Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1

Wind-swept yet cheerful, the dwarves had huddled in close circles amongst themselves. After Gandalf had stormed off earlier, irate with the ‘stubbornness of dwarves’ as he claimed, the Company had been rather quiet. The resident gossipers—Bofur, Dori and Kíli—had been kept busy with preparing for the night. Thorin obviously knew their characters well and had deliberately provided tasks that suited them. And kept them out of trouble.

For as long as possible, anyway.

Bilbo had gone to take Fíli and Kíli their suppers, only to discover them staring at twelve ponies instead of the supposed fourteen they were supposed to have. That had been the start of a disastrous first night. Not only did those troublesome princelings leave Bilbo to fetch the ponies back from trolls, but the entire Company had ended up in sacks. Bilbo deliberately ignored Thorin’s scathing looks of distain. But they weren’t the only ones who had been caught by the trolls.

“Don’t bother cooking them. Let’s just sit on ‘em and squash ‘em into jelly.” One of the trolls said, leering at the dwarves who were slowly spit-roasting over the fire.

Another troll, Bert, shook his head and sprinkled herbs over the struggling dwarves. “They should be sauteed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage.”

Balin shouted, “Is that really necessary?” after getting a trickle of sage tossed into his eyes. Other dwarves also shouted at the trolls.

“Untie me, mister!”

“Eat someone your own size, you big—!”

Speaking over them was the third troll, William, who seemed more eager to sleep than eat. “Never mind the seasoning. Dawn ain’t far away. Let’s get a move on.” Then he added, turning the wheel for the roast spit, “I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”

Over the din of angry hollers and jeers, a feminine voice called, “I wouldn’t recommend eating them, if I were you.” The trolls paused and looked over to the woman who was laying in a sack just by the treeline, smiling pleasantly at them. “But don’t let me stop you from enjoying a good meal.”

The trolls blinked at her. Then one of the dwarves shouted, in a panicky voice, “You can’t reason with them! They’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits? Then what does that make us?” shouted another dwarf, strapped to the spit pole.

The woman cleared her throat, still smiling. “I meant with the seasoning.”

The cook, Tom, approached her. “What about the seasoning?”

“Well, it’s well known that dwarves and sage don’t go. Dwarves are a tough meat, you know, very gamey if cooked for too long.” She glanced at her fellow captives, grimacing. “Besides, you’ll need something stronger than sage before you plate that sorry lot up.”

The dwarves did not take kindly to the insult and heckled her with unkind words. Still, she preserved. Bilbo watched her warily, as did Thorin.

“What do you know about cooking dwarf?” growled William.

“Shut up,” snapped Tom, leaning down and clutching the woman by the neck of her sack. “Let the human talk.” He yanked her up higher.

“Uh, the secret to cooking dwarf is, um …” She shifted, kicking in her sack.

“Yes?” pressed Bert. “Come on!”

“It’s hard to think when someone has you dangling  by the neck,” hissed the woman, glaring at the troll for a second. “The secret is … um …”

“Well, tell us the secret.”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming to that! The secret is …” Her eyes darted around the area, beyond the trolls and the dwarves. “Erm … to marinate them first! Yes, then – then you can skin them—”

That comment sparked an outcry from the dwarves.

“I’ll get you, ya little—”

Dwalin pointed a hand at her. “I won’t forget that! I won’t forget it!” he shouted, as he was spun round.

“What a load of rubbish,” cried William, sneering at her. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scarf ‘em, I say, boots and all.”

Tired of waiting, Bert agreed, “He’s right,” He stomped over to the bound, wriggling dwarves and plucked the plumpest dwarf from amongst the pile. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf!” The poor dwarf whimpered, wriggling like a mad worm caught by a bird. “Nice and crunchy!”

Panicked, the woman screeched, “Not that one!” Both troll and dwarf turned to her. “He – He’s infected.”

“Huh?”

“You what?” grumbled William.

“Yes, yes,” The woman licked her lips, trying to reign in her obvious alarm. “He’s got worms in his … tubes?” Bert shrieked and threw the dwarf back onto the pile, causing grunts, groans and shouts. She added, “They all do. Dwarves are the worst for those sorts of things. They’re infested with parasites.” Pausing, she observed the trolls’ reaction. “I wouldn’t risk it personally,” she threw in, for extra measure as the trolls exchanged looks.

“Parasites?” repeated one of the older dwarves. “Did she say parasites?”

