Star-Crossed

Chapter 32

“About a year, I believe. Then I will return for several weeks and then head out once again.” She asked, looking at the brothers to see if she was correct.

“Just wandering, I presume?” The wizard said. His tone held that mysterious quality to it, as if he was hinting at something, or perhaps hiding some sort of knowledge.

“As far as I know that’s all we ever do, well, unless we are running, but that isn’t often.” A cheeky smirk spread over the wizards lips.

“Good, can you make me a promise?”

“What is it?” Beuren questioned, growing slightly suspicious.

“Nothing too important, but in six months, I want you to meet me in Bree, at the Prancing Pony, just for a little get together.” Beuren cocked her head. “Think of it as me checking up on you, just making sure you are alive and well. If you come, we will share a pipe and ale and then go our ways, if you don’t I look for you just to ensure you are well.” The corners of her lips twitched into a smile.

“Alright, in six months, I will meet you.”

“Good! Just you though, give yourself a break from these two mischiefs.” Elladan smirked proudly, Elrohir frowned, not overly fond of being called a ‘mischief’.

“A promise kept.” Beuren said, glancing back at the two elves beside her.

“That settles it then, the Prancing Pony, don’t forget. Now, a good day to you three.”

“And to you.” Beuren replied. The wizard let himself out of the door. The twins shared a look, and then stared down at Beuren. “Well, I’ll go get my things.” She hurried off into her room to gather her pack and bow. Together, the three of them made their way down to the stables, Beuren rode with Elrohir, speaking he wouldn’t attempt to make his horse  launch her or rub her off on a tree. She had been wary of getting a horse after she lost Ohtar and Beleg. The two of them had been very dear to her, her only companions at times. Both were lost by stray arrows shot by orc archers without any aim.

The trio traveled together until they reached the river Lune. There, Beuren took the path on foot to the Blue Mountains. She had gone back several times, though never made contact with her companions. Beuren didn’t want them to get their hopes up of her returning, for she wasn’t about to do so.

Once she reached the cobble stone path that lead to the great doors of the mountain she stopped. Carefully she watched for any signs of the boys on their post, or Balin at the gate, checking the credentials of merchants and caravan members, maybe Dis, getting a breath of fresh air, or Dwalin training with the youngsters in the fading sunlight. But she saw none of them.

She needed no supplies; her rations were more than enough for her trip. Help was not necessary; she hadn’t seen any orcs in several months. Beuren had no excuse to go into the mountain. But oh how she wanted to. She racked her brain, thinking of any simple justification she could use as a reason to enter the mountain. Gilraen could use a new necklace; she always talked about the beautiful handcrafted jewelry of the dwarves, so elaborate and ornate. That was a perfect reason, though; she hadn’t the money. Nor anything of great worth to trade, although… she did still have the ring.

The opal and diamond wedding ring given to her by the King himself. Many times she was in dire need of food and shelter, her supplies run low, rations nearly decimated. Money would have helped. Money can do almost anything. But she could never bring herself to sell the ring. It was too precious to her. Her fondest memory, the awkwardness of the conversation made her cringe, but no matter how uncomfortable it was, the outcome had been beautiful… well, would have been beautiful.

She shook the thought from her head; she wasn’t going to sell the ring for a necklace, there was no way. Beuren had literally no excuse to go into the mountain. Just as she turned to leave, her stomach cramped up and growled loudly. Well, there was her excuse.

The elf pulled her hood up, she didn’t know why; hardly anyone here would recognize her now, hair only to her shoulder blades, body covered in small white scars. No one would recognize her as Beuren Elendil, only as a lone traveler, looking for food and accommodations after a long journey. As she trudged into the mountain, she took a deep breath, remembering the scent of the dwarven city, the lingering scent of metal and stone. Her ears twitched at a group of miners laughing happily at one another, one, she slowly identified, as Nori, a few years older than Kili and Fili, though they often trained together as kids. A small smile crept to her lips. Beuren started forward.

The pub was packed. All of the miners and guardsmen, tinkers and merchants, everyone was here. She pushed past a group; the thick scent of alcohol around them almost gave her a slight buzz. As she neared the bar she couldn’t help but smile, oh the times she’d spent here with Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin, reminiscing over old times. She seated herself and waited to be served. As she did so, she pulled back her hood. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in a waterfall of silken chestnut waves.

The bartender leaned over the bar so as to take her order. She had to yell so he could hear her over the crowd. A moment later, a mug of ale was set in front of her, a plate with thinly sliced roast beef and boiled potatoes came seconds later. She gave him a nod and slowly started in on her food, not wanting to upset her stomach. It had indeed been a while since she’d eaten that much meat, but honestly at the moment she felt she could have eaten the whole cow.

A fight broke out between a steel miner and a lower guardsman. It resulted in her losing half her pint and dodging to escape a hit that was aimed an no one in particular. She sat back up and looked at the annoyed barkeep. He shook his head, letting the fight continue to rage on.

“You ought to just come sit behind the bar; you’ll lose your head if you don’t, lass.” She smirked and turned to watch the halfwits fight. It was quite amusing, actually, seeing the two obviously drunk dwarves stumble around trying to throw punches at one another. Though she grew tired of it quickly, turning back to her meal. Once she was finished, she paid her tab in gold she had picked off the man that almost hit her and left. Once outside of the bar, she could hear again.

The crowd silenced however, even from within the bar. Everyone was turned to look at something… or rather, someone. There he came, the King, Thorin Oakensheild. Beuren’s breath caught in her throat, heart stopped beating. She stood, utterly shocked to see him. Beuren hadn’t been expecting to see anyone that she knew; she actually hoped to not run into any of them.

She crept closer to get a better view of him, still staying in the shadows however. His once ink black locks were streaked with grey, though it showed his age, it added an odd sort of majesty to him. He stood taller than she’d ever seen since the fall of Erebor. His eyes were still their sapphire blue, but she noticed just how utterly tired they looked, though he hid it well from his kingdom, she knew him far too well for him to be able to hide it from her. She wanted to run to him, to wrap him in a lingering hug and not let go until she was pried off. Beuren felt her heart flutter at the thought of his touch. Her head felt light, remembering the softness with which he used to kiss her.

Then she realized how close she was to him, and how much closer she could be. She saw a boy standing feet away from her, directly before the pathway Thorin took. Silently, she dove forward, sliding into place next to the boy, she pulled her hood up and wrapped her cloak around her, making herself as small as possible. The boy looked at her strangely. She winked at him and put a finger to her lips. He caught on, smiled, and looked up towards the King. From her place, she could be mistaken as a small child.