The Wandering Elf

Ara learned a few facts about dwarves very early on; besides each having a unique hairstyle and beard, they had atrocious table manners. They shoveled food into their mouths with unwashed hands when they ate, dribbled wine onto their beards when they drank, and spewed out chewed bits of food when they laughed. Their etiquette would’ve made most elves cringe with disgust, but Ara absolutely adored it.

When they’d first arrived to the dining hall, Elrond had invited Thorin and Gandalf to sit with him at a separate, more private table. Bilbo and the remaining dwarves sat beside Ara and another elf.

Here’s a little tidbit concerning this other elf. His name was Aris, and, if you asked Elrond, he’d tell you that Aris was the epitome of what a high elf should be. He was a perfectly normal height for an elf, he was not the least bit rash, and he went about his studies with the utmost seriousness. In short, he was the precise opposite of what Ara was, and he made sure she knew it.

Case in point, he’d taken it upon himself to embarrass her in front of their company during supper. When the dwarves had sat down at the table and had seen the plates of vegetables, salad, and fruit before them, they’d all appeared perplexed. Well, all except for Bombur, who’d devoured his food with such enthusiasm that Ara wondered if he’d paused between bites to breathe. Bombur was a quite a hefty fellow, you see, so he ate anything that was edible (and even a few things that were not). The others, however, merely poked and prodded their plates apprehensively.

“Durin’s beard,” Oin had said, “what the bloody hell is this? Where’s the meat?”

“Meat?” Ara repeated in shock. “As in animals? You eat animals?”

“They’re dwarves,” Aris said in what you can imagine was a fairly snooty tone. “Of course they eat animals. If you could be bothered to attend your lessons every now and then, you’d know that.”

“Lessons are boring,” grumbled Ara.

“And that is why you’ll likely be stuck at your level for the rest of your life, which, in case you’re too dimwitted to remember, is a very long time.”

He was quite right about that last bit (aside from the very rude comment concerning her intelligence); elves did have an absurdly long life. They were immortal, in fact, and could die only of grief, weariness, or if they were killed in battle.

From his spot across from Ara, Kili had frowned at Aris and said, “Lessons would bore me too, I think. Much more fun to figure things out on your own, isn’t it Fili?”

“Aye. Wouldn’t believe the things Kili and I’ve learned on our own. Almost died learning them, we did, but, hey, what can you do?” He glanced over at Aris and added, “Dwarves don’t eat just meat. We’ve been known to eat half a vegetable or two…occasionally.”

Ori, who Ara noticed had a great appreciation for knitted cardigans, picked up a big leaf of lettuce, and, eying it warily, said, “Not me. I don’t like green food.”

“Just try it,” encouraged Nori.

Shaking his head, Ori gingerly placed it back on his plate. Bifur picked it up a moment later, and, after holding it over a lit candle to roast it, handed it back to Ori with a smile. Shrugging, Ara began to peel an orange in front of her until Kili nudged her shoulder. With a mischievous glance to where Bombur sat at the head of the table, Kili plucked the orange from her hands and asked, “Want to see somethin’ funny?”

Ara nodded so enthusiastically it was a wonder her head didn’t snap clean off. Kili grinned. “Oi, Bombur!” he called.

Before the other dwarf could answer, Kili hurled the orange. With speed unexpected of someone his size, Bombur twisted his head and opened his mouth wide. The orange sailed straight into in his mouth, some of the skin still on it and all. The dwarves erupted into raucous cheers and laughter. Bombur, his cheeks red and juice dripping from of the corners of his mouth, laughed so hard that bits of orange flew out onto the table.

Disgusted, Aris pushed his plate away and left the dining hall. Ara, on the other hand, was quite impressed. “Can he do that with all food? And what if there’s more than one thing thrown at him?” she wondered.

“Would you like to try an’ see?” Kili asked, though he suspected that she most certainly would.

He was right. After a quick glance to ensure Elrond was still occupied, she grabbed four flowers of broccoli. She shouted Bombur’s name and threw the broccoli all at once. The dwarf caught every single one. This time she cheered for him, too. When she looked over at Kili, she saw him laughing with his head thrown back and his mouth open wide. Never in her life had she seen someone laugh so freely, and before she knew it, she was laughing right alongside him.

“How about something really hard, like an apple? And what if it was thrown from a farther distance? Could he catch that?” Her eyes were gleaming almost manically, and her cheeks ached from smiling.

