— II —
thirty-two years later
Thorin Oakenshield has been set in my sights like stone from the very moment he stepped into Imladris, followed by a rather strange host and tailed by a pack of Warg-riding Orcs. Wrapped in shadow and using stealth that was a rather uncanny skill of mine ( or a curse, if you asked Elrond ), I watched the company enter my home and meet with the Lord of Imladris for the first time. And not for the last, I came to find. Since that hour I have watched. Unseen. Silent. An observer in the shadows. Until this very moment, anyway.
The setting sun, sliding perfectly between the tall cliffs of pale stone to either side of the valley, is turning the waterfalls of Imladris to fire. It would be a magnificent sight if there wasn't a brooding Dwarf pacing back and forth relentlessly in front of it.
Rather like a trapped bear, isn't that one?
I shift my weight, leaning forward against the windowsill with my elbow. The movement, despite how slight it is, catches the Dwarf's attention. I almost smirk. That was my intention, after all. This is the first time I'm letting Thorin Oakenshield catch sight of me. The first time I'm not wrapped in a mottled green cloak and slipping into corners filled with shadow as I follow his path to breakfast, or lunch, or wherever he chooses to travel.
The Dwarf's pale eyes go wide for a few seconds before they narrow accusingly. As if I'm one of the Elves he despises so. That glare turns to a dark storm at the same moment my senses flare to an approaching presence behind me. I turn my ear to the newcomer, the corner of my mouth lifting as he starts to speak.
"Why do you watch such a creature, sister?" The Elvish is soft. Familiar. Sindarin, my mother tongue as much as the Common Speech of Man is.
Elladan, one of the regal sons of Elrond and by all measures my adopted brother, stops at my side. He glances down at me before looking through the window at the Dwarf again. His face is straight and impassive, showing none of the emotion his voice teases me with.
"Why do you sneak up on me so? Are you copying my style, brother, by hiding in the shadows?" I accuse lightly. His face doesn't change. "I am merely curious," I finally relent.
"Of course you are. I'll save you the trouble. Dwarves are loud and messy and irritating. They have no understanding of chivalry and they'd leave you to fall in the mud rather than help you step over it."
"And you, my brother, sound like the reason Dwarves don't like Elves." Elladan shakes his head slightly, but I can see the smile in his eyes. Elladan, always my favorite ( don't tell Elrohir ), saves that smile just for me. The corners of his eyes will crinkle and that dark gaze will twinkle with something I might just dare to call mirth.
"Careful, Little One. You'll be one of them before you know it with that attitude."
I shrug and rest my chin on my hand. My eyes travel back to Thorin, who has moved to a column in the courtyard and is leaning against it. His thick arms are crossed, his eyes still on us. With his hair hanging in dark waves down his shoulders and his mouth set in a ruthless line against a black beard, I certainly gain the impression of utter storminess from the Dwarf.
"And is that such a bad thing?" I ask Elladan imploringly.
"Your heart is your own," he answers in a soft murmur. I look back up quickly. The twinkle is gone from the regal Elf's eyes. That is how I know the next words from his mouth are made entirely without jest. "But if I find that Dwarf looking at you like that ever again, his body will never be found." Elladan turns, walking away in the same sneaking silence with which he approached. When my eyes travel back to the courtyard, Thorin Oakenshield is gone too.
Yet Dwarves are much easier to find than Elves. I hear him first, his voice low as he speaks to someone. I recognize the wizard, Gandalf, as the other side of the conversation. Mithrandir's voice is deep, low with caution. I pause, pressing my back against the column of the open hallway as I listen. A terrible habit, I admit, but I can't be blamed. I adore Imladris, with its arching architecture and detailed latticework, but it grows slow and boring when year after year of one's life is spent walking its shining halls. I had every hidden and shadowed nook of this place memorized, so some newcomers of the more unexpected variety were bound to bring me new excitement. Namely...thirteen Dwarves, a wizard, and a Hobbit.
