Disclaimer: All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, respectively. Anything you don't recognize is mine.

Welcome back! I've extended their stay in Rivendell just a smidge. They won't be there for as short a time as in the movies, but not quite as long as in the books, either. Just enough to get the important stuff out of the way before we get back to the quest.

Thank you for all the new favorites/follows, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last time!

Chapter Ten: A Mark of the Maker

When Kate awoke again, night had been swapped for day, and there was an elf standing over her.

Kate jerked back at the unexpected sight, only managing to burrow herself deeper into her cot as the elf looked over at the sudden movement.

Alien was the first word that came to mind when Kate saw the elf. Alien beauty. Tall, slender, and with skin as smooth and unblemished as polished ebony. Pointed ears and harsh, sharp lines that made the elven features look almost aquiline. The elf's midnight hair and sapphire robes hardly whispered when that lithe body moved, and Kate ogled at the unnatural grace and stillness when the elf turned deep golden eyes on her.

"You are awake," he said. His voice was much deeper than Kate had been expecting; not the rumbling gruffness of Thorin or the earth-moving drawl of Mahal, but something that reminded her of deep, unexplored caves in the hidden parts of the world. "How are you feeling?"

It took Kate a few moments to remember how to form coherent words. "Um, sore. And thirsty."

The elf swept to her bedside table and poured her a glass of water. She noticed that the shattered glass from the goblet she'd hurled against the wall last night had been cleaned, and repressed a wince. She took the glass gently in her hands, avoiding the long fingers curled around it, and drank deeply. When she was finished, the elf set her glass aside and held out a hand. "May I?"

He indicated the bandages wrapped around her forearm. She hesitated, thinking about Mahal's mark. But her injury had already been tended to; the mark must have been noted then, yet she was still uneasy as she lifted her stiff arm.

The elf worked with gentle, cool fingers. He unwrapped her bandages, and she winced whenever they snagged on her arm-hairs, the salve that had been applied making the bandages sticky. She chanced a glance at her arm, wondering if she were about to find it mangled and bloody, but it looked fine. Better than fine, actually. There were several scabbed puncture marks along her forearm, and green-yellow bruises dotted amongst those. She flexed her fingers; while her arm was still incredibly sore, she could still move her muscles.

The elf must have seen the shocked look on her face, for he smiled faintly. "Elvish medicine has always been highly regarded in these lands," he said. He turned her arm this way and that, examining. The mark of Mahal caught the morning sunlight streaming in through the open archways of the building, whole and untouched, but he said nothing of it. "The skill of the elves is unparalleled in the healing arts, save for few others."

"I can tell," Kate murmured, gazing in awe at her nearly-healed arm. If she hadn't received aid from the elves, she'd undoubtedly have several stitches and her arm in a sling. And without adequate medical care, probably an infection and fever on top of that. "Are you, ah, the one who did this?" She pointed to her arm. "Healed me?"

"Indeed." He brushed a featherlight finger over the deepest wound, right near the fold of her elbow. She didn't even flinch at the touch. "It was fortunate that you and your companions were so close to the Valley. Warg bites can turn very deadly if left untreated." His golden eyes flicked up to hers. "The wizard was right to bring you here. Even if the dwarves disagree."

Kate frowned. Had Thorin and the others not wanted to come to Rivendell, even if she was injured?

She blew out a tight breath. "Well, thank you." She lifted her arm half-heartedly. "For healing me."

"It is my duty to serve the wounded and ill," he said. He swept over to a workspace she hadn't noticed the night before that held all sorts of vials and tools. Each step was deliberate, ethereal. He moved like air. He cast a look back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "But you are welcome."

"Do you have a name?" she asked. She realized then that she was sweating; either from nerves or the sun, she couldn't tell, but when he turned his back, she raised her arms and tried to fan herself out.

"Tassarion," he replied, not once looking up from his task of grinding various herbs and liquids with a mortar and pestle. "And you, daughter of Man?"

"Kate," she said. She ran a finger over her mark, thinking back to her conversation with Mahal and scowling. "Do you know where I might find my companions?"

Tassarion shrugged. "I cannot say. But guests are typically given rooms in the East Wing. If I were you, I would start my search there." He swept back to her with a fresh roll of bandages and some sort of salve. "Arm out, please. This may sting."

He rubbed the salve into her wounds, and she grit her teeth against the burning cold sensation of it. When her arm was sufficiently lathered and tingling, he began wrapping it in the bandages. He worked silently, and Kate had to marvel at the deftness of his fingers, the lightness of his touch. Alien, indeed – but pleasantly so.

