going. Not far from where she stood, the road bent round an outcrop of stone and it was yet too dark for her to see whether it reappeared farther on.

She raised her eyes to the distance and there, far out in the darkness, was a place where the moonlight seemed to fall but could not brighten. There, the light was not silver upon snow but a sickly green and gray. If the moon had not already risen, she might have thought that it was his dim halo, but no, that was an evil light.

Betta shivered and pulled her cloak tighter about her, but she could not shake the feeling of cold desolation that crept into her heart. There was something devilish in that feeble light. How far north had they come? And how far east? She was in the mountains of Angmar now. Could that steep line of cliffs, so broken that they looked like so many teeth, be the forbidding Wall of Angmar that Harandir had warned her against passing? Would this road lead to Carn Dum?

She could not look away from it. The light seemed to grow before her eyes until she could see nothing else, neither moon nor star. Whatever dark power had once dwelt within the walls of that cursed fortress was gone, but there was evil there still, laying traps for unwary wanderers, scheming after the destruction of the world and awaiting the final trumpet call to rise up for battle once more.

Not knowing what she did, Betta's hand once more sought the loose braids of her hair. Her fingers wrapped around the bead and felt its warmth. She tore her eyes away from the light and fled back down through the stone window into the safety of the cave below. She had never been so afraid or felt so exposed to malevolent eyes.

What did it look like, the abandoned stronghold of a sorcerer? Huddled in the dark, tucked between stone walls, she imagined the many towers rising like horns above the fortress, twisted and dark, but shining with an eerie light. Who had built it? Not its last master, the Witchking of Angmar. Evil too often took what others made and ruined it. Evil destroyed; it did not create.

And then Betta wondered, had the mist come from that place? It, too, had glowed green and seemed to take the courage from the stoutest of hearts. Had the wolves come from that place, sent to destroy those who dared trespass here? She was glad to think that the dwarves were leaving this cursed land, going back to more wholesome hills.

But then, she felt a tremor in her heart. Fili said that they would leave, but would he hold to his word? Kili would fight him; he would want to go on. Could one brother change the other's mind? They might even now be hurrying towards her, running headlong into the waiting arms of the ghost of evil, and she had not told them that something worse may well be hiding in these hills.

Betta packed her bag again and wrapped her hood and scarf over her face. She must go back and be sure that the dwarves were on their way home. She might hide herself in the hills and watch them from above. The sun had more than an hour before it would rise over the eastern mountains. She had time yet to reach the stone. If she must, she might even feign repentance and travel back a few days south with them until she knew they were beyond evil's reach, then she would slip away again and return. She had not given up her quest, only postponed it for a day or two.

Fili and Kili deserved that much, at least.