"Take care, Master Oakenshield. It would not be wise to rest your attention on the Dúnedain that reside here in Imladris. Nor would you be foolish enough to involve yourself with them."
"If you think I would speak to anyone in this acursed place, you are sorely mistaken, wizard," Thorin growls in response. I'm grinning when the Dwarf's heavy footsteps start to approach my position. I slip away easily, walking slowly enough that he's bound to see the fluttering tail of my overcoat and the slash of my hair as I round a corner.
Really, Mithrandir? Spoiling my secrets before I have the chance to? Now, where's the fun in that?
"It is a deterrent for the thoughts you have stirring in that dangerous mind, Celebdraug."
I twist, overjoyed that the wizard has managed to sneak up on me. Long has it been since I've spoken to him. Many years between my presence in Imladris and Gandalf's last visit ( I believe I was somewhere between the Ettenmoors and the Coldfells the last time he came through ).
"Gandalf," I grin. His dark eyebrows raise slightly, but he can't fight the smile that attempts to rise to his lips for very long.
"Léra. Elrond has told me of your recent triumphs in the North."
"Elladan and Elrohir have been excellent teachers," I dip my head. That doesn't fool him.
"And nothing more?" He presses, fully aware of the nature of the twins. I laugh lightly, turning on my toes to walk alongside the wizard.
"Oh, I am absolutely soiled, my dear friend. They've turned me into a right hooligan."
"You were a hooligan before you followed them into the North."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who would ever admit that to me?" I fake an innocent expression. Gandalf pats my shoulder, motioning towards the hall.
"It is the dinner hour. Will you be joining us tonight?"
"Is that where you sent your dear Heir of Durin?"
Gandalf doesn't seem to understand the meaning behind my words. Then, as I open my mind to him, I feel him snap onto the knowledge I have presented to him.
"Léra Celebdraug—" He starts, the air around us shivering and darkening with his mounting rage. I laugh, the sound high and proud. I leave him standing with his staff clutched tightly between his hands as I move swiftly for the dining hall.
My smile turns into a playful smirk as I find my brother in his usual seat. Elrohir's spot is empty, as he is off chasing those damned Warg packs, but Elladan is here. He sits to Elrond's right, and next to him is my usual place ( usual, but seldom used ).
I haven't often revealed myself at feasts, even without the presence of Dwarves. Instead, I drop by the kitchens to eat and drink with the enjoyable company of the workers there. The Elves that work the kitchens are often less afraid to sing and dance and make jokes that would be considered crude by my foster father and his Council. I find it more tolerable than the long hours of lamenting poems and politeness, and it soothes the ache of my limbs. That ache that turns me towards the Wild and makes me a restless soul amongst the fine Elves of Imladris. I like to think I can blame Elladan and Elrohir for that ache, but I know it has been in my blood before I ever ventured into the North with them.
But tonight I have made an exception. Tonight, I am making it a point to drive my brother, and now Gandalf, up a wall with annoyance.
Well, that wasn't my entire reasoning. It was more following through on my goal of tailing Thorin and Company around to learn their natures and discover the real reason for entering Imladris followed by a pack of snarling Wargs. The Orcs didn't come that close to this valley without reason. And although I had heard what I wanted to the night before under the cover of darkness, my interests were not yet satisfied. I had a million questions bouncing around my restless mind, none of which I could bring to Elrond or Gandalf. Most importantly, I wanted to see how these Dwarves would react to someone like me appearing before them. Someone who was not entirely like the Men they had probably met before, but also not Elven.
There is a dark gaze on me as I slide into my seat. I ignore the Dwarves, accepting the goblet of fine wine Elladan hands me. I sip it, slowly turning my head to connect with those eyes. He doesn't look away, so I don't either.
Not very polite to stare, now is it, Thorin?
