06. | GRETEL GROW UP

I'm not sure that rabbits against wargs is the fairest fight, but I don't argue as Radagast draws the orcs away from us. If it works, it works, and I have no desire to die at the hands of a warg pack. Plus, Radagast is a wizard, and they have a terrible knack for avoiding death — they're supposed to be about three ages old.

Gandalf leads us across the plain, our steps tentative (well, mine and Bilbo's) and scared. I try to walk as quietly as possible, but the dwarves are loud, their weapons clashing and they grunt with effort as the move. We run in a straight line, dangerously obvious if the orcs were only to turn their heads.

We run across the plains, making sure to take cover wherever there are rocks. The shadows feel safer, and part of me believes that we should just wait it out, but Radagast will be dead soon. We have to do something. I would be faster and safer alone, but we are a team. I suppose we should all die together, if at all. I have been trying to prove my loyalty to Thorin, perhaps this is how I do it.

"Where are you taking us!" Thorin asks, as Gandalf moves through the plains with an uncanny surety, knowing exactly where he is going. His steps are measured and direct, and he almost seems to be searching for something.

I am quite curious myself, as we duck behind another rock. The only place near to where we are is Rivendell, but Gandalf wouldn't take us there, surely. Not after Thorin's many refusals.

As I ponder, a warg seems to have sniffed us out, as it stands on the rock above us. It's shadow is dark and imposing as I watch it carefully, trying to work out if it can see us. Reaching down, I pull out my throwing knife, ready to throw. On second thought, I've never thrown a knife before, so maybe I shouldn't.

Thorin nods to Kili instead, who quickly spins around and shoots the warg in the chest. It falls, landing in front of Dwalin, who finishes it with ease, his sword an extension of his arm, strong and sure. Unfortunately, the warg cries out as it dies, for help. Soon the wind is full of its screams, undoubtedly heard by the orcs, as the echoes drift away.

"Amazing!" I mutter, gripping my knife, and turning to glare at Kili. "Just brilliant, truly! What were you doing? I know stealth is some kind of foreign concept-"

"Move, run!" Gandalf yells, interrupting me as the orcs become closer, their howls louder.  I start, grabbing Bilbo's arm as we sprint, pulling him along with me. His legs are smaller and slower, even though the dwarves seem much faster at sprinting than I would have expected.

We run, our feet pounding the ground thunderously loud, as Gandalf goes ahead. All of a sudden he disappears, as a warg appears in his place, snarling, teeth glistening with saliva. I turn, flinching away, but it appears that the wargs have surrounded us.

"We're surrounded!" Fili yells, backing up.

"Thank you for your observation," I reply, deciding that if I'm going to die, I will do it while being flippant. Humour is also a good way to distract myself from the imminent death that awaits me.

"Where is Gandalf?" Kiki yells, firing an arrow at a nearby warg expertly. It dies quickly, as the orc dismounts it, looking angry. I throw my knife, stepping forward to lunge, but it misses, hitting the ground just in front of me, barely a few metres. I dive forward, grabbing it quickly before I back up into the company again, a little embarrassed.

Suddenly Gandalf pops up from nowhere, a welcome sight. "This way, you fools!" He gestures at a small hole he seems to have found behind a rock. You wouldn't know it was there unless you were searching for it, which is a little suspicious, but I'm not one to argue.

"Go!" I give Ori a shove in Gandalf's direction, as he obeys, jumping down the hole. The other dwarves follow, falling with various grunts of discontentment.

Once most of the dwarves have jumped, Thorin grabs me, roughly throwing me into the hole.

I tumble and fall, my body hitting the ground harshly as Dwalin helps me back up, my clothes now dusty and uncomfortable. Dwalin moves, pushing me back so he can stand protectively in front of me, as Thorin quickly throws Kili down too, before jumping down the hole himself. The orcs seem to be dying somehow, with their many screeches of terror. By what, I have no idea.

We can't see a thing through the hole, so I listen instead. I can hear horses, and arrows. The orcs are dying, and losing. Thank goodness.