“Look what you’ve done, brother,” laughed Fili. “You’ve created a monster!”

Kili merely handed her an apple with a shrug that said, “Have at it.”

She relocated so that the distance between her and Bombur spanned the entire length of the table, but right as she lifted her hand to fling the apple, it disappeared. Ara stared down at her hand, mystified, until she noticed the elf-shaped shadow looming over her.

Just like that, her excitement was gone. She sighed, her shoulders sagging in the same manner a scolded child’s would. Turning, she said in a small voice, “My apologies, Elrond.”

He, Gandalf, and Thorin had finished their supper just in time to catch the tail end of the game Ara and the dwarves had been playing. Clearly, Elrond and Thorin hadn’t found it to be quite as amusing as they did. Thorin shot the two brothers a look, to which they reacted by immediately mumbling, “Sorry, uncle.” Elrond had glanced down at her and detachedly said, “Aravanna, may I speak with you for a moment? Alone.”

Abashed, she nodded and followed him from the dining hall. When she passed Fili and Kili, she noticed Fili had his hand over his mouth and Kili’s shoulders were shaking. They were laughing at her, when it was their fault she’d started playing the sodding game in the first place. She caught Kili’s eye as she walked past, and, in a moment of admirable maturity, she stuck out her tongue. He folded his hands over his heart as if she’d wounded him deeply, and despite her irritation, her lips quirked up in a reluctant smile.

Damned dwarves.

When the noise of the dining hall was behind them, Elrond turned to her and said, “That is the second time today you’ve embarrassed me, Aravanna.”

“I’m so--”

“Sorry, yes, I know. You’re always sorry; sorry when you skip your lessons, sorry when you say inappropriate things, sorry when you eavesdrop,” he chastised her. “What in heaven’s name were you doing in the hills today? You could’ve been killed, and that would’ve been on my conscience. And now, during supper, throwing food around like some sort of barbarian! You are an elf of Rivendell, Aravanna. I think it’s far passed time you started to behave like one.”

She’d heard that statement from him many times before, but try as she did, she just couldn’t comprehend it. What did it mean, exactly, to behave like an elf, when she was so clearly different from the rest of them. Did it mean that if she couldn’t behave like them, she wasn’t really an elf at all? And if so, then what was she? Was it possible that she was and wasn’t an elf all at once? It was a very loaded existential question, and it hurt her head terribly to think of it.

She didn’t know how to explain this to Elrond, and didn’t want to further disappoint him, for as long as she could remember, he’d always acted as her guardian. She’d asked him about her parents once, when she’d grown old enough to understand that she wasn’t his child. He’d told her that her father had died in a great war, and, before her mother had succumbed to grief, she’d asked Elrond to raise Ara in her stead. Ara felt as though she was an unwanted burden to him, and a complicated one at that.

So, out of fear of being even more of a nuisance to him, she replied, “I’ll try, okay? I promise.”

“Do not make this promise lightly, Aravanna. This is your word, and I will hold you to it.”

“Elrond, I promise.”

He simply stared down at her, gauging her sincerity. He stood completely still while he did so, reminding her of the marble statue she’d hidden behind that morning. He was certainly old enough to be one; at over six-thousand years old, he was positively ancient. He’d seen more war, and death, and change than anybody had the right to. His age radiated from him, from his eyes, to the way he stood, to the detached manner in which he could handle very personal affairs.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Now, Gandalf and I have been called to council by Lady Galadriel. The dwarves and Bilbo will rest here tonight, though I suspect they’ll be off soon. Can I trust you to offer them blankets and whatever else they may require without causing a disturbance?”

She nodded.

“Good. Sleep well, then.

“Goodnight.”

With that, she went off to search for blankets. The ones she found were the length of two dwarves at least, but she decided they’d have to do. On her way back to the hall where the dwarves were sleeping, she bumped into a certain hobbit. The blankets at the very top of the stack she was holding toppled over, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Bilbo! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you over the blankets,” she explained, all the while wondering if accidently knocking over a hobbit with blankets qualified as ‘causing a disturbance’.

“That’s alright, I’m actually pleased I ran into you,” Bilbo said, lifting himself from the ground. “You see, I overheard some elves speaking about a garden somewhere near here. I’d very much like to see it, but I have no idea where it is, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll have to take the eastern walkway and travel a bit down into the valley. The garden will be just left the waterfall,” she said while she reorganized the blankets in her arms.