My silent scolding goes unheard. I turn my attention back to Elladan and Elrond, keeping an ear to the Dwarves that talk to each other at the far end of the table. The Lord of Imladris is watching me almost just as carefully as the Dwarf. He has obviously exchanged words with Elladan in the short time between that interaction and now. I catch the Elf's eyes and raise a questioning eyebrow. He speaks to me quietly in Elvish, but almost as soon as his mouth opens, the Dwarves quiet.
"It is nice to see you at this hour, Léra. We weren't expecting your company."
"I like to keep you on your toes," I respond in the common tongue of Man, the Westron almost foreign on my lips from misuse. "Is that not what you have always taught me?" I sip my wine again. Elrond dips his head slightly and responds in likeness.
"Indeed, it is. May I introduce you to our guests?"
"That won't be necessary," I answer him in Sindarin. The repeated switching of languages has the Dwarves on edge. They watch us in silence until Gandalf raises his hand and waves for them to resume eating. I ignore the fiery look of the wizard, and the icy one of Elrond. At my side, Elladan is hiding his smile with a bite of fig.
Thorin leaves the meal not an hour into the night. The Elves at my side throw me warning glances, but neither move to stop me as I rise from my seat in a mirror of the Dwarf. I tuck my chair in as I step away from the table, bowing slightly to Elrond. I bade him and Elladan a good night before twisting for the chill of the outside air.
The midsummer twilight is pale with the light of the moon. Just a sliver, but without clouds it bathes my home in a silver glow. The stars twinkle with a million brilliant points. A perfect night to walk amongst the shadows, yet I stride down the cobbled paths in complete openness. In my pale garb, with my hair so light, I'm certain I rather look like a walking star myself. I feel bald without my cloak, unguarded as I ignore my friends, the shadows.
Thorin looks like he's going to impale me as he hears my approach. His large hands even itch towards weapons that aren't at his belt. Weapons confiscated upon their arrival, an act that was accompanied with repeated warnings by Mithrandir that, if those weapons were to find their way into the hands of a Dwarf while in Imladris, there would be consequences. The Elves under Elrond's protection were a peaceful folk ( save for my brothers, but they were always the outliers ). The Dwarves were expected to obey that custom.
"Thorin Oakenshield." I sweep a bow, one arm spread wide and the other pressed to my stomach.
"It's you," he snaps. All malice and hatred. For me. I grin. How flattering.
"Excellent observation, Master Oakenshield," I drawl, straightening.
"You are a human amongst Elves. I can't say I appreciate your company." His eyes are dragging down my figure. They skate back up quickly, searching my face for answers I will not give him.
Your eyes betray you, Thorin.
"I would say the same for you, Dwarf. Wizards are nothing but trouble. Though I have never met one of your kind. Perhaps Dwarves are worse." I step forward. Thorin echoes my movement, his feet shuffling back slightly. I lift a fleeting hand to draw my hair over my shoulder, the long white-blonde strands falling against my coat like snowfall. A flirting gesture that draws the exact response I was looking for. His blue eyes snap to the exposed curve of my neck, intrigued even as he speaks a sharp retort.
"We might be worse, but at least we have spines." I fight a snort.
Spines? Is that what Dwarves call bravery?
"Maybe that is so. The Wild has never been a place for the Fair Folk. But I do think it rather agrees with Dwarves." I start to move slowly around him, my eyes connected with his as I circle him. Again, he mirrors me, his movements much less fluid as he turns. With each circle, I pass closer to him until our shoulders almost brush.
"Who are you?" He demands.
"The Elves call me Léra."
"And Gandalf calls you Dúnedain."
"I am a Dúnedan, yes." I tilt my head, smiling slightly.
So he did listen to Mithrandir.
"I do not know what that means." I pause, for his face is truthful. Open. Not quite so cruel.
"In simpler terms, it is 'Men of Westernesse.' We carry the ancient blood of kings, but it has been watered down and crucified to the point few of us hold true claim to the name."
