mithril

II.

— II —

thirty-two years later

Thorin Oakenshield has been set in my sights like stone from the very moment he stepped into Imladris, followed by a rather strange host and tailed by a pack of Warg-riding Orcs. Wrapped in shadow and using stealth that was a rather uncanny skill of mine ( or a curse, if you asked Elrond ), I watched the company enter my home and meet with the Lord of Imladris for the first time. And not for the last, I came to find. Since that hour I have watched. Unseen. Silent. An observer in the shadows. Until this very moment, anyway.

The setting sun, sliding perfectly between the tall cliffs of pale stone to either side of the valley, is turning the waterfalls of Imladris to fire. It would be a magnificent sight if there wasn't a brooding Dwarf pacing back and forth relentlessly in front of it.

Rather like a trapped bear, isn't that one?

I shift my weight, leaning forward against the windowsill with my elbow. The movement, despite how slight it is, catches the Dwarf's attention. I almost smirk. That was my intention, after all. This is the first time I'm letting Thorin Oakenshield catch sight of me. The first time I'm not wrapped in a mottled green cloak and slipping into corners filled with shadow as I follow his path to breakfast, or lunch, or wherever he chooses to travel.

The Dwarf's pale eyes go wide for a few seconds before they narrow accusingly. As if I'm one of the Elves he despises so. That glare turns to a dark storm at the same moment my senses flare to an approaching presence behind me. I turn my ear to the newcomer, the corner of my mouth lifting as he starts to speak.

"Why do you watch such a creature, sister?" The Elvish is soft. Familiar. Sindarin, my mother tongue as much as the Common Speech of Man is.

Elladan, one of the regal sons of Elrond and by all measures my adopted brother, stops at my side. He glances down at me before looking through the window at the Dwarf again. His face is straight and impassive, showing none of the emotion his voice teases me with.

"Why do you sneak up on me so? Are you copying my style, brother, by hiding in the shadows?" I accuse lightly. His face doesn't change. "I am merely curious," I finally relent.

"Of course you are. I'll save you the trouble. Dwarves are loud and messy and irritating. They have no understanding of chivalry and they'd leave you to fall in the mud rather than help you step over it."

"And you, my brother, sound like the reason Dwarves don't like Elves." Elladan shakes his head slightly, but I can see the smile in his eyes. Elladan, always my favorite ( don't tell Elrohir ), saves that smile just for me. The corners of his eyes will crinkle and that dark gaze will twinkle with something I might just dare to call mirth.

"Careful, Little One. You'll be one of them before you know it with that attitude."

I shrug and rest my chin on my hand. My eyes travel back to Thorin, who has moved to a column in the courtyard and is leaning against it. His thick arms are crossed, his eyes still on us. With his hair hanging in dark waves down his shoulders and his mouth set in a ruthless line against a black beard, I certainly gain the impression of utter storminess from the Dwarf.

"And is that such a bad thing?" I ask Elladan imploringly.

"Your heart is your own," he answers in a soft murmur. I look back up quickly. The twinkle is gone from the regal Elf's eyes. That is how I know the next words from his mouth are made entirely without jest. "But if I find that Dwarf looking at you like that ever again, his body will never be found." Elladan turns, walking away in the same sneaking silence with which he approached. When my eyes travel back to the courtyard, Thorin Oakenshield is gone too.