“Thank you very much.” Almost as an afterthought he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have an armchair, a stack of books, and a fireplace there as well, would you?”

“No. I can’t say we do,” Ara replied slowly. “Oh, and Bilbo, don’t touch the flowers, alright? The faeries hate when people touch their flowers.”

“Faeries?” Bilbo repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. They’re very cute, but very vicious. Trust me.”

Biblo sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if he were saying a silent prayer. “First trolls, then wargs, then faeries. Though I suppose faeries are the best of the three…”

“Trolls?” Ara repeated. “You’ve seen trolls? I’d very much like to see a troll.”

Shooting her a dark look, he said, “No. No, you would not. My poor waistcoat will never be the same...”

With that said, he walked off, his big hairy feet lightly slapping the floor as he went. Ara didn’t mind that he’d so abruptly departed, for she’d no idea what he meant by that last statement.

When she found the dwarves, most of them were already asleep and snoring so loudly she imagined the entire valley shook with it. Remembering her promise to Elrond, she took it upon herself to cover each of the sleeping dwarves.

This wasn’t entirely necessary, however, for dwarves were stocky creatures, and were built to withstand both cold and heat. In fact, a dwarf’s hands were always quite warm; after ages and ages of mining and sword-smithing, their hands had adapted so that they could touch red-hot iron straight from the fire without being burned.

When Ara reached Thorin’s sleeping form she hesitated. Unbeknownst to her, two dwarves were still awake, one more so than the other: Fili, who was using his folded arms as a pillow, and Kili, who was sitting up against the wall. “Think she’ll do it?” Kili asked, watching as Ara glanced from the blanket in her arms, to Thorin, and back at the blanket.

“Not a chance,” his brother answered.

Ara didn’t even hear them speaking, caught up in her dilemma as she was. Finally, after taking a deep, steadying breath, she unfolded the blanket and covered him so gently one would’ve thought he was an infant instead of a fully grown dwarf. She didn’t make a sound the entire time, but still, when the blanket touched his chin, he sprang halfway up, fully awake, though he’d just been sleeping like a hibernating bear.

“What are you doing?” he growled at her.

“I-I just thought you might like a blanket.” Damn her for stuttering, but he was just so intimidating.

He blinked at her a couple times, and then, with a curt nod in place of a thanks, he lay back down. The moment had only lasted a few seconds, but Ara was sweating as if she’d just sprinted across the Yellow Hills. Scurrying passed him, she continued to cover the other dwarves.

“She did it,” Kili said. “She actually did it.”

“Impressive,” mumbled a very groggy Fili.

When she finally reached the two brothers, she was a bit startled to find Kili so wide awake. After covering Fili, who’d muttered a muffled ‘many thanks’, she handed Kili the last blanket. He placed it beside him, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Do you not need one?” she asked.

“I’ll make use of it soon, thank you. I’m just not tired now.”

She spied the dirt staining his cheeks and his tangled hair and said, “Perhaps a bath would help? I’ve always found it’s easier to rest after a warm bath.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, you smell like rotting mushrooms.”

“Rottin’ mushrooms?” Fili said. “S’not so bad. He usually smells worse.”

He was promptly kicked in the shoulder by Kili.

“How about you, Fili, would you like a bath?” Ara offered.

“Lass, the notion of moving right now is more terrifying than hungry wargs,” he responded, his eyes closed. “Anyway, I don’t much like the idea of smellin’ like an elven woman.”

Confused, Ara said, “You wouldn’t have to smell like an elven woman. There are bathing rooms for men as well.”

He poked one eye open. “Again, I don’t much like the idea of smellin’ like an elven woman. Kili, you go ahead. If you need me, hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like a screech-owl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Kili as he stood up. “I’m goin’ for a bath, not a hunt.”

“With you, those things are equally dangerous.”

Soon after, Fili fell fast asleep, snoring just as loudly as his kin.

“Kili, can I ask you something?” Ara said when they began their walk to the bathing rooms. “Is Thorin always so…grumpy?”

Kili laughed, for grumpy wasn’t exactly the word he’d use, but he supposed it fit just as well. “He’s suffered a lot; it’s a long story.” Seeing her eyes light with curiosity, he hastily added, “A story I wasn’t even born in time to see.”

“But you do know the story, yes? Can you tell it to me? Please?”

She was practically bouncing in place when she asked. Chuckling he teased, “Bit nosey, aren’t you? Alright. I s’pose Balin’s told me enough times that I remember it.”

