Again, we rode well into the night, and with good reason. A few hours after dark, we reached the edge of the Brown Lands, and entered a more livable climate. There was grass for the horses, a river Dwalin referred to as the Celduin, and a handful of trees.

Though I was tired, there was something between Dwalin and me that set me at unease. Not that I thought he would hurt me, or anything along those lines. Just that, perhaps, there was something going on that I didn't know about.

After eating, Dwalin didn't bed down right away, so I didn't either. Instead, I went to where the horses and pony were picketed, and rubbed them down with my hands, just checking them for any bumps or bruises. I didn't find anything, nor did I expect to. But after I'd finished checking the last of the three, I knew how to start the conversation.

I returned to my bedroll and stretched out on it. "So. Dwalin. What's this Thorin Stonehelm like?"

"He's a bloody fool."

"Hmm. Well I appreciate your judgment, but honestly, that doesn't help me much." When Dwalin didn't respond, I caught his gaze across the camp fire. "You said I didn't know the situation at Erebor. You were right. But now I need to know. And I'm asking."

Dwalin eyed me for a long moment, then he gave a single nod. "Fair enough. Sixty years ago, Thorin Oakenshield and his two nephews were killed by Azog the Defiler. Not two days after the battle, Dàin Ironfoot came around, claiming to be the rightful heir, being Thorin's cousin. We were able to hold him off, because he is a relatively distant cousin of Thorin's, but Dìs..." He looked away and fiddled with his pipe.

I frowned. "Granny Dìs what?"

Dwalin sighed at met my gaze again. "She was pregnant at the time."

I blinked. Twice. "Why did I never hear about this?"

Dwalin sighed and put away his pipe. "We decided not to tell you."

"Dwalin," I said in my most serious warning tone. "Pabba Làin died years before the battle."

"I know." He sighed again, still not looking at me. "Look, lassie, it's not something any of us are proud of. But nothing came of it, it's in the past, and there's no good reason to dig it up again...except to tell you what's going on."

I gritted my teeth, battling with the shock and frustration. It was like they had avoided telling me anything important. That grated on my nerves. But finally, I said, "Alright. She was pregnant."

Dwalin gave a grateful nod. "In hopes that we'd sire an heir closer to Thorin's line, we held Dàin off and formed the Council of Erebor, consisting of Thorin's original company and a few elders dedicated to Erebor and Durin's line.

"But being as old as she was, Dìs's pregnancy was unsucessful, and when it became clear she was no longer capable of childbearing, it was only a matter of time before Dàin realized he had every right to take the throne."

I gritted my teeth. "Until my mother came knocking at your door."

"Precisely," he said softly. "She told us the whole story from start to finish, concluding by telling us that she was with child. Kili's child. A legitimate—albeit half-Elven—heir to the throne of Erebor."

I sighed sharply. "You still haven't told me...what's so wrong with the Iron Hill Dwarves? Namely Dàin and his son?"

Dwalin nodded. "It's a fair question, lass. And the truth is, besides being grabby and impossible to reason with, they're too eager to jump into war. They love to divide and conquer...but after the Battle of Five Armies, and seeing our king and princes killed...us Erebor folk are ready for a quiet life of mining and living peacefully."

I didn't answer right away. It was a good reason, and not one I'd been expecting. Carefully, I said, "And you think this Thorin Stonehelm would drag Erebor into battle?"

Dwalin scoffed loudly. "No, I think Dàin Ironfoot would pressure him into declaring war. Stonehelm isn't intelligent enough to drag a dog by its leash."

I snorted. I'd forgotten about Dwalin's creative insults. They were actually amusing, when I wasn't at the butt of the degrading remark. Focusing on the situation, I said, "Who would he declare war on?"

"The Elves," Dwalin said matter-of-factly. "He wouldn't rest until every pointy-ear is south of Mordor." Dwalin looked at me seriously. "We don't have the numbers for open war with the Elves."

"They aren't likely to accept me as a queen, then," I said quietly. "Being half-Elven and all."

Dwalin chuckled. "You're right, lass. They won't. But the point is, it doesn't matter if Dàin accepts you or not. Erebor already has. And if you lead Erebor to war...we'll follow."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me when you learn the rest," Dwalin said gruffly. "But it would be best to wait until we reach Erebor, before you learn what other troubles have been plaguing Erebor."

Frowning, I nodded again. "Alright...good night, Dwalin."

He grunted in response, and no more was said that night.

* * *

We crossed the Celduin at sunrise the next morning, and continued north, toward Erebor. The temperature began to drop, and by the mid-afternoon, Dwalin and I had both pulled out whatever extra clothes we had and started adding layers.

A couple of hours later, we reached a small building situated beside the river. On one side was a corral of horses and ponies, and on the other was a row of docks, with boats tied to each one.

An old lady hobbled out of the house, leaning on a walking stick with her back hunched over. She also held a book and a piece of charcoal. "Dwalin, welcome back," she said in a creaky voice.