Bilbo’s heart dropped as the dwarves stirred, their pride threatened.

Kíli took a deep breath, then yelled, “We don’t have parasites! You have parasites!”

Bilbo watched as the woman’s face turned slightly and she gave the most severe death glare at the arguing dwarves a person could humanly muster. Then he felt a shift amongst the dwarves. They quietened, looked towards Thorin and then after a couple of seconds—

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!”

“Mine are the biggest parasites, I’ve got huge ones!”

“We’re riddled!”

“Yes, we are!”

“Badly,” Balin added drolly.

Looking around at the pandemonium, William grunted and stopped spinning the roasting pole. “What would you have us do, then?” he asked, coming next to Tom. “Let ‘em all go?”

“Well …”

He snatched her from Tom. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to?” he demanded, shaking her. “This ferret is taking us for fools!” She groaned, her head flopping.

“Fools?” repeated the other trolls.

Just at that moment, on the ridge above them appeared Gandalf. He called down to them, “The dawn will take you all!” Behind him were the first glints of fresh daylight arising.

“Who’s that?”

“No idea.”

“Can we eat him too?”

Then, with an almighty bang of his staff, Gandalf cracked the rock ledge into two, one side crumbling away to reveal the trolls to the awakening dawn. As their flesh sizzled and they cried out, sunlight burst down upon the trolls; groaning and grunting, their off-green skin slowly turned grey and their movements became hindered, eventually stopping altogether. With a final groan, the three trolls turned to stone.

Relieved, the dwarves cheered and laughed. Bilbo sank back down, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Up in the grip of a now stone troll, the woman swung slightly. Bilbo watched as she wriggled, trying to kick her legs. Distantly he heard Dwalin growl, “Oh, get your foot out of my back!” Gandalf came down and released them, Thorin first and then Oin, then Bombur. They all went on to release others, and eventually to extinguish the fire and cut the ropes binding the others to the roasting pole. Bilbo watched as the wizard stood below the woman, who was still had captive by her sack.

“And what, my dear, do they call you?”

“It depends,” she replied, trying to peer down at him. “I have a few names, though I need to know who I am speaking with to know which one to give you.”

Gandalf smiled warily. “Gandalf the Grey,” he supplied.

The woman paused. “I see,” she said slowly. “In that case, I’ll allow you to call me Calla.”

“Calla? You wouldn’t happen to be the granddaughter of Harlan, the glassmaker from Dale in the years of old?”

“It depends,” she said, eyeing him. “Does she owe you money? If so, then no I am not.”

A smile tweaked Gandalf’s lip. “No, she does not owe me money, although I daresay she owes me a favour that was unpaid by her grandfather and father.” She stilled and Gandalf chuckled. “It has been a long time since I last saw you, my dear. You barely reached your mother’s knee yet you were learning the family trade in your father’s forge. Where are you travelling from, may I ask?”

“Bree,” Calla replied, the tension slowly easing from her shoulders. “They have a good market, perfect for trade.”

“That they do,” Gandalf agreed. “Here, would you like to come down or hang up there for a little longer?”

Calla laughed stiffly. “My mother was right about you,” she said. “If you let me down, does that mean I owe you another favour or would you like me to repay the debt of my grandfather?”

“Do you know,” started Gandalf, as Bilbo ventured closer to them, “I would quite like discuss that idea of yours a bit more? Let me help you, then we can come to an arrangement.”

“Arrangement,” Calla huffed. “That is the first time I have heard it called that.”

Gandalf clucked his tongue and raised a thick eyebrow. “My dear, you would do better to wait before using that tone.” He said, “Especially with me.” And she promptly became quiet, waiting patiently for Gandalf to release her. “Bilbo,” called Gandalf, without looking at the hobbit, “Please inform the Company that we will be having another member for a short while. Just until …” Thoughts ticked through the wizard’s mind as he tried to fathom a place. “Well, for a short while.”

And none of them suspected that a short while would turn into a very long and arduous trek across woodlands, mountains and lakes.

Chapter Text

2

To say the leader of this sorry expedition was displeased would be, in Calla’s humble opinion, a piss-poor comparison. The great dwarf cast a brooding eye over her and then said, loudly enough for birds in the next forest to hear, “I refuse to have feeble stragglers in my company. Let her find her own way.”

