There was something enchanting about autumn twilight, it eclipsed the long summers and brought with it the bracing winds of the Dwarven New Year.  Dwarfs were a secretive people, so much so that their own culture and practices was shrouding in so much myth and legend even their own people have difficulty.  Even their own calendar had faded from memory.

They were entering the elven firith or quellë, their fading season were the world slowly falls to sleep in preparation for the harsh winter.  There was something poetic about the elven calendar, yet its greater nuances were decidedly lost upon Rekena and her kin's men.  Dwarves were far to grounded for the twelve months of men or the 144-year yéns of the elves. Their New Year followed the moon as did their days of great celebration but other than that dwarves were very unbothered with time – they didn't have so little that they worried like men nor too much that they wasted it like elves.  Just enough to earn an honest living.  Despite inheriting a dwarfish indifference Rekena was fascinated by time and the calendars of the Menish worlds even the halflings had their own calendar. A well settled dwarf could live for over 250 years yet as she passed into her 211th year of living she was yet again reminded of the difference between her and her kin.  She had been brought into the line of Durin by Gróin, sire of Gloin and grand sire of Gimili yet as she had grown alongside her brother Gloin she barley reached her adolescents when Gloin himself began to raise his own son. 

It had been in the company of those she considered family that she remained, being so young when she was brought into the fold, she never really thought to venture out in search of those that looked like her. In her heart she was no less dwarf than the next bearded fellow, her axe as sharp, her feet as grounded here hair even held the same beads braided with the same heritage as her kin.  She may have been taller and her ears more pointed, but it had been more than a hundred years since she had last cared. 

As the Battle of the Five Armies came and passed the dwarfs had entered their renascence – strengthen their kingdom and reviving culture of their people.  It wouldn't be untrue that a time of relative peace had followed, they faced little to no trouble with their southern elven neighbours and the Men of Dale had reignited the heart of their trading town much to the benefit of the dwarfs of the mountain. 

It had come with understandable shock then when a black rider of Mordor appeared knocking at the gates of Dain's strong hold – Erebor hadn't hosted such evil since the banishment of the dragon.  His mere arrival was a bad omen, but his words were considerably worse.  Rekena herself had been there as the messenger offered Dain an alliance between Sauron of Mordor and the Dwarves of Erebor. 

Dain himself was wise enough to know not to trifle with the likes of Sauron for he dealt in dark evils.  Despite Dain's obvious dismissal of the messenger the rider pressed on much to the insult of the King's authority. He asked for knowledge concerning Hobbits, small halflings from leagues away – the kind that had stepped foot in Erebor but once.  Not only did he seek knowledge about them but specifically he asked for what they know of Bilbo Baggins, the old friend of the company of Thorn and he who helped deliver the Mountain.  It was then that Dain cast the evil from his halls having Rekena and other members of the guard forcibly remove him from the King's sight.  In indignant protest the messenger finally showed his colours telling the court of the ring that Sauron's needed help tracking, downplaying the slip of the tongue be merely writing it off as least of rings, a mere trifle yet he underestimated the King's intelligence.  He didn't need elvish wisdom to know ring the messenger spoke of.  As a final bargaining tool before he was rid from the halls of Erebor once and for all he offered the three Rings of Power that belonged to the Dwarf-Lords of Old.  However, it wasn't that promise that remained with the King and court but rather the promise of reclaiming Moria that left them truly worries. Realising he had made no traction with the King Under the Mountain the messenger from Mordor had eventually left not before the ominous warning of foul things to follow should they not bend the knee and fall in line.  Dain laughed him from his halls giving him the empty promise to consider his request. 

Close contact to such evil still left Rekena chilled, it had been an unnerving experience, but the strength of their King had stood them well.  Mordor never got their reply, Dain instead called together his court, the members of his household and his guard and entered deliberation over what to do.  Younger Dwarfs who did not remember the battle of the five armies or the war of orcs and dwarves were ready for blood – they would have marched to the gates and demanded blood for the simplest crime of threatening their King.   Rekena would have joined them, Sauron had insulted their intelligence by sending his rider with such offers and threats, but she was not King and perhaps that was for the best for good Kings do not wadge war upon petty insult.