And so, while they walked amidst the moonlight filtering through the archways, he told her the story of Thorin Oakenshield.

Long ago, he told her, there existed a city called Dale that was occupied by men. It was a peaceful, and more importantly, prosperous city, for it lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth: Erebor. Thorin was born in this kingdom, and was fiercely proud of it, for Erebor was ruled by his grandfather, Thror. As King under the Mountain, Thror was the mightiest of the Dwarf Lords. He ruled with utter surety, never doubting his house would endure, for his line lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson.

The Kingdom’s wealth lay in the jewels the dwarfs mined from its walls, for Erebor was built deep within the Lonely Mountain, and as they tunneled into the earth, the dwarves discovered gold, diamond, emerald and sapphire running like rivers through stone. Still, they delved ever deeper into the dark of the mountain, and that was where they found it. The heart of the mountain. The Arkenstone. Glowing with its own iridescent light, the Arkenstone drew the dwarves to it like a beacon. Thror named it the King’s Jewel, and took it as a sign that his right to rule was divine. All would pay homage to him, even the great Elvenking, Thranduil.

However, the years of peace and plenty were not to last. Slowly, the days turned sour, and the watchful nights closed in. Thror’s love of gold had grown too fierce. A sickness had begun to grow within him; a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow.

The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the north. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in a hot, dry wind. It was a fire dragon from the north. Smaug had come.

Such wanton death was dealt that day, for dragons covet gold with a dark and passionate desire. Smaug decimated Erebor beyond belief, burning everyone and everything in his path with great breaths of fire.

“Not many dwarves were able to escape,” Kili finished sadly. “Erebor is lost to us still. A dragon will guard its plunder as long as he lives.”

Riveted, the words of the tale echoed on and on in Ara’s mind. “And what of Thror and Thrain?” she asked. “Did they survive?”

Kili sighed. “They survived that battle, but Thror was killed in another soon after. Beheaded by Azog, the Pale Orc. It is said that Thrain saw it happen and went mad with grief. You should ask Balin to tell you that story; he was there.”

They continued to walk until, suddenly, a thought struck Ara. She abruptly stopped walking and shot her hand out to Kili’s shoulder so that he stopped as well.

“If Thror is dead and Thrain gone…that makes Thorin kind of a king, doesn’t it?” she said thoughtfully.

“Not kind of,” responded her dwarf companion. “He is a king.”

Ara didn’t quite understand how one could be a king without a kingdom, but she kept that thought to herself, for now.

“But at supper I heard you call him ‘uncle’. If he’s a king and has no children, then you and Fili are--”
“Princes,” he finished for her. He smiled cheekily, a bit of the shorter hair in front of his head hanging in his eyes. It was a smile not unlike that of a very small, triumphant child, and she found herself again smiling back without meaning to.

“I suppose it does not take much to be a prince these days,” she teased. They resumed their walk until, again, a moment later, Ara stopped. “Wait!” she said, and back on his shoulder her hand went.

“Lass, am I ever goin’ to have that bath, or…”

Ignoring him, she said, “You said before that Thranduil paid homage to Thror. If elves were loyal to the dwarves then, why does Thorin dislike us so much now?”

“Because they weren’t loyal. When Smaug attacked Erebor, Thranduil abandoned Thror, despite their allegiance. Thorin’s never forgiven the elves for that.” He glanced down at her hand. “Can I ask you a question now? Are you always so cold? I noticed it before, when you fell on me. I thought it might be typical of elves, but I heard Gandalf say somethin’ about it later on.”

Self-conscious, Ara pulled her hand back. “Er…it’s…a long story,” she said in what was perhaps the most unsatisfactory response one could give.

He raised an eyebrow. “Only fair, I think.”

As you may recall, I told you earlier that Ara had one last abnormality about her, and that it was the strangest one of them all. I think the time has come now to shine some light on the mystery behind this very mystifying subject, and so, here it is: Ara had a very peculiar disposition of always being quite cold. Not cold as in aloof and indifferent, cold as in icicles and winter. It wasn’t by choice, not in the least, it was more as though the coldness clung to her skin and refused to let go. It wasn’t to an extreme level; she wasn’t a walking frost monster or anything of the sort. Still, it was noticeable, especially when people touched her, or she touched them. Usually, she was extraordinarily cautious about hiding it, because the other elves were very disturbed by it, but in all the excitement of the day, she’d become careless.