Had she been alone instead of outnumbered a dozen to one, she would have said a good bit to put the cantankerous dwarf in his place. Instead, she let the wizard who was so set on retrieving his favour do the talking. “It is not for long,” Gandalf said, just a hint of firmness in his voice to sound resolute but not overbearing. “I wish for Calla to travel safely to the next village, from where she can safely travel home and absolve her grandfather’s guilt.”

She narrowed her eyes at the old man when she heard the word ‘absolve’.

As did Thorin, who cast her a scathing look. “I most certainly do not journey with criminals,” he sneered. “Our quest is—”

“She will not interfere with that,” Gandalf said quickly. “I promise you.”

A few seconds ticked by with the two staring hard at each other, a nonverbal battle of wills. Inwardly Calla hoped that the dark-haired and ill-humoured dwarf would win, then she could escape whatever favour Gandalf had in mind. Luck, it seemed, was not on her side. “Fine,” growled Thorin through gritted teeth. “But she must have her own rations. I will not waste ours on her.”

“Certainly.”

And that was how she joined the Company an hour ago. Since then, they had discovered the trolls’ horde of treasure and bones; some of the dwarves buried the treasure (though she didn’t understand why) and others pocketed goods they found. Calla herself only managed a few coins before the stench became too much and she rushed back into the open air, heaving.

“Are you alright, lassie?”

It was one of the friendlier dwarves. He looked at her expectantly.

“The smell,” She gestured to the cave.

Bofur smiled. “Ah yes, not the freshest daisy in the meadow. Here, wait there.” He said before venturing in the cave, shovel in hand.

Calla listened to the idle chatter as she observed the woods. A few birds chirped, but otherwise there wasn’t a sound. It was odd. The woods were not quiet enough to be concerning, but not far off. It must be the trolls’ fault, she told herself. Mindlessly, her fingers traced the thin chain around her neck. As her thoughts withered away with the wind, Thorin swept out of the cave, calling the other dwarves after him. “Come on, let’s go. Bofur, Gloin, Nori!” He stormed past her without so much as a glance. On his belt was new sword, one not made by dwarven hands. Calla narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

“Miss Calla?”

She turned to see the smallest of the Company looking at her, apparently concerned. “Yes, Master … ?”

“Baggins,” he said, smiling awkwardly, “Bilbo Baggins.” His eyes flickered to the dwarves, who were only a few steps away, waiting for more to emerge from the cave. “I, err, wanted to thank you for earlier. With the trolls.”

A weak smile twisted her lips. “You’re welcome, I suppose,” She tried not to laugh. “Tell me, Master Baggins, your companions – are they always this charming?”

Bilbo shared an amused look with her. “Oh yes. Yes. You should have seen the first time we all met – I dread returning home to fix the damage they caused. I shan’t tell you what they did to the plumbing, but the pantry … well, it is in a sorry state.”

“I can imagine,” Calla chuckled. “Dwarves are perhaps the hungriest guests a person can ever hope to entertain.”

The hobbit scoffed. “Yes, well, it would be nice for them to announce their visit before they come visiting. I tell you, I only wanted a quiet night in and somehow I ended up on this – um …” Before he finished his sentence, Bilbo caught himself and tried to save the situation. After all, this woman was not a member of the Company and he highly doubted that the dwarves—or Valar forbid, Thorin—wished for her to know their purpose journeying towards the Lonely Mountain. “You know, I don’t believe you said where you were going?”

Calla side-eyed him. “No, I didn’t say, did I? I am returning home from Bree.”

“And home is … where exactly?”

She doubted that he was asking out of malice, but she had only just met them. “A town you wouldn’t know, Master Baggins. A small settlement out of the way of dwarves, hobbits and elves.” That was all she would say on the matter.

Before Bilbo could ask any further questions, rustling and caterwauling could be heard in the distance. “Something’s coming!” shouted Thorin. The entire Company went on alarm, even Gandalf braced himself for an enemy to lurch out of the bushes.

“Stay together!” shouted the wizard, “Hurry now! Arm yourselves!” The shouting and crashing came closer, and closer, until—

“Murder! Fiends!”

A sled sprung out of the bushes, pulled by large rabbits and guided by a scruffy, brown-clothed man. As soon as the sled landed on the path, it halted. The man jostled from impact. He looked dazed and out of place. His matted, filthy hair was coated in patches of what looked like bird droppings. His dazed glance wandered over each member of the Company before settling on the tallest.