A course of action needed to be taken though, while he may have been dragged from their halls in a most indignant fashion the one, he spoke for was perhaps the greatest threat that Ennorath, it transcended the quarrels of dwarves or men or elves.  That was perhaps why after nearly a year deliberating consulting the wise once's, the charts, the scribes of history and the lords of the mountain that Dain eventually conceded that an issue bigger than the dwarves should be brought before those other than just the dwarves.

Dwarves were obstinate to the last but when Sauron's messenger had come it had rattled Dain in a way Rekena didn't know possible which had led to the mission she was on now.  The King had dispatched Gloin of the old company alongside his son – Rekena joined them as both family and sworn Dornar Barakor of Erebor. Dwarvish for King Shield she was the most trusted of the Kings Guard and so it was only fit she would accompany her kin to deliver the most important of news. 

Sauron was hunting the halfling and the ring.

Like any other elvish-drawven encounter though there was always an altera motive, not necessarily a fiendish one but one certainly to the benefit of the dwarves.  In this case Gloin, Gimli and Rekena didn't seek to the Lord of Rivendell to simply warn him of Sauron's malice, they also carried questions.  Sauron, or at least his messenger, had promised Khazad-dûm to Dain – this only furthered the King's suspicion that something terrible had befallen the kin of Erebor.  A small contingent led by Balin, Ori and Óin had left the lonely mountain nearly thirty-five years ago to retake the ancient Dwarven mines of Moria yet communication had been cut off after five and after the eleventh messenger disappeared Dain and the court of Erebor had all but given up hope.

Perhaps the Elven Lord of Rivendell could give them some notion as to what had taken place. 

While they may have received the messenger in their halls nearly a year ago as was right the Lords and King had been careful in their planning, Sauron still awaited their answer and so they couldn't give themselves away.  Their timing had aligned though, they had made it to the pass before autumn had time to give way to the even harsher winter snows of the Misty Mountains.  Two months travel on foot had been surprisingly easy going, some 500 miles was not for the faint of heart, but journey had to be made.  

The Old Ford of Carrock had been the last time they had been in the company of others – the barren mountain pass had left them cold and alone, but a dwarf was at his most content when found in the shadow of a mountain.   His red hair may have aged to grey yet the fire within him burned as bright as ever, Gloin was alive as ever as he told yet again the stories of his last crossing through the Woodelves Pass through Mirkwood. His eyes alight as he recalled the spides even mentioning once or twice the Dragon of the Mountain much to his son's delight. Gimili was only young when his father and others had departed to join the company of Thorin yet even as a grown man he enjoied has father's adventure stories.  Dwarfs were sticklers for ballads and heroics especially of their kinsmen and there was no mightier tale then the retaking of Erebor – the home of Gloin, Gimili and Rekena. 

While Rekena need not hear the story again for she could recite it herself she had heard it some many times, yet she didn't mind for it distracted him.  Despite over 60s having past since the band of dwarves retook the lonely mountain Gloin had failed to shed his mantle of treasurer of the company. Aetharn may be too harsh a word for it but Gloin certainly had the truest of Dwarven relations with gold, he loved to attain it and hatted to be parted from it.  He had almost drawn arms when he found how steep the Beorning's toll for safe passage was.  It was coin well spent though, the kept the orcs and the wargs at bay leaving only nature herself to deal with.   It wasn't long ago that the High Pass of Imladris was truly impassable. 

Grimbeorn, the leader of the Beorning's that guarded the pass and the ford of Carrock, was an impressive figure to behold - his yew bow alone stood taller than she.  His hulking presence had been unnerving for her, who stood far above her companions.  Yet he had shared his honey-cakes with them and wished them no ill will, the growing threat of orcs and he rising power of Sauron that permeated the land had made from Beorning's sour to travellers but Grimbeorn was kind to them, that was upon payment and a few campfire stories from Gloin who had Grimbeorn's father many a year ago. 

