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Dwarves, no matter how short, were stronger than anything. It was common knowledge that you should never threaten one with an arm wrestle, lest you want to lose yours completely, and Clare had made no such threats.In fact, she hadn’t even said a proper word to them at all—much less decided to test them—before the cliffside gaped to swallow her up. Turns out dwarves didn't take well to strangers feeling for the seams of their hidden doors. But no one ever warned her against that.Clare was flanked by two helmed dwarves whose heads stood just abover her shoulder. She could already feel the bruises pressing into her biceps as thick, armored fingers held and guided her around the torch-lit halls of Khazad-dûm. As much as she was pleased to have found a way inside so quickly, being taken prisoner usually wasn't her first choice. Normally she'd find a way through the door before facing the baton-baring, crooked brow of the authorities on the other side. Her current captors said little besides the occasional grunt and huff as they pulled her along, her feet catching as she took in every trail and nook illuminated by the grand caverns oil burning lamps.Dwarven mines were something new to Clare. For the longest time, despite whatever stories her parents told her as a child, she'd imagined their cities to be claustrophobic, chiseled-out pathways in the rock. Evidently, they were quite the opposite. Large echoing chasms spanning further than the wealthy farm villages of her youth and twice as wide, all tucked away beneath the cliffs. Intricate cravings covered the walls, highlighted by moss and vines where rays of filtered sunlight seeped through cracks in the cliff top. For living under a rock, everything looked ahead of its time, tiered roads bustling with people and unheard-of mechanisms. The three crossed over the tightest of carved trails. Supported only by the points that sprouted from the walls, it stood confidently, lacking any additional beams or chain links Clare would have found immense comfort in.As impressive as everything was, she would have preferred claustrophobia.Clare peered down, past the path they walked on and its non-existent railings, down to the floor of the cave she could not see. It made her dizzy. She snapped her attention back forward before the churning of her stomach sent her hurtling over the edge.The dwarf to her left let a humored grunt past his wiry, burnt-red beard, a color not dissimilar to Clare's own hair. One of her braided strands fell in front of her face as she swayed on the pathway, the other small pleats hiding in the tussled mess around her ears. A hairstyle surely matching whatever was hidden under her guard's helm. All the half-dwarf taunts she received as a child made a little more sense standing next to him. Head still spinning from the height, Clare was shoved onto the sanctity of the far side, her knees buckling and body instinctively wavering towards the wall."Wee human can't steady her feet," the red-bearded dwarf said, his voice gruff and heavily accented. He chuckled to himself while the other guarding her right grunted and tightened his iron-clad grip, unamused.Clare huffed, attempting to roll her shoulders back under the strong arm of her captors. "I'm not the small one here," she grumbled.Maybe they read her correctly. She was small for a human, clocking in at no more than a foot taller than the shortest of dwarves—a less-than-average feat and another subject for childhood teasing. Although, unlike them, she was lean and wiry. A trait that served her well when she needed to get into places no one else could reach."Feisty." Perhaps, if they had met on better terms, she could watch the corner of his mouth curve up and this would be deemed an endearment. Unfortunately, friendliness evaded this situation, and the one she dubbed Red Beard yanked on her arm, threatening to dislocate it entirely. They kept on walking.For a while, all the trio passed were closed doors or abandoned archways leading to mines long since stripped of their resources. Empty. But as they strayed further along the path, a small noise grew. Louder and louder, Clare discerned chants drumming against the hollowed stone. Hidden beneath the deafening ripples, there was another sound, a piercing sound of metal clashing rock that came one after another, competing. The sounds on their own were enough to send blood pumping through her veins as they encroached on an archway that was very much alive and layered with dwarves surrounding a warm glow at the room’s center.The subjects of their excitement bore down on their heavy stones once more. Another dwarf, decorated fiery red and bearing a golden plate, stood inflated as he rhythmically swung his hammer. Sturdy, heavy. Each swing and clash overwhelmed the crowd.His competition, standing much taller than those who cheered on his demise, was far more slender and dressed elegantly in grey satin. Clare didn't have to waste more than a glance before she recognized the haughty Elven make of his clothes.There was no doubt in her mind as she looked at him. This was the elf she sought. If not for his attire, the cropped golden brown hair that feathered out around his piked ears was recognizable enough.Her nauseous stomach burned, charring a sick taste into the back of her mouth as she watched him swing the hammer over his head. With the crash, she moved to lurch at him but was quickly wrangled back to the path laid out for her. Where, in a blink, an array of thick bars replaced the arch, stronger and darker than the iron ones Clare was used to. Having tripped, and chucked in rather carelessly, she face-planted into the smooth floor of her cell."Make yourself comfortable," Red Beard said. He must have thought he was being funny. The hard stone that made up her enclosure was cold, damp, and smelled off. She could already feel it seeping into her clothes. "You might be here a while.""I wasn't planning on going anywhere." Clare scoffed and rose to her feet, glowering through the space between the bars even she couldn't squeeze through. The door that remained her only exit was locked up by a jumbled ring of keys kept on the quiet dwarf’s belt. Already muttering about something that didn't concern her, the two walked to leave, unplagued by any worry regarding leaving her on her own in the dark.Maybe they were right in thinking that, too. Before she set out into the woods, pursuing the elf that was now only a few passionate paces away; Before she even left the rotting slums of her withering town—they stripped her of everything. Her lock tools pawned, her pride broken, and her spirit stretched so thin she could see the sun through it. She was barren, a plundered mine. All that remained with her waited, buried deep in the ash of her chest. A wheezing ember that grew with each breath, with each passing moment the neck of that pointy-eared bastard evaded her grip.The dwarves need not worry. She hadn't come to plunder them or their home. Nor was she able to escape. No matter how hot or raging her little ember grew, it wouldn't be able to melt the metal of her cage.Shadows from the bars fell on her face, morphing the hollows there into something else. Something hungry. The dwarves had just crossed the threshold of the open arch and passed into the light, the darkness of her cell barely behind them when she spoke. Their golden helms glinted as they turned to listen."If I could have one request," she started, "whenever he's done smashing that stupid rock..."Red Beard tightened a fist and took a step back toward her, defensive of the decorated dwarf from before. He arched a brow, desperate for a slip-up; Ready for her to be punishable by more than just a cell.Catching the light of a far-off lantern, the points of her teeth glimmered. The green of her eyes sharpened. She looked like a starving beast.