One orc manages to fall down the hole in front of us, thankfully with an arrow already buried inside it. It's entirely dead. Thorin pulls out the arrow, examining it in disgust. "Elves."

"Oh, thank the Valar." I breathe, giggling a little. "For a moment I was worried-" The company glares at me, especially Thorin, who seems distasteful as ever. I mask my features into a neutral expression as best I can. "I mean- oh no, how terrible?"

"I cannot see where this pathway leads," Dwalin says, taking the attention off me. He has discovered a tunnel at the end of the cave. "Do we follow it, of not?"

"Follow it, if course!" Bofur says, looking disbelieving.

"I think that would be wise," Gandalf agrees, and I grow even more suspicious. What is he doing?

The company sets off down the tunnel, chatting among themselves, as Gandalf goes last, a gentleman. I hang back, waiting for Gandalf. "Gandalf," I whisper to him urgently. "You do know where we are, don't you?"

Gandalf grins, pleased with himself. "My lady, you are more intelligent than you look, and certainly more than you know."

I can't tell if that is a compliment or and insult, so I don't reply, following Gandalf without a word. His use of 'my lady' is strange, as I'm not a lady at all, but I ignore it. It's best not to dwell on Gandalf's strange words.

Soon enough, the passage has opened, and before us lies Rivendell.

I've never been here before, though I have often wished otherwise, and by all accounts, the Valley of Imraldis does not disappoint. It's stunning. The light shines in the place, as if it is blessed by the Valar themselves. Magic seems to hum in the atmosphere, and the elvish blood in my veins sings to be in a place such as this. It feels strangely right, as a strange sense of calm flows over me.

"The valley of Imraldis," Gandalf announces, proud. "In the common tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," Bilbo finishes, in awe. He seems to be the only other member of the company as appreciative of this place as I am.

I grin down at him, excited. This exceeds my expectations by much. "Isn't it wonderful?"

He nods, perhaps seeing how pleased I am to be here. He seems to have dealt with the wargs remarkably well, and doesn't seem frightened. Perhaps it's this place, it is very calming.

"This was your plan all along," Thorin growls, sour."To seek refuge with our enemy."

"The fact that we were just attacked by orcs would suggest that the orcs are our enemy," I say, honestly. His prejudices are making him blind. I have grown up hearing stories of Lord Elrond and Rivendell. This place is equivalent to a myth for me, and I won't allow his petty grievances to ruin it.

 "You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself." Gandalf states, honestly. I agree, as usual.

 "You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact and respect and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

We head across the bridge into Rivendell, and I make no effort of hiding my happiness, leading the way. I don't know what I need to do here first? Read, train, eat, sleep, I could live my life here, if the Lord Elrond permitted it.

A dark haired elf walks down the stairs to greet us. "Ah, Lindir!" Gandalf says, pleased.

He greets the elf, then introduces me, in the common tongue. "This is Raelyn."

The elf looks me up and down, before greeting me politely. He seems almost pleased to see me, as he bows slightly. I nod my head in return, surprised to be treated with such honour.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond." Gandalf asks, almost pleading.

"My lord Elrond is not here," Lindir replies, turning away slightly. His voice is calm, but holds some kind of power beneath it, something deadly and unseen.

"Not here? Where is he?"

With impeccable timing, a group of elvish horsemen ride into the Valley, encircling the dwarves threateningly. Thorin yells a command which I cannot understand, but one elf steps forward, clearly the lord Elrond. His clothes are richer, his face wiser, his entire being filled with power.

"Gandalf."

"Lord Elrond. My friend, where have you been?" Gandalf finishes his sentence in elvish, and I can't help but feel proud that I can understand. I'm grateful for my mother, for teaching me this language. I never had a use for it, until now.

"We've been hunting a pack of Orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass." The lord dismounts, eyeing me slightly before greeting Gandalf again, with a hug.

Gandalf looks very sheepish, and embarrassed. He clearly cared about Elrond's opinion greatly. "Ah, that may have been us."