“Radagast! It’s Radagast the Brown.” Gandalf could not hide his relief. Quietly, Calla wondered how many people Gandalf knew. He smiled, chuckling. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, Gandalf,” Radagast said quickly, dismounting the sled. Several eyed the wooden contraption, a few muttered about its shoddy craftsmanship. The man did not hear them. “Something’s wrong. Something is terribly wrong.”

“Yes?” Gandalf pressed, his bushy brow furrowed.

Radagast went to speak, then stopped. “Just give me a minute.” His brow crinkled and he said, “Oh! I had a thought and now I’ve lost it. It was right there, on the tip of my tongue!” Clearly agitated, he fidgeted and muttered to himself erratically. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, it’s not a thought at all!” He slurred, raising a hand to his mouth. “It’s a silly old stick insect.” He fished the long-limbed insect from his mouth, its legs twitching. Gandalf placed an arm around his friend and led him away from the Company, the two exchanging concerns.

Bilbo looked around at the dwarves and Calla, all of whom watched on with varying degrees of disgust, mistrust and confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thorin mutter something in Dwalin’s ear and the bald dwarf grumbled a response. What they said, he didn’t know. The next thing he heard was the shrill howl of an animal. “Was that a wolf?”

“Are there wolves out there?” Calla asked at the same time, her hand sliding to the concealed pocket at her hip.

Before anyone could reply, a snarling beast launched itself at Bofur, knocking the dwarf to the ground. He cried out. Without missing a beat, Thorin swung his sword at the beast’s neck, killing it. “Kíli! Get your bow!” Thorin shouted, his face thunderous. More wargs manifested from the trees surrounding them. Kíli nocked an arrow and killed another warg, followed by Dwalin’s awe embedding itself in the head of another.

“Warg scouts.” Looking wildly around him, Thorin snarled. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.” He grabbed the closest dwarf to him—Ori—and thrust him ahead. “Stay close together!”

Alarmed, Gandalf hurried back with Radagast close behind him. “Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?” he demanded, his eyes wide and menacing.

“No one,” Thorin asserted, glowering at the wizard.

“Who did you tell?” Gandalf repeated.

“No one.” Thorin’s eyes blazed with anger. “I swear.” For a moment his eyes flickered to Calla, who looked both petrified and disturbed at the dead bodies of the beasts. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

A tormented look passed over Gandalf’s face. “You are being hunted,” he warned the dwarf lowly.

“We have to get out of here,” Dwalin growled, eyeing the warg corpses. He looked towards Thorin, who remained grave.

“We can’t!” Ori exclaimed, “We have no ponies! They bolted!” The group looked around, despair etched into each face. The situation looked bleak.

Radagast then announced, “I’ll draw them off,” earning a look of exasperation from Gandalf.

“These are Gundabad wargs,” he snapped, “They will outrun you.”

Radagast took a step towards him, confident. “These are Rhosgobel rabbits.” He declared. Gandalf stared at him. “I’d like to see them try.”

A chorus of warg howls echoed in the air. Radagast mounted his sled and, with a quick tut-tut, the rabbits’ ears pricked. Without warning, all creatures took off, with Radagast yelling at the top of his lungs. “Come and get me!”

“Quickly!” hissed Gandalf, leading the Company along a path. “We must keep quiet.”

The dwarves had grabbed the nearest person to them; Bilbo was grabbed by Bifur, and Calla was grasped by none other than Dwalin who yanked her along behind him. Stealthily—or as stealthily as a group of overladen dwarves, an elderly wizard, an introverted hobbit and a short woman could—they made their way under the cover of trees into a field jagged with rocks. As they begun their descent down the hillside, the howls of the wargs still haunted them. Distantly they could hear cackling laughter over the barks and howls. “Mad,” muttered Dori, huffing.

As the group ventured into the open, their anxiety heightened. Thorin glanced around frantically, leading the way with Gandalf. Surprisingly spry for his size, behind him was Bombur, closely followed by Ori, Bofur and Dwalin. Balin, Bilbo and Calla made up the rear. The yowls of the wargs and shouts of the riders could be heard, but none could pinpoint their whereabouts.

Just as Thorin and several other dwarves sprinted round the larger crags of rock, they glimpsed Radagast bound pass. Seconds was all they had to flatten themselves against the rock to avoid being seen by their hunters. Thorin hissed to retrace their steps, carolling them another way. But just as they made to dash out, they heard the shouts grow louder. “No, Ori!” Thorin seized the younger dwarf by the scruff and hauled him backwards. Just in time. Wargs bounded past, their riders snarling. Calla almost ran into the back of Balin.