"Send in the elf."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The creeping thyme that covered the hillside was black.
It wasn't always like this. There used to be fresh air with tiny pink flowers blanketing the rolls of land. Their familiar petals lazily swirled through the sky, carried by the crisp breeze. But the air has long since turned sour and the blooms were rotting from the inside out, weeping into the dirt.
Clare cradled a few of their dead corpses in the crook of her hand, fingers loosely caged so the wind could still reach them. The breeze plucked them from her palm and carried them for one last dance, down to the base of the valley.
A small village lived there once. Held by the peaks of the hills like Clare's dead flowers, they tucked away the houses, leaving only the wind to rattle their abandoned frames.
Everything was lonely. Gone.
Clare released her remaining dead blossoms before her head dipped to gaze at the ground beneath her.
The dirt was alive. Venomous. Writhing. The viper of the valley shifted under each step, loose and ready to give way at any moment, like sand being pulled by retreating waves back to the ocean floor. It swept up around Clare's bare feet and nipped at her heels, threatening with each twirl and twist up her calf to drag her under.
Clare's head lolled in a sleep that was uncharacteristically deep, the heaviness in her worn body finding comfort even in the cold rock of her cell. Trapped in her lonely dream, it took the approaching clunks of guard boots to come to again. There were a few moments of that familiar fuzzy wake-up feeling. But it quickly dispersed when the cramp of her neck settled and her back grew taut.She pressed the backs of her hands against her eyes, forcing away the sleep to conjure up focus for her visitors. Having all but forgotten calling upon anyone in her tired, half-alive haze, she half expected an afterthought tray of bread or oats to be thrown down before her. A meal would be quite welcome. Her stomach had been growling for well over a day.Instead, the sight of an elf flanked by two dwarves—neither of which she could recognize—approached the arch of her prison. Standing on the threshold, the city silhouetted the three, leaving their faces blocked out by shadow. There was an exchange of words she could not hear before the dismissal of the guards, leaving only the elf in the doorway.There he was, just beyond her reach. No matter the sleep-bringing sanctity she found in the darkness behind her bars, she rued them now. Body set alight and ember gnawing, her blood rushed at the thought of reaching through them and leaving her mark on that sickeningly perfect Elven skin.As he stood before her, she felt the ember inside her chest roaring to life. It burnt her lungs already. It made her hands shake."You wish to speak with me?" The regality of his voice made it sound less like the question that it was. Blunt, flowing, the ends of his words upturned in that oh-so-sickening intelligent tone.He was standing just on the cusp of the room, his face still shrouded. This wouldn't do. She needed to see him. To put a face to the ghost that's been haunting her all these years. He couldn't have changed much, even though Clare's lived a whole life since the day they last met; Twenty years was nothing to an elf, he couldn’t have aged a day. But she was just a child then.She stood up and moved—a little quicker than she intended—to her locked door, wrapping her hands around the bars and propping her forehead against them. Far-off light reflected in her eyes as she tried to make out the features of his face."Come closer," she whispered, pleading. The elf stalled and Clare sunk into the metal, melting against her enclosure. A smile, soft and encouraging, lifted the shadows from her cheeks. "I don't bite."She bites. It's happened more than once. But the genteel performance was a trade trick she'd picked up and perfected. It works in a pinch.After a long moment of consideration, the elf took a few steps forward as Clare's eyes adjusted to the change of light, his height alone blocking out any glow from the doorway. Punched leather embellishments were the first thing she could discern, peeking out from under his draping cloak like concealed feathers. She suppressed a scoff."It's been a while," she said. Her fingernails were itching against the bars, half trembling from excitement and the other half from impatience. He was so close. She kept cycling the thought over and over in her head. He was so close. Here. Now. After all this time. After everything…One after another, his smooth steps closed in, leading trapped air to frantically scratch at the tender inside of her breastbone. She could see him at last. His face was young. Even younger than she'd thought it'd be. City lamplight from behind illuminated the upturned curls of hair that flicked around the points of his ears like a halo. She couldn't discern much else besides the concentrated purse of his lips, subdued brow, and his eyes. They were dark and glossy, colorless in the gloom, and watching her with such intent it made her jaw clench.When he was close enough and she couldn't suppress the burning of her palms any longer, the need to touch him became overwhelming. Her hands shot out from between the bars and quickly closed the distance between them. With the force used in grabbing his collar and reeling him in, his balance keeled toward her. So much so, he had to grab the closed frame of her door in a hurry to steady himself.Clare could feel him collect himself. Each warm breath trickled down from his lips to the flushed skin of her face, his chest finding pace beneath her clenched fists. It was easy to be engulfed by his every aspect as it washed over her all at once. Fucking elf charisma. She'd heard about it before. An undeniable pull you'd feel in the presence of ancients, like being close to a painting so beautiful you can't help but fawn over every brush stroke. Despite entering the caverns before her, his atmosphere contained remnants of the fresh air rolling around the top of the cliff. He smelt like cherry firewood and birch, his breath honey. It made her sick.She wrung the decadent layers of his cloak. Between her tightly clenched fingers, the fabric felt so very smooth she couldn't even imagine how many woven threads made it up, how long someone labored over it. He wore it like it was nothing.It choked her up, stalling the one moment she'd waited her whole life to