Thorin seems to grow tired of formalities, and steps forward, his stature clearly royal. He seems to overpower the other dwarves with his eyes alone, which are filled with intensity.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain." Elrond says, nodding in recognition.  "You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain."

Thorin looks even angrier. I don't know the full story, but something makes him furious. "Indeed, he made no mention of you."

I try to discreetly kick Thorin for the insult, embarrassed to be travelling with him. In return, he nudges my elbow, sharply.  Elrond seems to see our exchange, as he looks amused. " Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests." Elrond says, in elvish.

"What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?" Gloin bellows, angry. I sigh, turning away.

"I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed." I mutter to Gandalf, who looks inclined to agree.

"No, master Gloin, he's offering you food."

The dwarves don't take much convincing, as they follow the elves into the heart of the valley. Cheering and jostling each other, happy to have a bed for the night.

Elrond slows, to speak with Gandalf and I. "You are an elf." It's no question, so I don't answer, only inclining my head. "Your parents?" He doesn't seem curious, merely polite.

"My mother was a human woman in Annelde," I tell him, feeling a little embarrassed. My origins are not worthy of conversations with noble lords such as him. "I never knew my father." Gandalf and Elrond exchange unsubtle looks, but I pretend that I didn't see, though my curiousity is spiked.

"You're Tasha's daughter?" Elrond asks, carefully. I nod in reply, as he seems satisfied. Did he know my mother too? How odd.

"I'm more human than elf," I tell him, surely. "Even though I don't look it, I feel it."

The exchange another glance, as Gandalf mutters; "Perhaps not on the inside."

What is that supposed to mean? I feel offense, as we reach the hall of food.

Lettuce and other herbs and vegetables are piled delicately on plates, as the elves around strum on harps and sing soft lullabies, gently. The table is set to pristine perfection, with enough chairs set for the entire company.

The dwarves cheer, rushing to the tables and helping themselves to as much food as they can, seating themselves. I hesitate, feeling unsure about resting here. I want to do something, not feast and drink.

I've been to dwarven feasts before, and I know that the feast will last the night, as they drink and sleep their night away. Thorin will probably be coerced by Gandalf into showing Elrond the map, and will prepare to leave immediately.

So I grab a few pieces of bread and leaves, and decide that I should use this time wisely. I don't wish to die yet, but I know that this quest will only get more dangerous. I don't mean to die before we reach the mountain, but I do need to learn how to handle weapons better. I would prefer to live a few more months of my life.

"Where are your training grounds?" I ask the Lord Elrond, as he willingly directs me. He seems amused that I would rather train, than rest, but, I feel like I need to. I didn't even hit that warg earlier, despite my best effort. Next time Gandalf and the elves might not be there to save me. I need to defend myself, and I don't wish to be reliant on the wizard. It was also a severe blow to my pride.

As I leave, Thorin calls me, stern. His voice ms hushed, implying he doesn't want the elves to hear. "We leave at first light." He warns, clasping my arm gently. "Be ready."

I grin, leaving the room.

The training grounds themselves are illuminated by torches themselves at every corner, so one can practice well into the night. The torches are unusually bright, shining like stars.

However, the grounds empty, which I am thankful for. I would rather not have an audience watching me fail at knives.

I pull out my knives and my sword, debating which to try first. I do know how to use a sword, at least at a basic level, so I decide to practice with the knives first. Walking over to the target, I pull out my first knife and mirror the stance I've seen other people use.

Pulling my arm back, I release the knife as I throw, and it flies through the air, hitting the ground in front of the target softly. It's closer than before, but nowhere near as accurate as I want to be.

A soft laugh echoes out of the cornea of the room, through the darkness, and an elf steps out, clad in classic training robes. His face is not as old as Elrond's, but unrealistically handsome, his dark hair shining. "What are you attempting to do, dig a hole?" He remarks, gesturing to the knife that has buried itself into the ground?

Colour floods my cheeks as I grab the knife from where it landed, stepping back. I don't answer, and he looks a little abashed, so drops into a small bow. "Elladan, son of Elrond."