Grimbeorn's campfire and cakes seemed a lifetime ago, despite not having to face the winter snows of the pass, the mountains still put up a fight and this final leg of the journey proved to be slow, sluggish work. They battled the elements beyond the summit and down the other side. 

Their maps had remained untouched for the majority of the journey, kept in the saddle bags of the single pony they had brought. Byrion was a short and stubborn mount and thus the perfect accompaniment to the dwarves.   Dwarves generally found horses to be a ridiculous idea, leaving them to the worlds of men and elves.  The occasional pony could be found among them and if needed they would ride of the stocky mounts but never a horse.  Due to their strong aversion to the animal Rekena hadn't ridden for just as the dwarves were too small for horses, she was far too large for any pony.  

However, as the clouds lifted Rekena found herself tempted to check the maps as revealed before her was a landscape very unfamiliar to her.  Gloin, however, was unfazed as men and as others may change the dwarves remain the same just like the rocks beneath their feat – something she was often reminded of. 

Thankfully Gloin's self-assurance was not misplaced, as they descended the snow was left behind.  They followed the Bruinen, refilling their skins and keeping gentle pace – they were almost there, the woods has changed too they were decidedly more elvish but not like the reclusive wood elves.  The serenity and bliss of these river dwelling elves seemed to seep into the landscape around them.  It was unavoidable and nearly lulled Rekena into such a false sense of security she was almost taken by surprise at the appearance of the Rivendell guard.  Although you could tell by the change in scenery, they were nearing the town Rekena had no idea they were so close, or at least close enough to trigger a mounted response.

There were only a few elves sat astride their horses but the quickly encircled Rekena, Gimli and Gloin. Gimli raised his axe in a defensive position while Rekena's hands instinctively fell to her smaller throwing axe hung by her waist – a clean throw would incapacitate one of them long enough for her to retrieve her larger more deadly weapons. 

Gloin remained still, shaking his head at the bloodlust of the youth – he had been in this position before, the elves liked to use their horses to try and provoke a reaction from him and his kin. 

Suddenly flurries of silken words were spoken over them, sounding like a charm or incantation but then to the untrained ear most elvish speak did. Soon enough Rekena realised that it was Sindarin, the common tongue of elves that was being spoken upon them.  It took her even longer to realise they were trying to speak to her – she swore loudly in Khuzdul.

Despite her slightly unkept appearance to them there was no reason why she wouldn't be able to reply to their Sindarin, sure enough she knew some words as did any dwarf but what they were saying was pure mystery to her. 

"Westron if you please."  She scowled; the horses had slowed until she was left staring down the elf who was undoubtably their commander.

"Annúnaid?" He seemed as confused as she did, but her hand tightened around the axe at her side, a sign that seemed to clear up the elf's confusion.  "What is your business here?"

"We seek an audience with Elrond elf-Lord." Gloin answered drawing himself up hands crossed in front of his broad chest, his low voice far more serious than it had been for campfire stories.

"I was not speaking with you, dwarf." The eleven-guard replied not even lowering his gaze to meet Gloin's, probably for the best the steely eyed glare of a dwarf is not easily weathered.

Rekena didn't even entertain a reply, just copied Gloin's stance and followed her arms in defiance. She may have stood near enough a third taller than her kin but she knew better to get between Gloin and any battle that was brewing, he would handle it on his own.

"Milord Elrond isn't taking the council of dwarves at this present moment; in fact, he seeks not to hear the word of outsiders."

"Not even word on Mordor, we did not travel this far for needless confrontation elf – take us to see you lord so we may our piece, get our answers and be on our way." 

It would have to be impossible for Elrond the master of knowledge would not have heard of the stirrings in Mordor as Erebor had, the mention of the evil place raised their interest to the point where the steely gaze was almost broken. It was apparent the elves feared Sauron just as much as the dwarves.  

"Follow us."  The guard relented, leading the small company into the folds of Rivendell and toward an audience with their lord.