lead up to. For so long he was something far off; distant enough that the fantasy of him ceasing to exist at all could unburden some restless nights. She'd lay there staring at something unimportant, imagining that he never walked Middle-Earth or looked at the same sky. That he'd taken nothing from her.Touching him dispelled all of that; He was very much alive.For a while, she stood there. Just staring at him, rolling around all the foul words and laments she'd practiced screaming at him so many times before. And even though her fidgeting hands cinched so close to his neck and her eyes were burning despite the darkness—he showed no fear. He met the flames of her gaze with a solidity that made Clare want to recede in on herself, to put her ears back and tuck her tail. She willed herself to grip him harder."How good is your memory?" Her voice had transformed into something vicious, seething. The elf's colorless stare flitted around her features, his stoic expression unwavering except for the slight parting of his lips."Excellent." He punctuated each syllable perfectly, yet he showed no explicit recognition."That'll make this painless, then," she said. She readjusted her grip on his clothes."Well." A smirk crossed her face. "Maybe not for you."With one quick yank, Clare pulled the elf even closer to her. His head didn't hit the bars, but the rest of him did, his chest and arms flattening against the metal with a dull thud. He grunted upon the impact, hands instinctively wrapping around the human girl's wrists."Two decades ago, you took something precious from me. From my home," she said. "I would like to know what you've done with it, so it can be returned to where it rightfully belongs."The elf found the breath he lost upon the sudden impact. Hot, cycled air tickled Clare's cheeks. "I know not of what you seek."The sharpening of his voice did not go unnoticed and she stood on her tiptoes, attempting to match his looming height. "Liar."For some reason, Clare had only seen the bars as protecting him from her. That without them he’d fall victim to the pressurized wrath she’d pent up since age seven. Never considering she'd need to defend herself against what had effectively remained an enigma in her mind for so long.One kick through the bars buckled her knees and dislodged her grip. The elf used his hold on her hands to push against her, and in the split second before her free fall, he managed to grab her once more. Spun to face the opposite direction, her back slammed hard against the door to her cell. To make matters worse, the elf had crossed his arms across her chest to pin her in place. His hold on her wrists was strong—but not maiming—and her weak-bodied attempts to break free were painfully ineffective. She could feel him as he curved over her, his jawline settling in place along the frizzy pleats of hair behind her ear."You've been wronged, but not at my hand," he said, his soft voice jarring after the swift disarming. "Save your strength for the one who has stolen from you."Clare huffed, looking like a wounded monster with bloody-red strands of hair sticking to the sweat on her neck. A defeated pang shot through her. "It was you. It had to be you ." "I'm sorry," he said. The condolences seemed genuine enough, but she could not accept them."No." The anger that kept her standing, walking, and chasing the payment of this debt revived in one last flare. "The one who stole from me is here. I gave everything he didn't take from me to follow his trail, and I will not stand for your dismissal."Clare tried and failed to dislodge her arms again. An exasperated growl ripped through her. "Name yourself, Elf!" She thrashed. "Before I—""My name is Elrond Peredhel, and I have stolen from no man! "Clare's heart fell from its place in her chest, lying to rest on her stomach. It didn't sound right. It wasn't familiar as she'd hoped it would be. Nothing about his name added fuel to her now smoldering fire.The funny thing about revenge is that all it takes is that single ember. One spark and one flicker to make the rationale fade and inflate spite to take its place.Clare did not know the name of the Elf she sought.She did not remember his face.Being too young to remember anything, despite the ghost talking to her father and the gem he took from them, she was working off the mumbled visions of a town Seer. Stupid? Maybe. But it was the first chance she'd had in a long time to ease the sleepless nights, to satisfy the ever-present clawing ache in her subconscious. Surely, she'd recognize him when the time came. Everything would fall into place and the stars would align… or something childish like that. At least that's what she told herself when she'd set out from the city more than a month prior.She fell lax against him and the bars, releasing a sigh one slip away from a sob. Elrond let her arms drop and took a step back as she slid down to a crumpled pile on the floor of her cell. She refused to cry in front of him, so she sniffed and swallowed the loss."Leave me," she choked out.No response came, nor the sound of receding steps. Was he reveling in seeing her broken down beneath him? Anger-fueled embarrassment made her face grow red in the dark."I said leave!"A small clinking sound came from just above her head, followed by the familiar freeing clasp of a lock. The door gave way. Clare looked up in shock to see a set of dwarven keys dangling from Elrond's elegant hand, a smile tugging at his lips and what looked like pity softening his eyes. A mixture of feelings swelled inside of her as he outstretched his hand."I am not the thief you seek," he said. "But perhaps I can aid you in finding him."Clare dragged her sleeve across her face, hoping to dispose of any tearful evidence as she weighed the acceptance of his help.Trust wasn't something that came to her easily, but she couldn't remain a dwarven captive forever. And he was still out there. Who's to say he wasn't standing right in front of her, lying about his name and his honor? What would taking his hand truly cost her and did she care? Did she have any other choice?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Walking the much-too-thin pathways above the expansive Dwarven city for the first time was enough to convince Clare that all bridges should be wider than four feet by law. It was almost enough to keep her huddled in the corner of her cell if it meant she didn't have to go within ten paces of that brittle bone death trap again.