“That’s it? That’s all it is?” Kili asked her. “You’re just…cold?”

“What do you mean, that’s all it is? Is it not strange enough for you?”

She’d said it very disgruntledly, and, yes, perhaps she was being a bit melodramatic about the whole affair, but you must understand, the elves saw her as almost a complete abomination. And when one’s confidence is battered for too long, sometimes it crumbles and cracks until one’s mind fills up with erroneous ideas.

The dwarf tilted his head. “Well it is odd, I guess.” Grinning suddenly, he draped an arm across her shoulders. “Lucky for you, I like odd things! Take Bilbo, for instance. He’s an odd one, too, and he doesn’t seem at all like a burglar, but I like him just fine!”

Ara was so startled that she didn’t hear a word he said. Never before in her life had someone touched her so liberally before. The elves, as you can imagine, were not an affectionate bunch of creatures. Not to say that Kili was being affectionate, after all, he’d only put his arm around her shoulders, but she was so surprised, you’d have thought he’d kissed her. She thought he might reconsider and recoil from the iciness of her skin, but he didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. He just rambled on about dragons, and burglars, and a journey while her mouth hung open beside him.

When her senses caught back up to her she said, “What in heaven’s name are you on about? What journey?” It took her a second to fit the pieces together in her mind. “Oh! You’re going to reconquer Erebor from Smaug, aren’t you!”

Kili scratched the back of his head. “Aye, but could you not tell Thorin I told you? He’d be furious.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “You didn’t really tell me, I figured it out on my own. Could you tell me more about it though, this journey?”

“It’s not just a journey. It’s more like…an adventure. A quest. An expedition, if you will.” He told her stories about the trolls, and, wargs, and orcs they’d encountered thus far.

“Wow,” Ara breathed. “An adventure. The biggest adventure I’ve ever taken is to the edge of the Yellow Hills, and that’s not very far at all! What happened when the trolls turned to stone? Did they crack and crumble into powder? Are they still there? Will they be frozen like that forever? I wish I could’ve been there to see it!”

He got a very thoughtful look on his face then, with his eyebrows drawn in and his mouth in a slight frown. It was an expression of utter concentration. “Why don’t you come with us?” he offered. “We’ll be headed to the Misty Mountains next, and there’ll be quite a lot of things for you to see there. I could ask Thorin, if you’d like. He’d likely say no at first, but I’d get him to agree eventually, swear!”

She couldn’t lie to herself; she wanted to go. At the proposition, she’d felt excitement light up her belly the way it did right before she went wandering. “When are you leaving?”

“Before morning, probably. Thorin wants to leave before Elrond can ask him too many question about it. What d’you say?”

To say that the word ‘yes’ teetered on the tip of her tongue would not be an accurate enough description. She’d actually started to say it, but cut herself off midway, so that she emitted a very unattractive choking sound. She opened her mouth to say it again, only to snap it back shut. The cycle repeated again and again until she’d begun to resemble the fish that swam by the waterfall.

“I…can’t.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, and she couldn’t believe she’d said them out loud. “It’s just, I promised Elrond I’d try to be a better elf, and I’ve got a healing examination to prepare for…again. Besides, I fear I’d be more a hindrance than help. I’m not a warrior, or anything close to it.”

After a trek that had lasted four times longer than it should have, they were by the bathing rooms at last. He was regarding her like he was thinking of ways to convince her to agree, and because she thought he could, she hurriedly said, “Here we are! It’ll probably be empty, which is good, but the water will probably be cold, which is not so good.” She shuddered.

She very much disliked cold things, hated them even, because she couldn’t really feel them. It was a very unsettling thing, to know something was cold and not be able to sense it like everyone else could. She also hated very hot things, like fire or hot tea, because there was too great of a contrast between them and her skin, so she burned more easily than others. Warm things, however, she loved. She never imagined that such a seamless balance between two extremes could exist.

“Many thanks for showing me the path here, Ara,” said Kili, and he even gave her a polite, low bow.

“Is it proper for royalty to bow to anyone? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Though, I don’t really think I’m the type to bow…” she rambled.

He’d smiled at her, and briefly she wondered how such a small creature could smile so broadly and so often. There was a loaded silence between them then, on her part at least, because she realized that this would probably be the last time she saw him.

“I guess this is goodbye, then, isn’t it?” she told him sadly. “When you’re journey is finished, and you’ve got Erebor back, do you think you and the other dwarves could maybe visit me? Not a lot, I mean, unless you want to, but occasionally…perhaps?”