“You alright, lass?” he whispered, shooting her a worried glance.

“Aye,” she huffed, almost wheezing. A stitch lanced her side. She tried pressing on it, but the deep ache remained. “What is chasing us?”

Balin pursed his lips. “Ah, well, now that’s—”

“Brother,” hissed Dwalin, beckoning him closer. Balin cast one last look at Calla, then hurried to the front of the group. “Best be prepared for …”

Calla missed what he said. The sound of growling seemed to fade once again, but so did the laughter. She looked towards the other dwarves, searching for an answer. Were they safe? Had the danger passed? She didn’t dare ask. Then she heard Gandalf whisper, “Come on, quick!” And they were running again. Staying close to the boulders and rocks, they slunk across the field as fast as their feet could carry them. Even Bilbo, who was smaller than everyone else, managed.

As Gandalf and Thorin paused to guard the others streaming past, Calla heard Thorin ask, “Where are you leading us?” but did not hear Gandalf’s answer.

All the aged wizard said was, “Quick, my dear, stay close!” and ushered her forward with the others.

Never had her heartbeat been so wild and chaotic. Not even when she was pursued by the villagers who expelled her family from their home.

So far, it seemed like luck had been on their side. But now a rider had strayed from the pack. As they leaned close to another rock, Radagast fading into the distance with the pursuers, a snuffling sound could be heard coming from above their heads. Had they been found? Calla’s heart crawled into her throat. Her hand clutched at the concealed weapon by her hip. One of the other dwarves squashed an arm against her, holding her flat. She glanced at him, but he paid her no attention.

From beside Thorin, a dark-haired dwarf stepped out and spun on his heel, his bow ready. He let the arrow fly and a squeal filled the air. Another arrow, and a beast tumbled down with its rider. An ugly, swarthy-skinned creature with tufts of fur. The rider was equally hideous. The beast squealed. The rider roared and charged. Dwalin swung his awe, bringing it down on the rider. Bifur joined him. When the beast tried to bite, Dwalin crushed its head blow after blow. The shrieks and snarls were terrible. Calla trembled. Bilbo paled.

In the distance, the howls and shouts had stopped. Gandalf stiffened. Realisation drifted over the dwarves and Thorin shared a look with the wizard. “Quickly,” said Gandalf. “Now!” They hurried away from the butchered remains of beast and orc, only to hear the shrill wails of the wargs as they gained on them. As they ran, Kili fired arrows while Thorin and Dwalin swung their weapons at wargs getting too close. Just as they reached a summit, Gandalf disappeared. With their enemy encircling them, the dwarves unsheathed their weapons, ready for a vicious fight. Even Bilbo pulled a short sword out. Reaching into her pocket, Calla pulled out a hand-axe and held it in front of her body. Panic pumped through her body.

Chapter Text

3

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!”

Calla and Bilbo watched as Ori, the meekest of the dwarves, fired his slingshot at a warg. The stone bounced off its head and its rider snickered.

“Hold your ground!” shouted Thorin, his sword glinting in the sunlight.

“This way, you fools!” Jumping, they found Gandalf peeking out from a hole in the rocks. He glared at them all imperiously before disappearing once again.

“Quickly, move!” shouted Thorin, jostling Dori and Óin towards the hole. “Hurry! Kíli, stay close!” He counted each member as they barrelled down the dark crater. A warg pounced, but Thorin cut it down before it could sink its claws into any of them. “Come on!” he yelled. Kíli shot arrow after arrow at the riders. Nearly all the dwarves had jumped down the tunnel. Calla dithered on the edge. Thorin fisted her tunic and threw her down there with the rest. “Kíli! Run!” Not even seconds later, Kili and his brother slid down the tunnel with Thorin behind them. A horn sounded before Thorin’s feet even touched the floor. The dwarves looked around madly.

“Reinforcements?” whispered Nori.

Indeed, a skirmish was happening above them, but the rocks hid their enemies as much as it hid them. As Calla and Bilbo looked around, a body came tumbling down the tunnel. Calla shrieked, jumping back. The dwarves parted as the body rolled to a stop, their spears, axes and swords aimed at the creature. It was a rider, but it was still. Dead. Gandalf’s eyes strayed back to the opening. Thorin reached forward and yanked an arrow from the creature’s chest. “Elves,” He spat the word. Looking at Gandalf, his lips curled back as thoughts of treachery raced through his mind. He knew the wizard was partial to the elves, but this … It was too convenient.