Yet there she was, with her heart ramming a vicious echo through the pressure in her skull, desperately fighting the urge to fall to her knees and scoot her way across. This pathway was like the first one she crossed, if not more beautifully carved and unforgivingly more narrow. Part of her missed the two guards that shoved her along the trail earlier. At least she had someone to keep her steady. Someone to get her to the other side in one piece. She fought the urge to stretch her arms out and balance herself, to look any sort of vulnerable when she most definitely was. She'd sooner throw herself off the side than break down and cower. Not when she was behind
him
.
The Elf had been well ahead of her the whole time, feeling no need to bind or hustle her toward where he was going. In fact, he hadn't really said anything at all—just wore a simple smile and said, much too cheerily, "Come!"
What possessed her to follow him remained a mystery to even herself. It wasn't trust; she refused that idea from the get-go. She'd spent every ounce of brainpower—not honed in on the terrifyingly void expanse lurking one trip up below her—trying to decipher what made her take his hand.
Well, she technically didn't take it. Swatted would be a better way of describing how she smacked his hand away and shoved herself from the damp floor of her cell with an heir of reluctance and a disinterested sniff. He remained unfazed by her somewhat childish display, dropping his hand to his side as if she hadn't just turned her nose up at such an unexpected and unearned gift of freedom.
Maybe she should have thanked him. Maybe she would try if she made it to the other end of this god-forsaken passage alive.
A few minutes prior, the elf had started rattling off words and tidbits Clare didn't have the focus to hear. Not when she could hear every ounce of blood coursing through her body. It was making her angry. All the noise. How he made crossing this damn thing so easy.
"Shut up!" Her voice tore out of her in a mangled plea, sounding a lot less commanding than she hoped it would. Elrond halted where he had trailblazed ahead of her. The turn of his head to look back at her made something writhe in Clare's stomach, making the inky black below her look ten times more appealing than being trapped under his amused gaze.
"You are not accustomed to Dwarven means of travel, are you now?" There was a lilt to his words that made Clare want to scream. She scoffed instead.
"Do I look like a dwarf to you?" she bit back. Immediate regret settled in her stomach and she rushed to avoid the imminent tease before it slipped past the parting of his lips. "—
Don't...
answer that."
Elrond's mouth closed back into a smile. Was that all the bastard ever did?
Clare's feet dragged along the stone in achingly small steps. It was taking everything in her not to burst into tears as her pathetically unbalanced stance swayed in the stale cave air. Inch by inch, she forced her way along, each step ripping her apart as her shallow breaths rattled around in her chest. She cursed under the frantic pants. She cursed a lot.
Trying to steady her spinning vision, she crammed her eyes shut, and a hand extended to her when she opened them again. Long fingers with effortlessly manicured nails and smooth, pale skin untouched by freckles or dryness. It was almost more nauseating than the drop from where the two of them stood. Clare reemphasized her lack of need—or desire—for his help and aimed to swat it away as she did earlier. But when her hand came down on his, the rest of her body followed.
Every tensed muscle and chattering limb keeled toward the edge of the bridge in one wave of motion. Except there was no shore to crash against, no warm sand to fizzle out on. Just the deep, unknowing dark.
Before she could hurtle over the edge, the saving grace of Elrond's fist bunched the front of her shirt, his large hand covering the entirety of her chest as he clutched and pulled her back to rights.
Upright and alive, Clare failed to differ from the stone that thankfully remained under her feet. Her head was rocketing, vision spotted and unfocused, adrenaline trembling against the clammy rigidness of her fright. Her breaths were coming even faster now, bottoming out at the top of her lungs before fluttering out of her again. Suddenly, the spinning of her head grew light, light enough to where she could barely feel anything at all. There was no sound, no stone beneath her feet, no space around her. Everything was closing in and stretching out all at once.
She couldn't hear her own pathetic mewls that squeaked out with each gasp. Couldn't see anything even though her pupils were blown and flitting around the cavern walls. Even the way she desperately held on to Elrond's arm, his hold unwavering as her fingers closed and clawed at his silken sleeve, seemed meaningless. There was a faint memory of his mouth moving, talking to her with words that might as well have been in a foreign tongue. And suddenly her feet were moving again. Tiny phantom steps she didn't even register until her shoulder hit the mossy wall of the opposite side with a heavy-bodied
thunk
.
The first thing she realized was the wet state of her face, followed by the damp patch of faintly glowing lichen growing along the seam of the solid bridge—pieces of it lodged under her fingernails. She must have been scratching at it.
