The Moon Druid of Arcedia; And the One Ring to Rule Them All

~06 Achillea Millefolium; The Yarrow Flower~

~Achillea Millefolium; The Yarrow Flower~

Thorin Oakensheild had told Gandalf he did not want any elves involved, but Gandalf didn't listen.

The old wizard had picked up the stray feral wanderer and dragged her with him to the secret meeting in the shire without ever informing Thorin. She was a tall freckled, fiery redhead, with curly hair covered in flowers, she was bright and bubbly, knew many dwarven drinking songs, and could hold her own in a wrestling match.

Thorin hated her.

"I told you no elves." He had spat towards the tall old wizard in the entryway of Bilbo Baggins' hobbit hole.

"You had asked me to find you a thief and a navigator." The older male calmly reminded the dwarven king, "I have delivered on both fronts."

"I had told you no elves." The tall man, well tall for a dwarf, repeated dangerously, taking a step closer to stare up at the wizard's Icy old eyes. "I do not trust her kind."

Ahshala was thoroughly confused. Her father had told her that Elves and Dwarfs had formed an alliance for many years and that even the Elven King of Greenwood had paid tribute to Thror the King of Erebor. Her father had mentioned something about the elves and the battle for Erebor but Ahshala must not have been paying close attention. She recalled nothing of the elves' betrayal.

Gandalf had given her an invitation to do what her brother and father and their kinsfolk at the battle had not been able to do, kill the great dragon Smaug.

"My King," he turned to the frizzy-haired girl and let the dark waves in his ocean eyes crash into her evergreen iris. She had knelt before him ceremoniously, in the way of the dwarves, her tone generous and sincere. It had surprised him that an elf addressed a dwarf as their king. "I had been told stories of the great city of Erebor in my youth. The grand halls, the rich expanse, and the many men and women who bravely defended her walls."

Thorin was unimpressed. His long dark hair brushed his shoulders as he folded his arms. Of course, an elf would have heard of his people's plight, after all, they were the ones who refused to help them. Perhaps she was of Mirkwood, a spy of the backstabbing buffoon of King

"My father and my brothers fought to reclaim Erebor." Thorin could not hide the disbelief from his brow. No elves had fought to reclaim his home. "I seek to do what they could not. To reclaim the dwarven homeland from the great dragon."

Thorin hated that she was an elf willing to fight for dwarves. He hated that she was so rough and tough, not at all delicate as the other bean poles in the forests. He hated that her accent was as thick and relaxed as Balin's. He hated that she so clearly got along with his nephews, perhaps 'got along' was a strong descriptor; she had earned the respect of his nephews after she nearly won in a fight with Kili over the potatoes he tried to steal from her plate.

They had just cooked a meal of deer and potatoes the she-elf had scavenged that night and were sitting around laughing happily.

"Ah, Stick a fork in meh," Ahshala declared, leaning against the cave wall and rubbing her full stomach. "I couldnae eat another bite!"

Kili had taken that as an invitation to help himself to seconds from her scraps. No sooner had he reached for a piece of potato when Ahshala firmly grabbed hold of his thick wrist.

"What ye think yer doin Kili?" She interrogated, her eyes growing as deadly as the mountain laurel in her hair.

"You said you were full," Kili stated matter-of-factly, waving his free hand in her direction. "So, I'm staking claim to the rest of your food."