He takes the knowledge silently, finally dragging his eyes from mine. My thoughts wander elsewhere at the raised point of my blood, to the young cousin that resides in Imladris with me. Almost as volatile a human, foolish and rash according to Elrond. He arrived several years ago, presenting an heir to our line above me as my mother's brother's son. Rightfully, we belong in Gondor. Instead, we are raised as Elves.
"Why are you here?"
"Why are you, Thorin Oakenshield?" He doesn't respond to my retaliation. I step back and gesture slightly at the path that arches upward before us. "Walk with me, Thorin. I have many questions that my Elven brothers will not answer."
"You grew up in this...this place?" He asks, unable to contain the disgust in his voice. My smirk dips.
"Yes. Imladris has been my home for as long as I can remember. The Lord Elrond has taken me in as his own, as he has done with many Dúnedain children in his lifetime while their fathers return to the Wild as Rangers of the North."
"You speak like them." More disdain. My smirk is gone. I turn before he can see my frown.
As if I haven't been regarded with that same disgust by my own kind for that very fact. I don't need you reminding me of it, Thorin.
"Does that surprise you? I am often scolded for my bold tongue. Elrond believes my thoughts are too erratic. That I would greatly benefit from thinking before acting. In that sense, I am nothing like the Elves."
"Do you always listen to pointy-eared sprites that try to determine your character?"
"Never."
There's enough bite in my voice that he smiles. The moment was brief, but it was there on his strong mouth. An expression of approval at my words. He turns to the path and the rising cliff we are approaching. The zig-zag walkway moves away from the warmly-lit buildings of Imladris, following a natural stone formation up the hill. The path rises in elevation before leveling out at the top of the grass-topped cliff above the entrance of a shimmering waterfall.
"You are tall for a Dwarf." I don't catch my thoughts in time. The words slip out so quickly that I am furiously turning my face away so he can't see my blush.
"And you're short for a human," he retorts, eyebrows raising at my sudden informality.
"You sound like Elladan and Elrohir."
His mouth splits into a frown at the name of the two Elves. I feel like I have made a mistake by mentioning my brothers. I drive on, deciding to reach my point now that I've basically made a fool of myself.
"I know you spoke to Elrond last night. I wish to know the nature of your meeting. Why are you, a company of Dwarves of all things, passing through Imladris? And why travel with a singular Hobbit? They're best in quartets, you know. There's a saying—"
I stop myself, almost blushing again as he simply stares at me. That storm cloud of a face is dark even under the moonlight. I wait for his response.
"Why would I betray my secrets to a human I have only just met?"
A wise Dwarf. One I might even respect. One day. Or not. I smile slightly.
"A wise caution. I would not tell a Dwarf, especially one I have just met, my plans either," I sigh, sinking onto a stone bench as we reach the top of the cliff. "Such a shame Lord Elrond's meeting wasn't accompanied by guards. Anyone could have slipped in unnoticed."
Anyone who is a shadow, anyway. Not even Elrohir would have noticed my presence. I am too good for that.
Realization hits Thorin. His accusing stare is one of someone betrayed. As if he has known me long enough to feel my disloyalty so. I want to laugh at his truly honest expression, for it makes my heart turn fond of him all the more.
"You eavesdropped?" He asks, reaching for weapons that are not on his belt. Again. I could kill him for that fact alone, for having the desire to break the peace of his host's home. But I won't, for I often slip through the halls of my own home with more than a few fine knives hidden under my tunic. I would be a hypocrite for faulting him on his desire to carry weapons with him.
"Yes," I answer carefully.
I have been watching your every step, Thorin Oakenshield. No secret is safe where shadows reside.
"How? That blasted Elf said our meeting was private," Thorin accuses. His hands clench into tight fists at his side. Certainly planning a terrible fate for Elrond. I roll my eyes.
"When one's mind is set on one thing and one thing alone, he does not often notice those who live in the shadows. Though, I do admit your eyes would not detect someone who wraps the night around them so efficiently even if you were looking."
"What did you hear?"