Finally, she forced a full, deep gasp that stretched ragged through her lungs. It leaked out of her in a wheeze before she could see, really see, what was ahead. The path continued along the beautiful, wonderful wall with nooks and plants she could grasp. A living lifeline.
What escaped her notice, for an embarrassingly long time, was her proximity to the elf. She didn't see him when everything focused again because he had positioned himself behind her, with one grounding hand weighing against the shoulder she hadn't crammed against the wall. Even worse, there was a comfort in it, an urge to melt away the tension, to steady her breathing, to stop the spinning.
The horror of it all hit her in full force. She shoved his hand off, lurching forward and far away from him, something resembling a growl emerging from the back of her throat. She seethed at the softness that found her from his earthy gaze. She could still feel the warmth of his touch on her shoulder. All of it made her want to scream, thrash... roll off the edge. But there was nothing to yell at him. Everything she thought up sounded stupid and juvenile. It's not like she could look at the only reason she was still here—not smattered against the bottom of the cavern in an angry, red splat—and ask him:
Why the fuck didn't you let me fall?
Instead, she just huffed and willed herself back to her feet, praying the tears she roughly cast away weren't too noticeable. Her voice came out hoarse, unstable. "We better be close."
"We are," he said plainly, a hint of concern still feathering his words. "There are no more bridges to cross."
Clare felt the choked-up pressure of more tears pressing against her nose and throat. "Good."
There were no more bridges, just as he promised. But there was a contraption that hoisted them even further upwards, making the city and deadly crossways below stretch and fade into the mist of the lower depths as they ascended to the layer just below the cliff top. If there was a solid edge, or any other protective barrier keeping her from slipping off the edge, maybe watching everything miniaturize into insignificance could have been something fascinating. But that would be too forgiving, right?
Clare spent the entire ascent plastered to the metal grate at the back of the contraption, doing her best to keep her sights turned up and away from realizing the gut-twisting height.
She'd been in high places before. Born and raised on the sloping peak of a valley, she was no stranger to being above the world, of climbing so tall the town below looked like stinging ant colonies. What she wasn't accustomed to was the deep dark. The gaping unknown beneath her feet. With no fragrant thyme or soft prairie to tumble through or catch her. The free fall.
Elrond stood casually, arms crossed over the breadth of his chest, entirely comfortable. There was a split-second urge of jealousy to spit at his shoes. Because how dare he be so nonchalant through all of this? She'd broken down and tripped and sobbed in front of him, all of which he had failed to do so much as bat an eye.
What was he playing at
?
The ignorance burned through her, confusion winding her tightly against the creaking metal grate. She shook her head once, pursing her lips and drawing the bottom one between her teeth.
"Why'd you do it?" she grunted. His eyes flicked in her general direction before angling to face her fully. He adjusted his arms, tightening them ever so slightly, chest filling out with a deep sigh, gaze unwavering.
The way he looked at her made the smoldering short-circuit and flare up. Like a hunter locking sight with a deer.
Not a fawn, curious and fresh. But an aged doe, with the understanding of something stronger and older than the bow-barer, could even dream of comprehending.
"What, exactly?" The punctuated elvish accent laid itself on thick and Clare could feel the points of her teeth threaten to break through the parched cracks of her lower lip.
"All of it," she said. Meeting her. Undoing the lock. Catching her. Helping her. She didn't understand any of it.
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" His head tilted, brow pinched, genuinely asking. Clare huffed and fought against rolling her eyes.
Because I wanted you dead. Because I've been tracking you down, hunting you for more than a month. Because I hate you.
Because you're an elf.
All of that made perfect sense to her. All of that made her confusion even more infuriating. If he was all-knowing and all-powerful like the elves boasted about since the beginning of mankind, shouldn't he know all that by now?
Clare convinced herself. He had to know all this by now.
He had to understand
. The doe-eyed look was nothing more than an act.
He was toying with her. He was enjoying it.
Before she could find the proper response, the contraption squeaked to a stop at the top level. Clare jolted as the grate she stabilized herself on swung out from behind. Elrond remained aggravatingly unphased.
And that was that. The moment and all its answers slipped like grains of fine sand through her fingers and she was back to slinking in line behind his confident steps. The layered metal plate beneath her groaned as she lept off and the heart-soaring sight of walls and connected floors greeted her. It was more than enough to lure Clare far, far away from the inner cliffs and their sinking tunnel drops.
She followed the tail of Elrod's cloak down grandiose corridors, lined with fire-topped pillars and embedded marble portraits of dwarf kings and queens glaring from the walls. Her hair prickled at the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Fingers itched for knives long since pawned off.
Eventually, when the gem-encrusted eyes of the old lords grew overwhelming, Elrond's course turned down a much smaller path, a doorway. It dipped lower than the main course, a flickering lamplight flooding the entrance making Clare's throat constrict. She stopped just at the threshold, watching the elf's perfect hair disappear into the homely light, weighing the gravity of her next steps.
She stood there unbound, unattended. The lift brought her so close to the surface, and an alley so decorated must have a way out.
If she left, if she ran and waited, watching for dwarves sneaking down hidden exits, surely she could find a way out. Reemerge at the top of the cliff, breathe the fresh air, and find a way back to that lying, phony Seer that sent her on this wild goose hunt.
