DAVINA ⇝ Thorin Oakenshield

Chapter 1

Davina's heart scratched up her throat with each passing moment she spent in Nymali Valley. No one had been here since the attack, and for years it had bothered Davina that her people never had a proper burial until she finally worked up enough nerve to come and bury them herself. It was no longer safe to be here now that the protective barrier around the valley was invalid, but her heightened senses as the Viator ensured that she would know if anyone was coming with the intent to harm her.

She was there for days on end, burying her fallen Nymali people. It wasn't until she came across the four decayed bodies – two with crowns, two with tiaras – did Davina finally begin to let herself cry. She crumpled to the ground next to the massive grave she had buried her family in and mourned for the life they could have had if she wasn't the Viator – or, perhaps, if she'd never been born in the first place. Thanks to Azog and these powers she'd never even wanted in the first place, Davina had lost everything she cared for: her home, her family, her people.

Now, she had nothing.

Forcing herself to stop crying, Davina angrily swiped at her face as she stared at the fresh mound of dirt lying overtop of her beloved family. Crying wouldn't bring them back, so what was the use?

The distant sound of someone walking through her valley reached her ears and she froze, listening to the footfalls of the invader intently. Though it had been years since she last saw him, Davina would recognize the quick, light-weight strides of Gandalf the Grey anywhere. With a sigh, she stood to her feet and turned as the Wizard approached her. "Must I not be permitted time to grieve alone?" She snapped at him. Davina was never usually cross with Gandalf, but he'd caught her at a bad time; and he understood that, but the reason for his visit couldn't have waited if she were to agree and make it to the meeting on time.

"I apologize," he said simply, knowing Davina wasn't one for too many heartfelt words. Drawing his hand out of his cloak, he revealed something Davina hadn't seen since the day of the attack: her tiara. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the golden piece, and more specifically the blood that had been spattered on the jewels. "I found this on my way in; I believe this is yours." He held it out for her to take, only for Davina to glare at the tiara and push it away. Gandalf sighed. "Princess Davina –"

"I am not a princess anymore!" She shouted angrily. "What is a crown without a kingdom? What is a kingdom without people to lead?"

Gandalf frowned, lowering the tiara and nodding. "I understand your reasoning," he said softly. "However, I must urge you not to deny your birthright."

Davina rolled her eyes. "Can we change the subject to whatever reason you sought me out?" she asked sourly.

He studied her for a moment, and then gave in to her decision to change the subject. Gesturing for her to follow him, they took a walk down to the river so as to give her some distance from the dead she had just buried. "I have come to ask you for a favor," Gandalf admitted. Davina merely raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to elaborate. "Surely you have heard the story of Smaug and how he wreaked havoc on the dwarfs of Erebor, causing any that survived to flee their home."

"Yes, I have," she agreed. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Plenty, should you agree to what I wish to ask of you," Gandalf answered. "You see, there is a Company being gathered together to go on a quest to reclaim Erebor. Smaug has not been seen for nigh on sixty years, so I believe now is their chance to take their home back."

"And who is leading this Company?"

"Thorin Oakenshield."

"The rightful heir to King Under the Mountain," Davina mused, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers. "And you want me to join this expedition?"