Elvish/Sindarin: De rim beleg heared o bardor = You are a long way from home

Elvish/Sindarin: Naitië, heri Galadriel = Indeed, Lady Galadriel

Twang.

Thunk.

Huff.

Emery loads another arrow onto the bow and draws back the string. After taking a moment to aim, the strength in her back and arms keeping the bow steady, she releases her fingers. Twang. Thunk. She huffs as the arrow joins the others on the rim of the target. It's frustrating. The target is a mere ten yards away, and she hasn't come close to the bullseye. It's a miracle only two arrows have ended up on the ground. She might blame it on the Elven bow, but the truth is her aim is just terrible. Even in the world she was born to, her hand-eye coordination was lacking. She was always strong even as a human, but there's a very good reason she never played in any of the sports her school offered. Training with Dwalin helped, but there was only so much to be done when she started decades late and couldn't participate in the tossing of plates.

Sighing and preparing to disappoint herself yet again, she loads another arrow. Twang. Thunk. Huff.

"Wow. You are terrible." She jumps at the sudden voice to her left. She recognizes it before turning to look, and sees Kili standing a few yards away, wearing an expression of bewilderment as he stares at the ring of arrows on the target. She rolls her eyes and turns back around.

"Not everyone can be a toxophilite," she says.

"I agree, but this...I did better than this the first time I held a bow. I don't usually use the word 'terrible' to describe someone's shooting, but truthfully-"

"I know." She sighs. "I've never been very good at shooting. No matter how much advice Dwalin gives me, my aim still manages to royally suck."

"...Pardon?" he says, confusion in his tone. She looks back at him, his brows furrowed and his head tilted to the side.

"Oh, um..." She tries to think of a way to explain the idiom, but gives up after a minute and sighs. "It's bad. My aim is very bad."

"Agreed, but why 'suck?'" he asks perplexed. She shrugs.

"I honestly have no idea. It was a popular saying where I came from, and I didn't think to ask before I left."

"Don't suppose you can tell me where that is?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. She says nothing, and looks back at the target. Her silence has been answering for her quite a bit, lately. She hears him sigh as she loads another arrow and draws. Twang. Thunk. She huffs once again as yet another arrow embeds itself in the rim of the target. "Out of curiosity, what's going through your head when you're aiming?" he asks. She pauses, considering the question.

"Well, I line up the tip with the center...shut up," she says. She doesn't need to turn around to know he bit his lip to keep from laughing. She rolls her eyes and continues. "When they're in the same spot in my field of vision, I release."

"Don't think of it as lining up the arrow with the target," he says. "Think of it more as...guiding the arrow's path. Your sight only matters for identifying the target's location. Beyond that, it's your body that does the work. Your body knows how the arrow will fly, and your sight told it where the arrow needs to go. It'll take it from there if you trust it."

"That's the problem, though," she counters. "I don't trust it. My hand-eye coordination has always been a point of failure."

"Ah, but you're not throwing anything. You're not the caster, that's the bow's job. I bet if you try it, you'll be surprised." She sighs and loads another arrow.

"I'm sure I will be," she mutters, and draws the string. She breathes in and out, taking her time and trying to follow his advice, then lets go.

Twang.

Thunk.

"No way..." she says, her eyes wide as they stare at the arrow, embedded only two circles away from the bullseye. She turns around, eyes still wide, and sees Kili's fists on his hips and his face smug. Impressed but not one to pass up an opportunity to mess with him, she fixes her face. "Yeah yeah, whoop-di-doo, very nice, I bet you made that up." His smug expression morphs into one of surprise, with a hint of insult, until he examines her eyes - the same eyes he's been communicating with his entire life - and snorts. Emery's fixed expression slips as he starts to chuckle. He's laughing...I made him laugh...a mix of relief and joy fills her. Maybe the damage to our relationship isn't so irreparable...But sorrow taints the joy as she remembers his brother. Fili is good at vocalizing forgiveness and behaving with grace, but the problem is that he's good at doing all that despite his feelings. He could be furious at a person and they wouldn't know unless they know him well or he decides to show it. He may eventually decide to forgive her, but every word, every gesture, even every kindness, would be tinted by cold until/unless he truly forgives her on a subconscious level. And she has a sinking feeling that that might take a very long time, if it happens at all. Especially considering that he's much slower to forgive than his brother.