But then again, there was an elf in the belly of Khazad-dûm. Considering everything she's heard about elves and dwarves, that wasn't something that just happened. It defied everything. It was anything but a coincidence.
She wrestled with the facts, with the chances, with the possibilities. But the choice made itself when she considered the battle she'd fought before she set out from her hole in the city, the battle from years past. A battle defeated knowing that she could never rest until that gem was buried. Until she stole it back and fed it to the viper in the valley; Until it was long forgotten by mortals and elves alike. She could breathe when the creeping thyme bloomed once more on the hill; After they flourished over her father's grave.
"Clare?" The sound of her name on the Elf's tongue broke her from the reeling thoughts. She'd almost forgotten she told him it in the first place, more than tempted to lie or refuse to acknowledge him at all when he asked for it.
He'd realized her absence quicker than she'd expected or wanted. She'd have to decide fast.
Her heart picked up the pace, and her hands fidgeted, scratching at a hangnail on her right thumb.
She thought of the trees and the billowing air outside. The touch of sun and rolling long grass.
She thought of the mountain. The decaying quilt of herbs and flowers. The shuddering peaks and their bleeding valley. Everything sinking, rotting. Remaining still. She felt the viper wind up her leg, the dirt shift beneath her feet.
The light was warm as she stepped down into it.
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The room smelt like crackling wood smoke and bread with berry preserves; An enjoyable change from the stale, salty mist inhabiting the lower levels of the hollow cliff. It reminded her of the markets and open-faced taverns she'd rummage behind during the busy hour. Except there were no waiting pockets to pick, or fruits to snatch, and her stomach was so far past hunger it didn't even have the strength to growl.Elrond was paces ahead, calling out for names Clare didn't recognize in the seemingly empty home. The walls were smooth, embellished with hammered gold trim and chiseled curls of wind and leaves. Everything hung lower than the buildings she grew up in, but she was still surprised that she fit under the doorways with no effort. On the other hand, the elf ahead of her was forced to bend down humorously low to avoid knocking his head on the solid stone framing. His movements were still smooth, gliding. Clare wrinkled her nose at it.Just as she'd turned the corner of another short threshold, her sights locked with a dwarf she'd seen before. Red hair peppered with stress and age, reflecting gold plate, intimidating stance despite his height. The only thing missing from the picture in her memory was a hammer and a slew of beaten rocks. And no matter the level of normalcy Elrond injected his words with, the dwarf was not happy to see her."Now what's all this?!" His accent practically gurgled at the back of his throat, face reddening to match the thick braid of his beard. Elrond didn't look surprised by this reaction in the slightest, yet he kept smiling, waiting to put his word in. "I let you back in my home, after everything you did! And now you think it's yours, don't ya? Well! I'll have ya know that my home ain't the way it was when we were young. There be children here now!""Durin," Elrond interjected."NO! No! You listen to me!" Durin went in on him again, taking a few angry steps and wagging a finger. Clare was more than glad he hadn't taken to yelling at her, each boom of his voice sounding like cracks against a boulder. A boulder she did not wanna personify. "I've already let you go once today. I won't have you takin' advantage of my kindness! Not when there's so little in me, to begin with!""Who do we have here?" Another heavily accented voice, sweet and jubilant, came from a far corner of the room. She was shorter than the dwarf jabbing his pointer finger into Elrond’s chest. Her matching neckpiece glimmered in the low light, reflecting onto her dark skin to produce an image Clare would find painted on rich canvas and stitched among grand tapestries. Durin's tension immediately went out like a dampened wick. He threw his head back and rolled his eyes."I'm takin' care of it, dear!" He could have stamped his boot and caused a scene, but it wouldn't have mattered. The dwarf lady was already barreling towards the three of them, a smile brightening her already glowing face as she shoved past the two boys and halted in front of Clare. She looked up at her with stunning golden eyes and a level of intrigue that had never fallen upon the human girl before. As if she was being really seen for the first time.Clare didn't know quite what to do with herself. Or how to react to Durin huffing and puffing in her direction. She thought about the split boulder again. With a degrading effort, she tore herself away from drawing a comparison between herself and said rubble. Disa cupped her hands in hers and the human girl became atypically self-conscious.Distracting her worries from Durin’s daggers, she turned her attention to bitterly wondering how it was still so easy for Elrond to uphold his kind facade. To act so pleasantly while being yelled at, his neck at an awkward crick as the dwarf’s encroachment cornered him back into the room's archway. If her head wasn’t drowning in Durin’s incessant cursing, maybe she could’ve laughed at the lack of grace in his posture. "Oh, don't worry about him, love!" The golden-eyed lady noticed Clare's flickering nervousness towards the dwarf glaring at her. "He just likes to make a big fuss is all, as most husbands do."That made Clare smile ever so slightly and the lady linked their arms before pulling her—with a surprising force—to what looked to be the home's kitchen. "The name's Disa, and yours?"She was making all sorts of friends today, now wasn't she? Clare swallowed thickly before mumbling her own name in return."Well, Clare," Disa started, "I can't say I've had a human at my table before, but I bet our stomachs aren't that different in the end. I'll get you something to eat and you can tell me all about how you wound up here." Clare could have cried at the offer of food, but going in depth about her cause and whereabouts made her watering mouth go dry. She'd already tried to reveal her plot once that day, and it definitely didn't go as planned. And