I copy him, clumsily curtsying as I duck my head. He has similar features to me, dark hair, though mine is more curly, and his nose and lips are also similar. Perhaps he is related to my father, but I don't care to ask. He is a lord, anyway. Son of Elrond. I should have curtseyed deeper. "Raelyn, daughter of Tasha."

His eyes widen, as he stares at me in shock, taking in my hair and my eyes with interest. "Yes, you look like her."

"You knew her?" I ask, wondering if he knows who my father might be, or how he knows my mother. 

"I knew of her. It doesn't matter," he shakes his head, gesturing to my stance as I slip into a more comfortable silence. "Your stance is wrong. You need your right leg to be further back." I adjust, shuffling, and he nods. "Correct."

He then grabs my knives from where I dropped them on the ground, examining them carefully. I don't dare to contradict him or tell him not to touch them. "These are balanced knives," he says, watching me. "Easiest for beginners." I suppose it's obvious that I am, a beginner.

"Hold the knife at the handle," he instructs, as I begin to wrap my fingers around the blade. "The handle gives a stronger throw," he looks meaningfully at the target. "Which you clearly need."

I blush again, deciding to just follow his instructions without biting back. He's a lord. I can't do much without being disrespectful, anyway.

"Angle of knife depends on your distance," he says. "The further away you are, the more angle needed. In a fight, you have to work it out."

I nod, understanding. I'll need practice at that, as I prefer to be prepared for things. Improvisation is not my favourite.

"Start with medium range," Elladan instructs, watching me scrutinisingly. "How much angle?" I bend my wrist back, and he shakes his head. "Less," I adjust, until he nods.

The target in front of me looks scarily far away, but I decide I ought to try. I take a step forwards, weight resting on my back foot and swing my knife arm forwards, changing where my weight is as I do. I release the knife and follow through, trying to be as fluid as possible. Knife throwing shouldn't take much strength, which is why I should be good at it.

The knife flies forward, and hits the target, which is a large improvement. It narrowly manages to stick on, almost hanging off the edge.

He looks pleased. "That's better."

I grab another knife, and try again, as he adjusts my stance. I try to aim better. It feels good though, and it's rewarding to watch as the knife buries itself deeper and deeper into the target each time.

I try short, medium and long range targets through the night, over and over until I can hit the target regularly. Elladan corrects my mistakes, and it's nice to have someone else there to watch my back, and I begin to like him, even through the snarky comments he makes. However, he's a prince, so I don't reply, still trying to be respectful.

Sometimes my aim is good, but I'm still slow. I definitely have improved. Sometimes I even hit where I mean to, which is gratifying.

As the sun comes up, I retrieve my knives, wiping them off with a piece of cloth, as Elladan embraces me suddenly. It's strange, as I'm stiff, before he turns and leaves the room. I'm shocked, but don't bother following him, instead rushing to join the company. I haven't slept, but I don't mind, for some reason I feel outwardly happy- I can't explain it.

I wait for the dwarves at edge of Rivendell, excited to go. Despite loving the Valley, I am excited to leave. Confident in my ability, even.

For some reason, the knives have made me feel so powerful. I don't feel as scared of everything as I usually do. Is this how elves feel? It's amazing. I think I could do anything right now. I could kills thousand orcs, or battle a dragon.

"What are you doing?" Dwalin asks me in confusion, his hand drifting to his axe. 

"What?"

He points at me feet; they are further away from him than I remember. "Why are you walking toward Rivendell?"

I turn to the Valley again, confused. I hadn't even noticed. Something is calling me, drawing me in. "I don't know, I just —" 

"Come on, lass," He says kindly, grabbing my arm. "I know it must be hard to leave your home."

"No," I say, for that's not the reason. I don't want to leave, but I don't want to stay either. My mind and my body are not obeying each other. What's wrong with me? "No, that's not —"

"Be on your guard; we're about to step over the edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths; lead on." Thorin interrupts, still careful as ever , as I catch up with him.

"You must be pleased," I say, clasping his arm lightly. The paths are thin, and he is extremely stable. He gives me a questioning look, before realising.

