"They're only four feet tall, they're easy to lose in tall grasses or shrubbery." Legolas narrowed his eyes at Beuren.
"Your humor isn't working." The prince replied. "They were our prisoners. They were trespassing in our kingdom."
"Legolas, please mellon, they are my family. I cannot abandon them now." Against his better judgement, he shook his head and nodded towards the forest.
"A guard of mine followed them. They are heading to Laketown. I intend on following her and bringing her back here, my father has ordered the Kingdom be secured. I will take you only as far as we may travel to collect her, then you are on your own."
"I'll take it, get on." She scooted out of the saddle and allowed him to climb in, taking her where he promised.
"They were tailed by an orc pack." Legolas said after some time traveling in the wood.
"Led by?" Legolas was quiet. "LED BY?"
"Bolg, spawn of Azog."
"Great. Another one that still won't die."
"You've had dealings with them?"
"Yes, between the two of them they've killed almost everyone I've ever cared for. It's quite annoying anymore."
"I don't doubt." Legolas said slowly, pulling the horse to a stop and swinging himself out of the saddle. "Stay here." Beuren dismounted and hid behind the trunk of a tree, watching as Legolas neared the edge of the tree line. There, on an outcropping overlooking the water, she stood, long flowing red hair: the girl from the dream.
"Tauriel, you cannot hunt thirty orcs on your own." Beuren felt her stomach drop when she heard Legolas speak her name. Tauriel. Beuren nearly fainted from utter shock. This was unreal. "The king is angry, Tauriel." Beuren shook her head, clearing her mind before turning back to the conversation. "Dandolo na nin...e gohenatha."
"Ú-'ohenathon. Cí dadwenithon, ú-'ohenathon im." She insisted, standing her ground firmly.
"The king has never let orc-filth from our lands, yet he would let this orc-pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners."
"Kill your prisoners?!" Beuren leapt out from behind the tree. Both elves turned towards her.
"Who did they kill?"
"Who is she?"
"WHO DID THEY KILL!"
"The archer." Legolas said, looking at Tauriel. "Shot him with a Morgul arrow."
"Kili." Beuren swung herself into the saddle, taking the reins and spurring the horse forward.
"Wait!" The she-elf called after her. Wait my ass, Beuren thought as she made herself as small as possible to avoid branches.
Something felt wholly wrong about the journey to Laketown. She saw no orcs, no sign of Bolg. It was quiet, too quiet. Perhaps she knew the land better, knew how to get around better, where to hide. There was no way that they would have gone into Laketown if they didn't need to, so why did she see no sign of the Company?
Pulling her horse to a halt, Beuren twisted in her saddle, eyes scouring the shore of the bank that lay before her. She saw no boot prints, no blood, nothing that would suggest that anything but the sand-pipers had been here at all. With a frustrated groan, Beuren leapt from her saddle, unloading the rations and weapons that had been gifted to her by Galadriel.
"Now I have to search for bodies because Mahal forbid they just listen and stay on the damn path." Beuren situated herself and began her journey along the river, releasing the horse to go back to the elves. "Idiots." It didn't take her long, however-and hour at most-to come across something peculiar. A man stood, older in age for a human, loading several casks onto a small barge. It gave her an idea. "Oi!" He turned to look at her.
"Can I help ya miss?"
"Uh, yes, I was hoping to find myself someone who could get me into Laketown. My horse got spooked you see, bolted on me about a league or so back. It's a very long walk and I'm more than happy to pay." She fumbled around in her boot for what little money she had.
"The Master doesn't much like strangers comin' in and out of Laketown." He said uncertainty.
"Well, I would never be able to introduce myself if I didn't make it into town, would I?" Obviously, he didn't need much convincing, he accepted her gold and told her to help him load the remaining barrels onto the barge.
It was nightfall before they pulled into town. As she stepped onto the docks, she overheard the barge inspector talking. He mentioned that the King had returned, Thorin Oakenshield. And he was setting out at first light to reclaim their homeland.
"That is quite a tale." She responded looking back at the men.
"A tale? A tale? Well, go have a see yourself! They're throwing a party for them in the Master's quarters."
"Master's quarters you say?"
"Aye."
"And how exactly would one get to the Master's quarters?"
Thorin watched as his men drank, feasted, and rejoiced. It was a much-needed distraction from the impending doom they faced on the morrow. The dragon loomed in his mind, how would they kill it? At what cost? Where about would the Arkenstone be hidden? It was all too much for him to process at the moment. Thorin drank deeply from his tankard, trying to answer his own questions and create plans for the ensuing battle. That was when the door burst open. In whirlwind of rage and flying limbs, several guards entered into the Master's quarters with a very disgruntled looking figure.
"Put. Me. Down. I swear if you don't drop me I'll rip your arms off! Let go of me-OW!"
"Beuren?" Thorin questioned in disbelief, rising to his feet. She froze, looking back at him. The guards had her beneath her arms, carrying her at least a foot and a half off the ground.
"Honey, I'm home!" She snarked in return.
"Release her, she is with us." The guards didn't move. Thorin turned to the Master, a portly man with thinning ginger hair who had seated himself at the head of the table. The Master looked at Beuren, much more interested than Thorin would have liked. "If you do not want your men injured, I suggest you call them off."
"Is that a threat, King?"
"Oh it's not us you'll have to worry about." Dwalin said with a grin. "She was serious when she said she'd rip their arms off. Seen her do it a time or two." The Master glowered at the Dwarf before nodding to his men to drop her. They put her down, her feet landing firmly on the floor.
"Where have you been?" Thorin inquired, his voice harsh.
"That matters not."
"Oh, it does." The room fell silent. "We could have used your help there for a moment."
"Well, if you would have just followed the path I told you about, everything would have gone fine."
"The path." Thorin chuckled to himself. "The path was in ruin. We needed you."
"Well, you'll have to excuse my absence, I was a little preoccupied with Frerin and Arathorn." Dwalin and Balin whipped around in their seats. "Oh, Father sends his regards too."
"Frerin?" Thorin breathed.
"Oh boy, have I got a tale to tell you!" Beuren said sarcastically.
"For another time, perhaps?" Balin said, looking between the two. "Wouldn't want to bore our host..."
"Right you are." Beuren growled, her eyes stabbing daggers into Thorin's soul. "Kili, my darling, why don't you show me to my quarters."
"Irak'amad..." He complained, not wanting to sound like a child. "We just dished up." He pointed to his plate, to be fair, it had been a minute since he'd eaten.
"ZÛ KILI!"
"Yes ma'am." The dwarves all chuckled, most of them forgetting that Beuren spoke their language. Kili rose from his seat, taking to a flight of stairs to their right. As she passed, Dwalin took Beuren's arm, rising to his feet and whispering to her through the noise.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"You're covered in blood and the last time I saw you, you were vomiting blood." She looked up at him. "Explain." He shoved a plate of food in her hands to make it appear they weren't talking about the massive amounts of blood on her shirt.