"You should return after dinner so I may dress your wounds again," he said, rinsing his hands in a bowl of water. "I should like to check you again on the morrow, morning and evening, to examine you further and be certain that there are no signs of infection or further damage." She nodded. "In the meantime, do not exert yourself. No heavy lifting, and no swordplay."

He cast her a pointed look, and she knew he had seen her sword when she was brought in, which reminded her of something.

"And my clothes?" She plucked at the thin shift she was wearing. "I don't think it'd be very polite if I went out looking like this."

She could have sworn his lips curled slightly in a grin before it was gone. He gestured to a neatly stacked pile on the cot beside hers.

"Your clothes are there," he said. "I did the courtesy of having them washed and patched for you. Your sword is with your companions."

Well, damn. These elves moved fast. She hopped out of the cot and approached the pile of clothes. Tassarion made to step out to give her privacy, but Kate turned back to him.

"Tassarion!" He paused and looked back to her. His face and golden gaze were as indecipherable as Thorin's, but she smiled at him. "Thank you."

The elf dipped his head respectfully before breezing away, his sapphire robes rustling silently. Kate stared after him, an odd smile on her face. Well. Tassarion hadn't been what she'd expected at all. Frightfully beautiful, otherworldly, and ancient, yes, but not inaccessible. He was just…an elf.

Feeling slightly more confident after her conversation with Tassarion, Kate shed her shift and began to dress. Though Rivendell wasn't sweltering hot, the summer sun was certainly not going to make it any colder, so she donned only her loose white undershirt and the thin trousers she typically wore under leathers, ditching the leathers and furs altogether, except for her boots. She couldn't recall the last time she'd bathed, but she felt and looked clean, and decided not to think about how she had come to be in that state. Tugging her hair into a loose braid and securing it with a leather band, she cautiously made her way out of the infirmary and into the expanse of Lord Elrond's household.

The architecture reflected that of what she had already seen with Tassarion: ancient, but timeless. Every curve, every structure, was slim and graceful, carved from white wood with expert skill that only an immortal craftsman would have the time to perfect. The floors were pale, polished stone, and what few walls stood to block out the brunt of the sun's rays were covered with fluttering tapestries of rivers, waterfalls, forest glens, and dancing elves. Most of the houses she passed through were open to the elements, and whatever magic the valley possessed that kept the weather amenable.

She walked through endless corridors and over arching walkways that she dared not look down from, not this high up. The House had been built into the side of the eastern cliff-face, nestled amongst the towering waterfalls she had noticed last night, and as the Elves of Rivendell seemed not to believe in the concept of handrails, every step she took was carefully calculated as not to plunge to her death to the valley floor far, far below.

There were no signs of any other elves, not even a whisper. Nor did she find any indication of where the Company was. Tassarion had mentioned the East Wing, and she had followed the sun east, but Lord Elrond's House was much bigger than she initially thought it was. But as no one was around for her to stop and ask directions, she just kept roaming through the infinite halls.

About fifteen minutes had passed since she'd left the infirmary when she ran into someone – literally. She'd been rounding a corner when something solid smacked into her stomach, and she puffed out a gasp involuntarily, looking down to see – a child. A human child.

"Oh," she said, blinking. She wondered if that salve Tassarion had put on her had somehow seeped into her skin and made her start hallucinating. Why would a human child be in a place for elves?

The child peered up at her with solemn gray eyes. He looked to be about ten or so, but his serious expression made him look older. Wiser. It unnerved her. "Uh, sorry. I didn't see you there."

The child inclined his head to her in a gesture that was definitely more mature than an average ten-year-old had the right to be. Or maybe she was just used to the demons she'd encountered in the Boston home that had cut holes in the toes of all her socks and spit gum in her hair.

"Excuse me," the boy said, his tone unusually grave. It went perfectly with his stormy eyes and dark hair. "I was not paying attention to where I was going. I'm sorry for running into you."

"Don't worry about it." She tried for a smile. "I'll, uh, let you get on with…whatever you were doing."

The boy smiled back, and some excitement lit up his solemn eyes as he said, "I was just on my way to the training yard for my lessons with Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Would you like to come watch?"

"Er…" Kate wavered at his bright eyes. She ought to decline and continue her search for the Company, but the boy's excitement punched a hole straight through her gut. Molly. He reminded her of Molly, and the joy she'd had in her eyes when she wished on the star that Kate had found for her.

"You know what?" she said. "Sure." She swept a hand to the hall behind her. "Lead the way."

The boy smiled, and some of the eerie grimness dissipated from his face as he took the lead, wending through the halls and houses with practiced ease.