"Enough, Master Oakenshield." I am giving him the predatory smile that Elladan has taken to calling my Draug Rae. My smile of the wolf. He has compared me to the great white beasts of the North that strike when the winters are dark and fell. Many a long night in the Wild did he spin songs of the pale beasts and weave my name into the lilting words.
And truly, I am stalking around him, bright teeth flashing in the moonlight. My intentions are set and unwavering. A wolf circling her prey.
"I know you move on the Lonely Mountain. I know you move to Erebor. You will reclaim the hall of your forefathers." Thorin doesn't answer, but my words make his eyes divert to the water below us. The rushing waterfall moves with hardly a sound, flowing sweetly with the enchanting chime of the Elven influence. "It's an honorable mission, truly, but I must ask...are you prepared to face a dragon in the process?"
"Smaug has not been seen nor heard in many years. That worm has probably curled up and died on the mountains of gold that belong to my people."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. A silent dragon does not always mean a dead one. You will do well to remember that, Dwarf," I rise, pacing away from him. "Yet you have good friends at your side, and you may prevail."
"My path is set. No Elf nor otherwise will dissuade me," Thorin tells me gruffly. I smile slightly at that.
"Oh, I have no plans to. I am merely curious. Like I said, it has been a lifetime since Dwarves passed through Imladris. Can you blame me for holding a certain interest in your mission?"
"You are unlike any human I have yet met," he tells me. I almost want to laugh. Again, his sincerity is endearing.
And yet that tells me you have not met many of the races of Man. Maybe one day you will come across my dear Aragorn. Then you will see us Dúnedain are different in our own way.
"I am spread between two worlds, Thorin." I gesture downward at Imladris. There is a nightingale singing through the night. Spinning a song so sweet and so aching in the way only the birds of the night can. I listen to it for a moment before continuing. "My heart and blood are human. I yearn for the wind of freedom in my hair. Yet my thoughts are Elvish. I think in Sindarin, and I have spoken it even before I learned Westron. I know the entire history of the Elves and how they came to be in Middle Earth, but I know very little of what currently stirs in the land of Man."
Thorin's gaze is on me as I turn my face to the sky. I close my eyes against the cool starlight, letting it bathe me in its familiarity. I sigh slightly, exhaling slowly through my nose. Thorin reads the gesture perfectly.
"You ache to leave."
"In that you are right, I fear," I smile sadly. "My time in Imladris is coming to an end. I have spent much time in the North with my brothers, campaigning against the Orcs. I have been given such a taste of the Wild that returning here often feels like a death sentence for my soul."
"And where would one human lady, raised as an Elf, but bearing the ancient blood of kings, go? Gondor? Rohan?" I turn from the water, tilting my head as I look at him.
"I will go where the stars take me. Where that is, I do not yet know." He shifts under my gaze. I know my next words will make him angry. I step forward from the bench, as if I move to leave his side. I pause next to his ear, whispering the Elvish so softly that the song of the water almost carries my words away. He shudders at my breath so close to his ear. "Im will rad-cin in i erin, Thorin Oakenshield. Cin gar-nin magol o hi anand."
Thorin reels like I've slapped him. Like I've just driven a dagger into his back. I think he will strike me, so violent is the jerk away from my side. His fists ball up again and rise into the air. I step away fluidly, my face and posture languid despite my readiness for a possible fight.
"Utter your black speech one more time and I'll ensure you have no tongue left to speak it with," he hisses. So angry, and yet I do not take his threat to heart.
"Îdh, Thorin. Îdh."
Peace, Oakenshield. You act as if you have never known it. Let your troubled mind rest for one night. Find peace, by the grace of the Elves.
His eyes shut tightly as I will the water's lilting song to still his mind. When he opens them again, I am gone and the enchanting water has quelled his anger for the long hours of the night. I watch him shake his head from my spot in the shadows. They whisper to me as he rubs his face and steps away from the moonlit spot.
It's a peace that will not last until morning, but it's enough.