maybe it was the happiness on Disa's face upon seeing her for the first time, or the urging pull of her friendly arm guiding her around like a schoolgirl—but, she didn't want to admit to hunting down her husband's friend if she could help it. She hadn't caused a smile that wide in a long time, and she was intent on keeping it close and beaming for as long as she could. Disa prepared a small feast for Clare; Pulling towel-covered plate after plate from her cupboard and even heating everything up on the kitchen's fire. Clare had crunched down two apples before her own plate graced the table in front of her and she still dove for it head first, nearly tossing her knife and fork aside for fear they'd slow her down.Everything was divine. Cheeses, meats, roasted roots, and bread. Clare couldn't remember eating a meal like this one even before she set out for Khazad-dûm. The plate was empty before she knew it and Disa was chuckling with her approval. "Perhaps you could teach my husband about appreciating my cooking with such vigor."All Clare could do was nod, her mouth packed full of goat cheese and rye, sights already locked on a honey-caramel pear.In the following moments, the husband in question reentered the room with the elf, looking calmer than before but no less irritated. He pulled a chair out opposite Clare's and collapsed into it with a clunk, fixing her with a dramatically arched brow."Well," he started. "I have to admit, this is the first time I've heard of Elrond traveling with... human companions."Clare stopped chewing. To keep herself from dropping her fork, she wrung it tightly in her fist, sharp eyes darting to meet Durin's. She did her best to hide the confusion. Biding time to wrap her head around the change of tone. Elrond took a seat on the side of the table, sitting halfway between the stare down from the opposing sides. "This shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Durin," he said. "Are we not friends despite everything?"Durin's mouth tightened into a straight line and Clare could see Elrond's gaze flash towards her from the corner of his eye. She shoved the burning down as far as she could before it could contort her face.How could he call her his friend? What other lies did he spew behind her back? Especially to someone to whom he spoke so informally, so comfortably. One wrong move and suddenly it wasn’t just her versus the elf anymore. She shoved an oversized bite of pear in her mouth to stall. There was no room for floundering here.Clearing his throat, Durin adjusted himself in his seat, twiddling his thumbs atop his clenched fists. "I hope my forces weren't too harsh in their treatment towards you, fair lady."The memory of Red Beard and the quiet guard came to mind, their scoffs and manhandling. She felt the sting of the damp floor from where she tripped into her cell."Honestly," she said through her partially chewed food, "I've experienced far worse." She made it seem like nothing, like the dirt and scrapes and bruises on her arms were no big deal. Both dwarves and the elf stared at her with different sentiments. She swallowed thickly."That's..." Durin knit his brow. "Comforting?" The awkward tension in the room was more than tangible. It was painful. Only blessedly cut by Disa asking Clare if she wanted any more roast potatoes. Which Clare declined, the politeness of her manners foreign even to her. Durin's voice piped up again, booming across the polished stone table. "Disa," he called, "does the human girl look familiar to you?"The lady dwarf fixed Clare with a focused stare before realization flooded her face. "No!" she grinned.Elrond's jaw set at a firm angle as his eyes darted between the married couple, giggling away to a joke only they knew. Clare could tell he wasn't used to being out of the loop. It filled her with a lightness she could only describe as satisfaction.A satisfaction quickly shot down in a poof of feathers as Durin's arrow struck her tough skin the moment he leaned toward the elf with a joking grin."She looks like my cousin, Mira."Air violently shot out of Clare's nose, and she barely paid enough mind to keep her cutlery from clattering against the table. She wrung them tighter in her fists, fingernails digging into her palms as they curled around the hammered silver. When will the fucking dwarf jokes die?Yes, her hair was redder than anything. Yes, she was on the short side. Yes, she had a temper. Yes, she based her whole personality around reclaiming a shiny rock.But—Well... maybe they had a point.Clare closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as she forced the rest of her body to relax. She felt a small hand fall on her shoulder, rubbing comfort into her tense muscles. "Oh! Don't take offense, deary!" Disa cooed. "Mira is the strongest and most beautiful dwarven lady to protect these mines. To share her image is an honor."If she had been eating, Clare would have most definitely choked. She could feel the start of her face going red and shy, which she forced away with another heaping bite of food, feigning interest in the napkin at her place setting."Ah! The most beautiful—second to you, my love." Durin's affection seeped over his wife. And even though it was gushy and cheesy, Clare found it the first agreeable thing the dwarf lord had said in her presence. She unconsciously nodded along, mouth stuffed to the brim with the last of her plate's contents.Disa's face lit up even more—if that's even possible—rivaling the glow of the fire and oil lamps combined. For the first time in a long while, Clare found herself innocently enchanted by another. Most of her friends from back home weren't friendly in the usual right. More so, bound by ill circumstances, a collection of lone hounds rounded up because they couldn't feed themselves away from the pack. How nice would it feel to be connected through endearments alone? Lost in self-indulgent thought, Clare failed to realize the critical gaze falling upon her until the Elven eyes had already flickered away. They left her feeling exposed, her skin crawling with the aftershock.Then came her turn to stare. Determined to bore holes in the back of his head, Clare scrutinized every upturned flick of hair, each slow-filling breath he took, and the way the hue of the room basked him in a warm ambiance. The orange luminance softened the angles of his jaw, enough to make the cold elf elegance dance the line of something gentler, homely. Something