"I'm Estel, by the way," he said. Kate started, trying to remember where she'd heard that name before, but the boy didn't give her pause to think. "I heard Lord Elrond speaking to my mother last night about the company of dwarves that had arrived yesterday, traveling with a hobbit, a human woman, and Gandalf the Grey. Are you the woman? You have to be. My mother is the only other one in this valley."

The boy – Estel – spoke so fast Kate had to take a moment to process all he'd thrown at her. Such a change from the solemn-faced, soft-spoken boy she'd run into only moments before.

"Yes, I am," she said as she continued to follow him. "I'm Kate."

He twisted his head over his shoulder to frown at her. "That's an odd name."

So is Estel, she wanted to retort, but she figured she shouldn't stoop to the level of a ten-year-old.

"So I've been told," was all she said before they stepped out into a large, grassy area somewhere within the valley. She had no idea where she was, or how far she'd gone from where she had been, but before she could ask, Estel had taken off for the center of the training yard, where two elves stood talking.

Kate paused at the edge of the training yard, taking in the two elves that turned to greet Estel. Tassarion had been a shock, but his gentleness and tranquil demeanor had put her at ease. These elves were different from the healer. Their posture, their garb, their faces – everything about them screamed warrior.

Estel was still talking to them, standing at half their size, and Kate stiffened when he turned and pointed at her, the elves following his finger. Estel gestured for her to come over. Swallowing, she obeyed, telling herself that if the boy was unafraid of the elven warriors, then she would also be.

She made her way across the training yard, passing racks of practice weapons and targets, her boots finding easy purchase on the well-worn, often-used grass. The elves watched her approach, still and silent as statues. Like Estel, they were both dark-haired and gray-eyed, but that was where the similarities ended.

Tall, powerfully built, and utterly inhuman – that's what these elves were. Their long hair had been braided back to reveal pointed ears and every harsh, angular feature they possessed. Kate would have thought they were carved from the same pale wood and stone as the rest of Rivendell if it wasn't for their bronze skin, warmed from years in the sun – and scarred from many battles.

Kate halted before the trio, aware of her every breath and movement while the two elves sized her up, Estel watching them curiously. They all wore the same things, even Estel: loose gray shirts and pants, sturdy but supple boots. Clothes for training. Fighting.

She began to regret ever following the boy here.

Trying not to betray her nerves, she inclined her head respectfully, remembering Estel's words from earlier about the Lords Elladan and Elrohir. Her throat went dry, even as she kept her eyes down. Elladan and Elrohir. Those names she knew. They were Lord Elrond's sons, and Arwen's brothers. Shit.

She prayed she wouldn't throw up as she straightened and flashed them her most winning smile. "I hope you don't mind that Estel brought me along. Truth be told, I was quite lost until he found me and invited me here." She grinned at the boy, and he nodded encouragingly. She looked back to the two males. "I'm Kate. Kate Miller."

"We know who you are," the male on the right said. Up close, it was hard to tell the two elves apart. They had to be twins. The only immediate difference she could tell was in their scar patterns. The one who had spoken to her first had a thin white line that spliced his upper lip, while the other had a jagged scar that stretched from the corner of his mouth to his pointed ear. She wondered if they left those scars there on purpose, given the feats of elvish medicine.

The first male spoke again. "The wizard explained who you were to us when you all crossed the borders of the Hidden Valley yesterday."

She sucked on a tooth. The males before her remained as unyielding as stone. "Right."

The first elf gestured to himself, then the other. "I am Elladan. This is my brother, Elrohir. Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, is our father."

Kate mustered as much diplomacy as she could, saying, "Your father has my thanks for his hospitality."

The second elf – Elrohir – flicked his eyes to the bandages peeking out from under the sleeve of her shirt.

"It is not in our nature to turn our backs on those who seek aid, and wish no harm upon our people," he said. His lip curled just slightly. "Unlike choice others."

She wondered if he meant the dwarves. She frowned at the thought, but Elladan put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Come," he said to Elrohir and Estel. "Midday approaches. We should begin our lessons."

Estel nodded eagerly and took off for the weapons racks, leaving Kate alone with the two males. She eyed them warily.

"Estel seems happy to have more of his kind here," Elladan observed. A hint of softness touched his harsh face as he watched the boy don simple leather armor and select his practice weapon – a long wooden sword. "It has been a long time since any Men have visited Imladris." His gray eyes slid to her. "Especially a woman who travels with such strange companions."

She ignored the unspoken question in his words, instead frowning at Estel. A sense of familiarity niggled in the back of her mind, telling her she ought to know something, but she couldn't put her thumb on what it was.