“I can’t see where the pathway leads. Do we follow it or no?” shouted Dwalin, over the clamour outside.

“We follow it, of course!” called Bofur, shoving past to reach him. The other dwarves mumbled their agreement, and they began their trek through the darkness.

“Uh, Miss Calla?” Bilbo looked around him, trying to check if the young woman was still with them. He couldn’t see her. Then again, everyone else towered over him. “Miss Calla?”

“She’s fine, laddie,” Balin came to his side, his voice lowered. “Best not call out too much. We don’t know what awaits us ahead.” Gulping, Bilbo nodded. Balin chuckled lightly. “Still got your sword?”

“Uh, yes,” Bilbo patted his hilt. “Yes, still got it.”

“Good,” the dwarf said, patting the hobbit’s back. “Keep it to hand. We don’t want our burglar to be eaten before we reach the mountain.” Chuckling, he left the hobbit twitching in anxiety to catch up with his brother. “How does it look?”

Dwalin grunted. “Dark. I can’t see a bloody thing.”

Balin chuckled. “Aye, that’s true.”

“Stay sharp,” Thorin hissed from the front. The Fundin brothers fell silent, keeping their ears out for any noise. Behind them, they could hear Glóin cursing and Bifur muttering in Khuzdûl. For what felt like an age, the Company slunk its way through the rocky path, listening out for the slightest sound. The echo of rushing water grew louder. Eventually, a glint of light beckoned them to the end. “Ahead – keep quiet!” Thorin ordered. One by one, they emerged into a bewitching scene: bright and airy, they stepped into a clearing that overlooked a serene-looking citadel surrounded by waterfalls.

“What is this place?” breathed Calla, her head spinning.

“The valley of Imladris!” Gandalf’s voice belied an awe and quiet relief. “In the common tongue it is known by another name … Here lies the last Homely House East of the Sea.” He gazed over the citadel with soft eyes.

“This was your plan all along,” snapped Thorin, indignant. “To seek refuge with our enemy.” His words rumbled over the Company. Balin muttered something to Kili, who seemed amazed by the tranquil landscape.

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf retorted, scowling. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.” He laid a deliberate emphasis on the final word.

“You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?” His words pricked Calla’s ears; she half-turned to glance at the brooding dwarf, only to catch Balin’s eye. She looked away. Thorin’s voice lowered, and Calla strained her ears to listen. “They will try to stop us.”

Quest? Gandalf mentioned nothing of a quest – he hadn’t even properly asked her to repay her grandfather’s favour yet. Calla’s nerves jittered. Was that why they had been hounded through the forest? What quest could dwarves undertake that passed through elven lands? 

“Of course they will,” Gandalf replied easily. His voice became firmer, sterner. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” Calla ignored the excitement creeping amongst the dwarves. (“Look at that, Ori!” whispered Bofur, pointing out something in the distance.) Something was going on that no one had mentioned to her. “If we are to be successful,” Gandalf continued, none the wiser of her eavesdropping, “This will need to be handled with tact and respect. And no small degree of charm.” He stared down hard at Thorin. “Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

A moment passed before Thorin gave the order for everyone to get into line and follow Gandalf down a trail towards the front gates of the citadel. The path down was peaceful, even calming. Calla felt her nerves settle for a time. But as they crossed the small stone bridge, the water trickling gently underneath, her nerves pulsed. She had little knowledge of elves, only the words of her grandfather and none of them had been kind. Slowly, music floated towards them, joined with melodic voices. The words were foreign to her ears. Perhaps they realised the troupe could not understand, for they switched to the common tongue.

“O! Where are you going

With beards all a-wagging?

No knowing, no knowing

What brings Mister Baggins,

And Balin and Dwalin

down into the valley?”

“Keep moving, lass,” grumbled a red-haired dwarf—Glóin—and he hustled her along. She heard him mumble under his breath, words he thought she couldn’t understand.

The group filed into a circular courtyard, adorned with a few trees and shrubs. Lanterns billowed in the windows and a skylark sang sweetly to a harp someplace else. The singing had died like embers on a fire. As the dwarves and Bilbo meandered, a tall elf with flowing burgundy robes descended the steps. He greeted Gandalf, not sparing a glance for his companions. “Mithrandir,” He smiled, though not unkindly.

