After wandering Middle Earth for almost three centuries, Agarwaen, an elven outcast, gets roped into accompanying a dwarven company on a quest to reclaim their homeland, during which she must face her painful past. Will it end in more death, or will...
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Two years. It had been two years now.
Agarwaen's nerves ran wild as the mountain seemed to loom threateningly before her. After getting rid of the Arkenstone and spending some time in Rivendell once again, she'd spent several months back on the road, trying to convince herself that she could travel alone again. That she didn't belong in Erebor. That she didn't need to see the dwarves again. But it didn't work.
Although she had Fuin to keep her company, he was still only a horse. She often had dreams of times of old, and would wake feeling empty and alone. She longed for nothing more than to see her friends again, and even more so, to belong somewhere. The company loved her, they promised to welcome her, and they made her feel like she belonged. It was something that she could never find again without them.
So, after months of trying to stay away, trying to convince herself that it was for the best, she finally gave up and rode east.
Now, she slowed as Fuin took her away from the northern borders of Mirkwood and walked toward the mountain. She knew he could feel the anxiety coursing through her by the way he tensed and his steps became unsure.
"It's alright, Fuin." She leaned forward to stroke his neck soothingly. "We're not in any danger." She murmured along with a few more comforting words in elvish. That seemed to calm him down enough, as he now was more sure-footed and his ears were more relaxed.
Before long, the front gate to the dwarven city came into view, but now it was guarded by several dwarves on both sides. They were dressed in heavy armor, armed with axes and spears.
"Halt!" One of them yelled when she came too close to the bridge into the mountain. She stopped Fuin, and dismounted.
"Greetings, dwarves of Erebor." She bowed. "I come with intentions of peace, and request an audience with the king under the mountain." The dwarf who told her to stop took a step forward, and one on the opposite side of the gate did the same.
"The king is very busy, and is not expecting an elf at the gates of Erebor. Be gone." He said sternly in a thickly accented voice. Agarwaen figured he was from the Iron Hills.
"He will make time for me, master dwarf, I assure you." She said politely. "He is an old friend of mine.
"My king is no friend of elves."
"What of either of the princes, Fili or Kili? May I see one of them?" She tried a different approach. She most certainly didn't want to upset the gatekeepers.
"No."
"What about Balin or Dwalin, sons of Fundin?" The dwarf gave her an odd look, but said nothing. Instead, he moved to stand in front of the gate, the dwarf from the other side joining him. "Bofur? Ori?" She tried again.