Dwalin grunted and dismounted. To me, he said, "Get the horses unsaddled and put them in the corral, then put the supplies in one of the boats. I have to pay her."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and obeyed. It made sense, managing time and trying to get to Erebor as soon as possible. Still, I felt about the same way now as I did fifty years ago, when Dwalin was ordering me around.

It didn't take too long to complete my assignment, and when I returned, Dwalin was just finishing up with the old woman. He handed her a couple of coins and said, "The pony is yours, but the two horses belong to Amariel."

"Amariel?" the woman gasped disbelievingly. She looked at me, squinting. "Is that really you, Eda?"

I bit my lip. "Sorry...do I know you?"

She laughed sadly. "You did, many years ago. It's me, Sigrid."

My mouth fell open. "Sigrid?"

She nodded and extended an arm to me. "Yes, I got old. We humans do that."

I swallowed and stepped into her embrace. She was so old...so very old while I had only aged a little.

"I never thought I'd see you again," she said in her creaky voice. A voice that had once been so strong and clear.

"Well, I'm back," I said, ending our embrace and smiling at her. "I'm here to take the throne, as I should have a long time ago."

Sigrid smiled back. "I won't get in your way any longer. But please, visit soon. I'm sure Bain and Tilda will want to see you again, as well."

"Enough chit-chat," Dwalin said gruffly. "We must get to Erebor. She'll visit if she can."

"When," I corrected. "I promise."

Sigrid nodded. "Of course, of course. You two row carefully; it's a cold night approaching."

Dwalin grunted and dragged me to the boats, while I waved. After pulling us both into a canoe, he untied the boat, sat down, and started guiding the boat out into the open water. I sat down and stretched my legs out, making a show of closing my eyes and relaxing.

Something smacked my stomach, and I caught it by reflex. An oar.

Dwalin smirked at my apparently-amusing expression. "You aren't a queen yet. Get to work."

I looked between him and the oar, then raised an eyebrow. "What about when I am a queen? Is something going to happen to my memory?"

Dwalin hesitated.

I smirked and handed him the oar. "Get to work." I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes again, halfheartedly trying to conceal my victorious grin.

It wasn't long before we reached the opposite shore, and Dwalin rowed us right up onto the sand. Dale was buzzing with life, children running around, chasing dogs and each other. A lone girl, maybe ten or twelves years old, stood out on the wharf, flying a kite. She smiled at me and waved, and I waved back.

"The city seems to be prospering," I said to Dwalin.

"Aye, for the time being. We bring trade in from everyone—the fishermen, the Iron Hills Dwarves...even the pointy-ears. I guarentee, this Thorin Stonehelm won't continue the trades. Dale will sink into poverty, and Erebor will shoulder the blame." He looked at me soberly. "More than just Dwarves will benefit, when you take the throne."

I nodded.

We walked through Dale, not stopping except when a working-class human girl asked me to buy a bread roll. Against Dwalin's better judgment, I bought the snack and munched happily while we walked the distance to Erebor.

At the front gates, we were met by Oin. Ear trumpet firmly in place, he exchanged greetings with Dwalin, then bowed deeply to me. "Welcome home, Amariel. Please, come inside. There is much you need to know." I followed Oin inside, with Dwalin close behind me. Oin led me down dimly-lit corridors and into a private library.

"Have a seat, lassie," Dwalin said, motioning to the chairs situated around a table. He, however, remained standing.

"Okay..." I reluctantly pulled out a chair and perched on the edge. "What's going on, exactly?"

Dwalin cleared his throat. "You remember when I wrongly accused you, and whipped you because I thought you were lying."

I glanced at Oin, who looked away, before turning back to Dwalin. "Yes. I do."

"Do you know what was stolen?"

"How would I?" I snapped. "I didn't steal it, and you never told me what it was!"

He nodded slowly. "It was a piece of Mithril."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why would a piece of Mithril be that important?"

Oin piped up. "Before we go into all that, we need to give you a history lesson. In the year 2770, Smaug destroyed Dale and drove us out of Erebor."

"Yes, I know that," I sighed. "I read Ori's record of Smaug's invasion."

Dwalin nodded. "Aye, you did. But something was removed. Something that Erebor was safer if the world didn't know."

I leaned forward. "What?"

Oin pulled a massive volume from a shelf. He gently brushed some dust off the top, then opened it up. He turned to a specific page and began to read. "In the late summer of 2770, a fire-drake from the north brought destruction to the city Dale before driving the inhabitants of Erebor out of the LonelyMountain. Barely visible between his claws was something large."

I frowned.

Oin flipped to another page and read. "In the fall of 2941, while searching for the missing Arkenstone, Crown Prince Fili discovered a large obling object measuring approximately two feet in length and eight inches in diameter, buried several feet in gold coins. King Thorin, along with the council of Princes Fili and Kili, as well as Balin and Dwalin, concluded that the object is, in fact, a dragon egg."