“Aah, Lindir.”

Calla stepped closer to the dwarves, her eyes not leaving the elf. She bumped shoulders with Bifur, who glanced at her. She saw Thorin lean into Dwalin. Gandalf and the elf exchanged words, but she did not know what was said. The tongue of the elves was something she had never heard before.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” said the elf simply, no longer smiling. Still he refused to look at the dwarves. He kept his chin held high in defiance.

“Not here?” repeated Gandalf. Then he paused. “Where is here?”

Before the elf replied, the same horn blared and Calla jumped, almost treading onto Bifur’s toes. The sound of clamouring hooves filled the tranquil silence. Then Thorin shouted, “Danger approaches! Close ranks!” and the dwarves scrambled into a close circle, weapons out and ready. Calla had been squashed into the middle with Bilbo. She didn’t know the name of the dwarf who had grabbed her, but he had managed to snag a few hairs from her head with his brusqueness. Horses and elven riders trotted around them, encaging them. Their fear and panic were palpable. Dwarves and elves had not been friendly with each other for an age or two. Not since …

“Gandalf!” shouted a dark-haired elf. He smiled and dismounted his horse.

“Lord Elrond!” The wizard bowed to the elf and spoke in their tongue. Thorin and Dwalin watched on, not finding their disgust. Several of the other dwarves seemed restless, eyeing the elves and shifting their grip on their weapons. One of them stood on Calla’s foot.

Lord Elrond embraced Gandalf as though they were old friends. Then he said, calmly, “Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders,” He handed his sword to the burgundy-robed elf from before. “Something, or someone, has drawn them near.” From his tone, it was clear he expected an honest answer.

And an honest answer he received. “Ah,” said Gandalf, “That may have been us.” He motioned to the Company with his staff. Thorin came to the forefront of the group, Dwalin and Nori at his shoulders, each holding his awe and mace.

Lord Elrond stepped closer to him. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain,” he said, with no trace of malice in his tone. It was stunning to hear an elf speak so courteously to a dwarf – it was not something Calla had ever imagined. Not with the stories her grandfather had told her.

“I do not believe we have met,” was Thorin’s quick reply. It was barely civil.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” the elf lord said, as serene as the waterfalls around him. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed,” Thorin’s voice was quiet, like the distant rumbling of thunder before lightning. “He made no mention of you.”

No one missed the dark scowl that Gandalf directed at the surly dwarf, nor did they miss the challenging glint in Lord Elrond’s eye. His next words were elven, strange on the ear and somehow mesmerising. He did not once look away from Thorin. Once he finished, tension ignited once more.

“What is he sayin’?” demanded Glóin, quivering with anger. “Does he offer us insults?” He shoved his way to the front, his axe high in his hand. Other dwarves also tittered angrily.

Gandalf gave an almighty sigh and stepped, almost protectively, in front of the elf lord. “No, Master Glóin, he is offering you food.” Calla did not miss the slight smirk that passed Lord Elrond’s lips. Had he … She peered at him, then averted her gaze when Gandalf looked around the Company.

Briefly, the dwarves crowded together and short words were exchanged before Gloin stepped out again, saying, with no shame or guilt, “Ah, well, in that case … lead on.”

Calla sighed.

Gandalf rolled his eyes and muttered something to Lord Elrond in elven tongue. As the party of dwarves, elves, wizard and hobbit made their way into the buildings of Imladris, Calla dawdled at the back. How had a trip to Bree brought her to an elven kingdom with a company of dwarves? If only she had not crossed paths with those trolls, she would be far from this situation. She still had to cross Greenwood, but that would take her days to reach from here. At the top of the steps were a few elves trying to approach the dwarves, offering respite and baths. None of the dwarves were keen to accept their offers. But as Calla drew nearer, the call of a hot bath and clean skin couldn’t be resisted.

“Little one,” a she-elf called to her. “Come with us.”

Shyly, Calla nodded. “Yes please,” she mumbled, unable to meet the elf’s eyes. Her heart thumped so fast and hard against her chest. But they seemed kind … albeit big. They were much bigger than any man or woman she had met. Amongst Men, she barely reached their hip. Many often confused her with a child until they noticed her mature features. Her rounded cheeks oft portrayed her younger than her years. It was when they spoke with her or came close enough to see her face clearly, they realised she was not a child but a woman. Did the elves also see her as a child? No matter, there was safety in not being seen as a grown woman.