"About the door-" I nod, confirming my question. "I am," he speaks, and he seems more at ease, now. His eyes are brighter, filled with more purpose, and his posture seems straighter, which I wouldn't have thought possible. Rivendell has done wonders for the both of us.

"I've been practicing with my knives." I tell him, still feeling immensely proud of myself.

"I gathered." He says, chuckling a little. "You did go to the training grounds, after all."

I laugh good naturedly, nothing stopping my good mood. He laughs back, happy. It's nice to be like this, happy.

We walk for a few ours, side by side, talking about everything and everything. Thorin knows a lot of the history of dwarves, and he tells me the stories of the great dwarves of old, of Durin and his kin. I absorb the information willingly, trying to memorize as much knowledge as possible for later.

In return, I tell Thorin of what I know of elvish history, and the creation of the world. My mother always loved to talk about life and it's creation, and so I find myself enjoying retelling the legends as I know them, of the Valar, the Maiar, and the Noldor, Sindar, Silvan and Telerin.

I also tell him of the wizards, Alatar and Pallando, of Alatar's soft smile and kind eyes, of Pallando's honest words and harsh spirit. I don't know much about them, but I enjoy telling Thorin anyway.

The conversation lasts hours, until we are stuck in the middle of a giant battle on a ledge beside a mountain. I don't think I've ever regretted a decision as much as I regret leaving Rivendell. My good mood has long gone, with the rain, and my clothes are soaked through, my hair sticky and wet.

The first giant stands in front of us, and I let out a scream, clutching Thorin's arm. I may be taller than him, but it doesn't stop me from hiding behind the man, prepared to cling onto him in case I slip.

"You're such a girl," Kili says, rolling his eyes as I squeal. I can't help but be offended. Is that an insult? It's not a very good one.

"I'll push you off this cliff," I threaten, releasing Thorin's arm to step closer to the young dwarf. Over the days, Kili and I have developed a relationship that is mostly threats and insults, and today is no exception. "I'll do it, I will-"

As I complain, the ground beneath our feet crumbles away, dissolving, so I grab Thorin even tighter. Throwing knives don't really help in this situation, which is a frightening thought. Thorin shields me, acting strangely caring. He must like me more than I previously thought.

As he stands in front not me, the company is split in half by a gap in the mountain, one half in front of us, while we stand on the other side. "Kili!" I hear Thorin yell, panicked.

It doesn't do much, as the giant falls, his head dropping to the ground with a crash so large they probably heard it in Rivendell. Not very discreet, unfortunately.

The giant without a head falls again, this time into the mountain, crushing the rest of the company beneath its rocks. I scream again, my voice piecing the air, but ever so quiet as the storm thunders on, and Thorin seems to resist the urge to scream with me.

We rush to where they were standing, expecting the worst, but thankfully they are still alive, just exhausted as the pant, letting out a few chuckles. Well, most of them. "Where's Bilbo?" I panic, searching frantically.

"There!" Ori yells, as I realise that Bilbo is hanging off the edge of the cliff by his fingertips, slipping further and further down. I reach for him, but I don't think I'm strong enough to pull him up, even with all my willpower.

He looks terrified, an emotion that is probably mirrored on my own face. I try to reach further, risking falling off the cliff myself as I slip slightly, and retract, afraid.

Thankfully, Thorin, ever the hero, leaps down, pushing Bilbo back up as Dwalin bends down to help me pull him up. I hug him tightly, still feeling my heart racing. "I was so scared," I gasp, wide eyed.

Thorin is pulled up by the dwarves too, but he doesn't look at all happy at the fact. I can't tell if it's because his pride was wounded, or his energy was wasted.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar." Dwalin says, relieved. I nod, agreeing as I pick myself up, covered in rain and mud.

"He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us. Dwalin!" Thorin storms off, as the dwarves follow. Bilbo looks crestfallen.

"He didn't mean it," I comfort him, feeling sorry.

Bilbo looks sad. "Yes, he did."


a/n : this fic is so hard to write; I need to edit it but I really hate editing. At this point i'm just waiting for school to start.

lyra x