The day was stagnant with heat unseasonable for spring. Down at the stream's edge, Lirare could see that the water had receded greatly with the drought that gripped the land. She knelt to the dusty earth, taking a handful of dried ground and running it through her fingers. Breathing deeply, Lirare closed her eyes and listened to the forest.

There had been a shift for the worse. Something had happened, perhaps something very benign, which had caused the season to draw in like a hermit crab in its shell. Lirare stood, brushing her hands on her apron as she surveyed the scene once more. She wondered if her mother Goldberry would discern what was happening in the world. Goldberry lived her man, Tom Bombadil, in the west taking care of their trees and saving travelers from the Barrow Downs.

Lirare slid down the bankside into the muddy water, not bothering to lift her green skirts from the slow moving current. She pulled her russet brown hair over her shoulder and leant to the water, concentrating as she dipped her fingers into the stream. She gathered the same sense from the water as she did from the dust. Her stomach lurched at the prospect. The earth was recoiling from the touch of evil. Where and what it was she did not know but the signs were clear. Something malevolent had been awakened.

There was a rustling in the brush nearby. Lirare sat up, unafraid as she shook the moisture from her hands. The sun had nearly disappeared below the tree line. Quietly from the wood, a small, dark wolf appeared. Lirare smiled and clicked her tongue. The animal tested the air with its nose, drawing close tentatively. Lirare's bare feet sunk into the bank as she approached the wolf, wringing the water from her skirts. The wolf did not shrink away as she reached out and allowed it to smell her open palm. After a moment, its body relaxed.

"Come along, little one." She coaxed, rubbing its tough skull between oversize ears, "We have supper waiting for us at home."
Lirare's little home sat in a glade and built right into a large oak tree. Tom Bombadil had built it with his own hands all those years ago when she had first left her mother's side. It was a sturdy cottage with crooked windows and wildflowers growing in the cracks of the door and window frames. She strode across the glade, the wolf following her as the twilight started to descend on the wood. A few errant fireflies who were early in the season were winking amongst the darkening, giant trees that sheltered her home.
The hinges of her front door creaked as she walked into the shadowy room, the air smelling of mushrooms, moss and dried flowers. The wolf started to cagily follow her in but froze at the threshold. It started to let out a low growl as Lirare lit a mulberry candle. She turned to the door, perching a hand on her hip and arching a brow at the wolf.

"It's just us." She coaxed gently but the animal continued to give a deep threatening growl, its paws dancing between the floorboards and the flagstone at the door.

Lirare felt her palms start to grow damp and her heart beat quicken. She was not normally fearful. Her entire childhood had been spent within a day's journey of the Barrow Downs where the ghosts of dead kings of men roamed. However, what she had sensed in the earth and water that day had set her nerves on edge.

She gripped the candle as night descended fully outside. She could feel the presence of something right behind her in the shadows. Turning slowly, she peered into the dark room and lifted the candle. A figure rose from a chair by the squat kitchen table.

"Who is that?" She demanded angrily, "How dare you enter my home?"

"Good evening, Lirare." A familiar voice drifted towards her.

Lirare felt her heart drop to her stomach. It had been years since she had heard that voice, however she knew immediately to whom it belonged even before he came into the weak candle light. She studied him in shock. He stood with his hands clasped at his back, peering at her with a quiet smirk. His long, dark hair was streaked with grey and his face lined with the cares of a hard lived life. However his eyes were still the same clear, corn flower blue they had been when they had first met all those years ago. Lirare let her breath out slowly, lowering the candle slightly.

"How are you?" He casually inquired as though it had been a matter of days since their parting.

Lirare approached him. She had always been petite, just reaching five feet by the time she was an adult. Thorin stood a little taller than her, despite his dwarvish lineage. She met his eyes evenly. His expression still held his prideful smirk. It reeked of insecurity to her.

"I've been well." She breathed, standing a hand's breadth from him, "Where have you been?"

The bearded corner of Thorin's mouth turned down slightly. His lack of reply ignited an old grudge against the dwarf.