A string of nasty words in various languages flows from Emery's lips as she runs through the halls. Those stubborn bull-headed dwarves... She would be furious - she'd certainly have every right to be - but right now she's a bit too panicked to be furious. If it wasn't for Dwalin's note...

Only minutes ago she awoke to the sun shining directly on her face from its position high in the sky. Not unusual, given the lethargy. She's healing fast, as always, but she's not fully recovered, yet. What triggered the panic was the note that was left on her nightstand, scribbled hastily as if the writer hadn't wanted to be caught with it.

Leaving tonight. Ordered not to warn you. Misty Mountains. Be careful when you follow.

The note wasn't signed, but she recognized Dwalin's scrawl. She doesn't envy the position Thorin put him in. It goes against his nature to worm around his king's orders, but it also goes against his nature to leave his king unprotected, especially when he knows of the deaths that will happen if she isn't there to stop them. She skids around a corner, groaning at the sting in her chest from the sudden twist, but she doesn't stop. She has to find -

"Emery Willows," a voice calls from her left. She slows down and stops, surprised. Of course she knows that voice, but she didn't think they'd have a chance to meet. "De rim beleg heared o bardor." She turns around to face the source of the voice.

"Naitië, heri Galadriel," she responds. "A longer way than most in this world know." She observes the Lady of Light, her soft curls tumbling over her shoulders like liquid moonlight, her skin dancing with a glowing aura that seems to live in Emery's peripheral, disappearing when directly observed. And her reaction is...honestly, a bit underwhelmed. She read Tolkien's books all those years ago, and in her mind, the movies simply weren't capable of doing justice to the character. And she was right...just not quite as right as she expected. Galadriel certainly radiates downright divinity, and exudes more grace and wonder than any camera is capable of capturing, but Emery's mind apparently had grander ideas than even magic elves are capable of fulfilling.

Galadriel smiles in amusement, and she flushes with embarrassment as she realizes the elf probably heard those thoughts.

"I hadn't thought we would have the chance to meet during my stay in Rivendell," she says quickly, wanting to move past it.

"You speak as though you knew we would be here simultaneously," Galadriel says, surprise unsurprisingly lacking in her tone.

"I would not bear you insult by insinuating you are unaware of my...situation," Emery replies with a smile. She may have overestimated her appearance, but not her abilities.

"You seek Mithrandir," the elf says. "He has already gone. He believed you were away with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"You knew otherwise," Emery says, "and you didn't correct him. You wanted to see me." Galadriel's gaze intensifies ever so slightly, though her eyes soften.

"Such an old soul...in far too young a body." Somehow Emery understands her words to be a lament rather than a criticism. Too much experience gained in too little time. Experience that she didn't gain as a wolf, or as a dam. Maturity she was forced to learn too soon, even for a human. Recognizing the signs of the path her thoughts are beginning to go down, she shakes herself out of it, not wanting to go there if she can help it.

"Was there something you needed to tell me or discuss with me?" she asks directly. The elf raises an eyebrow, probably in amusement. Probably.

"I desired simply to see you, and I now have seen you. At present, I have nothing in particular to say. Other than, of course, to inform you of the wizard's departure." Galadriel pauses. "Is there something you wish to ask of me?"

"...No. No, I have nothing to ask," Emery answers. This time, the amusement is clear when the Lady speaks.

"No, I suppose not. Especially when you have the Valar themselves in your ears, answering more questions than I could."

AN: I am far from an expert in archery, I have only fired a bow once and it went poorly. I advise not taking my advice on how to aim a bow.