“O’course, lass.”

“Good,” she breathed. “That’s good. I’m glad. Well, goodnight.”

She offered him a little smile, and, because a smile didn’t feel like enough, she stuck her hand out for a handshake. He regarded her outstretched hand with an expression of confusion. Unexpectedly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a hug instead. A good hug, too. Not one of those terrible kinds with all the awkward back-patting. “Dwarves don’t like handshakes much,” he explained. “S’pecially not with friends.”

Friends? she thought, and she had to swallow the sudden, irrational urge to cry. She hugged him back just as tightly, because this was her first hug and she wanted it to be a proper one, and also because he was just so warm. Perfectly so, she’d venture.

When he pulled back, tears were very nearly spilling over onto her cheeks. Not that she was ashamed of it, for she didn’t believe anyone could deny the therapeutic qualities of a good, long cry, but there were few things that made her cry, and when they did, she preferred privacy.

“Goodnight,” he said. “I’ll see you again soon, I hope.”

Then, accidently ruining the moment like only Kili could, he began to remove his boots. Just his boots, but still. Thinking he was preparing to completely disrobe in front of her she gasped and covered her eyes. “Kili,” she squeaked. “You’re not even in the bathing room yet! Can’t you at least wait until I leave!”

Kili, who’d really just meant to remove his shoes because his feet had grown sore, blushed. An actual, full-fledged blush that reddened both his cheeks and his ears. If Fili or any other dwarf had been there to see it, their laughter would have been endless.

“I wasn’t…I was just…my boots! My boots, only, I swear!”

Still with her hands over her eyes, she scrambled passed him in such a flustered hurry that she didn’t realize when one of her throwing blades from that morning fell from her pocket and clanked onto the floor.

“Ara, wait,” he called after her, bending to retrieve it from the ground. When he got a good look at it, he wasn’t as surprised one might suspect he’d be; he’d had suspicions about her since the beginning when he’d seen her hiding behind that marble statue, and this was only confirmation. “You’ve dropped something.”

“Are you sure? Because I think it’s a bit early on in our friendship for me to see you nude. That is, if friends are ever supposed to see each other nude. Unless…they are supposed to? Is that a tradition of some sort? You know, something like, I’m very pleased that we’re friends now, how about I show you my…oh, heavens, I don’t know much about this subject at all, do I?”

“I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t think I will,” he said, still embarrassed, though as he saw her grow increasingly mortified, he became less and less so himself. “Here, you dropped this.”

She peaked through her fingers, sighing in relief when she saw he was still clothed. “Don’t ever do that again, please.” When she saw her knife in his palm, her hands slowly dropped from her face. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Instead of saying anything, he pulled out another one from his pocket. It was identical to the one he’d just given her, save for it was stained with black, dried blood. Astonished, her head snapped up to look at him. “What…you took…how did you even have the time to--”

“I reckon,” he interrupted, “that you may be a better warrior than you know.” He looked at her then, with a seriousness that she wouldn’t have guessed he was capable of possessing. “Goodnight, Ara.”

Picking up his discarded boots, he disappeared into the bathing room.

She twisted the blade in her hand, standing in the darkness. Clearly, Kili had more confidence in her than she did herself, and not only did he want her to join them, he thought she might be useful. That previous excitement and desire returned, burning like a flame in her gut.

She thought about leaving Rivendell for what was guaranteed to be a very long time, and she waited for a feeling of apprehension or doubt to hit her, but she felt nothing, not even a twinge. When she thought of this place, the only memories to spring to mind were those of the impassive faces of elves turning away from her, meals spent in silence or isolation, and lectures. Never-ending, repetitive lectures about how wrong everything she did was. The only thought that kept her from racing to her room to pack was her promise to Elrond. To go with the dwarves would mean breaking her oath to him, and she knew that was not something he’d easily forgive.

Then came the idea of not going, carrying along with it that feeling of doubt she’d been waiting on before. There were just so many things she wanted to see, to experience. Even the thought of facing Thorin was not enough to discourage her.

She was very clearly ambivalent about her decision, but I’ll spare you further details of her internal dilemma and skip right to the end.

After a while of standing in the walkway alone, still turning the blade about in her hands, Ara looked up to where Kili had just disappeared, recalled all the stories he’d told her, and smiled.

She was astonishingly curious, this elf, and she’d decided that an adventure across Middle Earth would suit a wanderer like her just fine.