Hiraeth - Thorin Oakenshield

𝐈𝐈𝐈 . 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐡

"I was surprised to see you alive," Elrond admitted in a solemn tone, "You have been a ghost for centuries."

"My quest is still not fulfilled," she muttered, holding onto her necklace, "I swore to not return until I reclaimed what is mine."

"You are always welcome here," he sighed, leading her up a stairwell, "There is someone quite eager to meet with you."

Turning around a corner, Mylaela let out a light gasp, "Galadriel."

Elrond excused himself, leaving the two cousins to speak in private. The two Elves hugged each other, Galadriel pulling back in relief.

"I heard from Radagast that you believed I had passed?"

"The spell your mother bestowed upon you to shield you from spies, also shields you from my visions," she explained, gesturing for the pair to sit at a table, "I can only feel your power, and as it faded into nothing I had feared you had met your end."

"I began to overuse my powers, the more I used them, the weaker my body became," Mylaela sighed, "I swore to not use them unless I had no choice."

"I as well have felt my powers weaken me," she lightly stated, looking solemnly up to the moon, "both physically and mentally. My visions have become more prominent, which is partly why I wished to speak with you."

"What did you see?"

"Destruction," she muttered, a look of pure fear in her eyes, "if that dragon is released from Erebor, I fear what may come of it."

"Galadriel," Mylaela grabbed her hands comfortingly, "I promise you, if I enter the mountain with those Dwarves, I will use all of my power to ensure that dragon dies in that mountain."

"I need you to promise me one more thing," Galadriel stared into her cousin's eyes, "Do not grow too fond of those Dwarves. I have seen their fate, you do not deserve to lose more of those you care for."

"Which ones don't make it?" Mylaela breathed out anxiously, she knew Galadriel's visions were always subject to change.

"I fear the line of Durin may not survive this journey."

Mylaela walked towards where the company was looking at the vegetables strangely. Mylaela shook her head, slipping into a meat locker for a string of sausages. The companies' eyes grew as they were finally presented with meat.

As Mylaela joined Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin at a taller table, Gandalf began to explain their journey so far. Upon mentioning the elvish blades they had found in the troll hoard, Elrond's interest peaked.

Thorin handed the Elf Lord his blade, "This is Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver, a famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well."

Thorin nodded at him in appreciation, Elrond turning to examine Gandalf's sword as well, "And this is Glamdring. The Foehammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin Wars of The First Age."

Elrond turned to Mylaela, his gaze shifting to her sword. A shocked expression flooded over his face as he reached out.

"I can't believe it," he muttered, unsheathing the blade, "Aranuth, the King's Ire, the blade of Lord Thingol, your father."

Mylaela took a deep breath before nodding, "It is the only possession left of my father, since the loss of the Nauglamír."

Thorin furrowed his eyebrows in realization, turning towards her, "Your father was Elwë?"

Mylaela nodded, a heavy feeling falling over her, "Excuse me."

Mylaela stood from her chair, taking her father's blade as she retreated to a secluded garden. For years she had escaped thoughts of her late kin, though the topic being readdressed caused her mind to wander back to those days.