she refused to acknowledge."You sure you don't want anything else, deary?" Disa said, taking Clare's empty dish."Oh," she started, "I couldn't ask for anything more, really.""Aye, but you can." Disa winked. Suddenly, Clare could feel the grime of leftover sweat and prison cell mildew clinging to the canvas of her pants and the layers of dead skin under her shirt. During her travels, she dipped her arms in the river, taking no more time than absolutely necessary to dampen the dirt around her eyes and mouth, leaving the rest of her body to be graced by whatever rain ran off the muddy ends of her hair.She rolled the request through her mind before she muttered it aloud. "A bath, perhaps?""You don't say?" Disa gave a hearty chuckle. And even though it targeted the obvious state of Clare's dishevelment, the human girl hardly seemed to care. There was no judgmental bite backing the lady dwarf's words, just the undeniable truth that she frankly looked like a mess."I'll get the water ready for ya." Before leaving the room, she slid a steaming mug of something fragrant in front of Clare, urging her to take in as many fluids as she could muster. She waved a finger as she relayed the dangers of dehydration after a long trek. "I won't have you drying out like those poor fools scraping alongside my husband in the mines.""I give them the water skins every day, Disa!" Durin jumped in to defend his honor. "It's not my fault they'd choose malt beer over the brink of death!" His wife only smiled as she passed under the kitchen's low archway. He watched her go. When she passed far enough out of earshot, he hunched over the table, fingers pressed together in a pyramid with a darkening shadow creeping over his face. "Do the two of you think I'm stupid?"Elrond and Clare shared a quick side-eyed grimace, the elf doing a much better job at concealing his alarm."I know you aren't friends, no matter how much you plead otherwise," Durin said. His words hung like a spinning chandelier above the table. "Frankly, I doubt either of you knew the other before invading my city… Now I can play your whole lovebird act–” "Lovebird?!" Elrond and Clare howled in unison. Durin was unphased, continuing to talk over their coupling of shock and disgust."But between the three of us, I would like to know what madness is occurring under my roof!"Clare's mouth was agape, still hung up on the offense. Her head circled around whatever Elrond could have told him to lend that impression, glaring at the suspect with all the distaste she could muster. She should have known better than to entrust the fine print of her situation to an elf.As much as she regretted giving in earlier, the bone-crushing weight of Durin's angered attention reminded her why she did so. She couldn't force anything past her parted lips, no matter how strong the desire to defend her honor grew."We—" Elrond started."No!" The dwarf promptly cut him off with a biting grimace and a raised hand. "I want to hear from the wee lass this time around." Clare's throat went dry. The boulder cracked in her mind again. She sipped at the mug Disa left for her; it tasted minty and sweet but did little to comfort her impending doom. Maybe bolting for an exit earlier was the better option. Could she make it if she ran now?"I mean no harm for Khazad-dûm." That seemed to be the best starting place. Maybe her predicament wasn't so incriminating. Elrond remained unharmed, no matter what she'd planned beforehand, and he hadn't ratted out her ill intentions yet. Had he already moved on from their scuffle? "I'm here on... personal business.""Which is?" Durin pried. Clare winced as she forced the words out, giving in to truth over fiction. She couldn't think under the imaginary weight of his hammer. Maybe rubble would suit her. There was a fondness for living life as a small pebble. At least then she could roll and tumble far away from this room and their stares. "To collect a debt," she said. "A precious stone was taken—stolen from my home by an elf some twenty years ago. I've been tracking who I believed to be the suspect for weeks. The trail led to you only by chance."Durin nodded slowly, and then a snarky curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. A tentative bout of relief fell on Clare's shoulders. "The craving for precious gems is something at least I can understand. I've mined them all.""Not this one," Clare flexed. Her eyes focused on an exposed vein beneath the table's polish. "It glowed without sunlight. Hummed when you touched it."As if she could feel it at that moment, her chest lightened. A disassociated fondness stirred. "It would even sing if it recognized you—made the plants grow... When it vanished, all life went with it. The birds, the rabbits, even the bugs. Everything sprouting from the dirt withered and died. Eventually, the people who refused to leave met the same fate." The piercing memory of a shovel and a grave hammered against her. The taste of iron, the weakening of her bones."Too long it has been missing. The valley demands it to be found." Clare wouldn't tell them about the dreams. The viper winding up her leg, the chilling echo of the rotten mountain and the rattle of its hollowing bones. How every waking step she took tempted to shift from beneath her, how drifting to sleep felt like being swallowed. That no matter how far she strayed, the corpse of her home walked with her."I have a friend in Eregion." The clearness of Elrond's voice snapped Clare from her haze. "He knows much, and perhaps he can shed some light on your gem's location. I'm sure he'd have heard whispers of something so beautiful."Clare looked at him with a strange feeling. Even though he offered her his help earlier, it all felt fake until that very moment. The warmth of his face and that gentle doe-eyed look he refused to part with, for just a second, one fleeting moment—made him seem genuine. And that can't be right.Before Clare could sort the uneasiness in her stomach, Disa returned around the corner."Everything's all set for ya, deary!" she said. Clare thanked her and peered across the table, purposefully passing sights on the elf and focusing on Durin's arched brow. "We can speak on this more later," he assured and dismissed her with a nod.Wasting no time, Clare rose from her seat and followed the smaller woman out of the room, leaving her cup still steaming on the table, and feeling the eyes of the elf burning at the back of her neck.