"Actually, I have a better question than that." She snapped angrily, picking up some dry kindling on the table by the door and striding over to the hearth, "What exactly do you call a fortnight? You said you would return in a fortnight. That is two weeks if I am not mistaken, not a century."

She angrily struck the flint, letting sparks dust the straw. Thorin stood silent behind her. After the fire started to gather strength, Lirare breathed in the sweet scent of the fresh wood. She rose with her back to the room, unwilling to see if he had disappeared into the night.

Lirare heard the floorboards groan under his weight. His heavy dwarven boots, lined with fur even in warm weather, scraped the hardwood. She caught her breath as she sensed him right behind her. He reached out and brushed aside her hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck. She could feel him studying her wordlessly.

"You haven't changed at all." He spoke gently, "You are still the same as that day in spring when I first saw you. What were you doing again?"

Lirare was surprised to find herself swallowing back tears. She was nearly three hundred years old and the dwarf Prince could still reduce her to the emotions of an adolescent girl. She felt his bare fingertips graze her neck before he pulled away.

"I was bringing water from the stream."

She dared turn towards him, her heart beating hard in her chest. He nodded sadly, the firelight revealing that the years had truly taken their toll on him. His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening, as he reached out and gently took her face with a rough hand.

"I hadn't expected to find you." He confessed, locking her gaze with his, "I had hoped but didn't dream that you would still be here after all these years."

"Why didn't you come back?" She whispered, resting her hand on his, "You promised me, Thorin."

His face darkened as he turned away.

"I knew if I had then I never would have left you." He answered, "You know I have a destiny to fulfill."

"I know you have revenge to seek and gold to retrieve." She replied evenly, trying to ignore the old wound she felt opening.

Thorin turned sharply, "It is my duty that Erebor be redeemed to the line of Durin." His volume had risen, harsh in the quiet room.

"It is your duty to your predecessors that you live a full and rich life peaceably." She replied, approaching him from behind, "That is the destiny of all living things."

Lirare reached out tentatively, laying her hand on his broad back, "We could have had a happy life here as we had dreamed."

"Yes," He turned to her once more, studying her face as though trying to memorize her features, "It is a life I would have loved."

A scraping at the door distracted them both from the moment. Lirare glanced over to see a fawn she had been caring for since its mother was killed by wolves. It knocked against the doorframe impatiently.

"Though it would have been a life frequently interrupted by the creatures with whom you keep company." Thorin grumbled, rolling his eyes in vague annoyance.

"Won't you remove your armor? Please, make yourself comfortable" She reached out without hesitation and started to take the heavy fur vest he wore over his chain mail and leather, "You must be hungry."

It was obvious Thorin was not accustomed to being ordered about by those around him. However, despite being disgruntled by her tone, he obeyed starting to set aside his weapons. Lirare grimaced at the sight of his sword but said nothing, turning to the fawn at the door.

She pulled down the bowl of dandelion and medicinal herbs that she had gathered to help nourish the orphan now that it lacked its mother's milk. The fawn licked her hand as she led its freckled snout to the clay pot of greens.

Thorin pulled out the chair at the head of the table, scraping it hard against the floor. Lirare's whole being was electric with his presence. She had grown so used to her quiet, solitary life, the unbridled masculinity of the dwarf seemed to disturb the very air around her. Instead of bothering her, it left an aching absence in the pit of her stomach. She had so longed for him after he had abandoned her all those years ago.

She could still see in her mind's eye the two of them a hundred years before standing in the mid-autumn wood. Vibrant leaves fell around them in the golden dawn as they stood by his pony, packed to begin the journey back to Ered Luin where his people now lived. He had rested his forehead against hers and gathering her hands to his chest. As he had the night before in the faint light of the waning moon, he promised with all his heart that he would return to her.

Lirare shut the memory tightly away where it had been locked in her memory. The sweet pain of those words still bit through her being. She didn't know if she would be able to bid him farewell again.