"Why aren't there more?" she asked, jerking her chin to Estel. "Why only him? And his mother?"

Elrohir cut her a sharp glance, then looked to his brother. Elladan shook his head slightly. Without a word, Elrohir stalked away, heading toward Estel, every step like a lion's prowl. She suppressed a shudder. God, they even moved inhumanly.

"Such things are not ours to discuss," Elladan said, smoothing over the awkward moment. He dipped his chin to her. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Miller, I must begin training the boy. There are benches over there if you wish to stay and watch."

Kate nodded. "I'll stay. I told him I would."

Elladan returned the gesture before walking away, while she went in the opposite direction, toward the benches he'd indicated just outside the ring of the yard. She sat upon the sun-warmed stone, telling herself that she was just enjoying her short rest, and not avoiding her inevitable confrontation with the Company.

Estel waved to her as Elladan and Elrohir began leading him through drills, and Kate waved back. That sense was still nagging at her, telling her that she was missing something vital, but she forced it down. She would deal with it later.

She had other things to worry about.

Thorin was just finishing breakfast with Balin and Dwalin when he was cornered by his nephews.

"We need to talk," Fíli said. His tone brooked no room for argument. Thorin blinked, more from shock than irritation at being addressed as such by the younger dwarf, for the tone was exactly the one he'd used on them when they were dwarflings.

Balin opened his mouth – probably to admonish the prince, as Thorin had contemplated – but he held up his hand, silencing the other dwarf. Balin grunted, displeased, but went back to eating the hearty oat bread the elf servant had brought them an hour after dawn. Dwalin appeared rather uninterested in the whole ordeal, considering he was already on his fourth plate of breakfast (just two less than Bombur), but Thorin knew he was listening like a hawk.

He sighed, and gestured for his nephews to sit. They threw themselves on the cushions across the table from Thorin, their eyes and faces hard, stubborn. Mahal, they were the spitting images of him and Dís. Frerin, too, he thought with a pang.

"Very well," he said. He raised the mug of sweetened milk they'd been provided to his lips as the princes exchanged a glance. "Talk."

"When were you going to tell us about Kate's mark?" Fíli demanded.

"When I deemed it necessary," Thorin said, setting down his mug after taking a long swig. "And yesterday was necessary. That was why I told you. All of you."

"Why didn't you tell us at the very beginning?" Kíli said. His dark eyes – so like his late father's – flared with a spark he had seen many times from Víli. Something in Thorin's chest ached at the sight. "If not the others, then why not us?" He indicated himself and Fíli.

"We're your heirs," Fíli said, his jaw set. "We should have known – we could've helped—"

"Helped with what?" Thorin said. "In sharing the burden?" He waved his hand to Balin and Dwalin, who were still eating quietly and diligently. He shook his head. "It was not yours to bear."

"This quest is for all of us," Fíli snapped. "That's why all of us are here. We deserved to know, from the very moment you accepted Kate into this Company. Yet you and she conspired to keep it a secret—"

Thorin shook his head, cutting him off. "There was no conspiracy between Miss Miller and I," he said. "That blame lies entirely with me. She wanted to tell you, but I forbade her. Not until I knew she could be trusted."

"Why?" Kíli repeated.

Thorin looked down to his hands, folded on the small table before him, and found he could not meet any of their eyes as he said, "Because I was afraid."

And for good reason, given all that he'd overhead between Kate and Mahal the night before. About his fate. About the fates of his nephews. But they'd sworn – he and Kate had both sworn to fight against that outcome, to fight for the two young princes before him who were older than he'd ever realized before.

"I was afraid," he went on, voice low, "because I thought Miss Miller and her mark were harbingers of doom. A sign from the Valar that we were destined to fail, if not for her. And I still am afraid." He sucked in a deep breath. "And I do not know if that makes me a coward. If that makes me weak."

"It is no weakness," Balin said, voice rough, "for a king to admit his fears." He clapped Thorin on the shoulder. Dwalin nodded, slowly, thoughtfully. Fíli and Kíli simply watched him, their gazes unreadable.

Thorin dipped his head in gratitude, but it was to his nephews that he spoke. "Miss Miller will be here today to tell her story and bare her mark. All I ask is that you listen to her." He hesitated. "And know that I truly am sorry."

His nephews only traded another glance before they both nodded curtly and left him alone with Balin and Dwalin.

Thorin Oakenshield had many regrets in his life. And now he could add this to the long list.

"Nervous?"

Thorin looked up from his studious observation of the floor to see Kate leaning against one of the pillars that surrounded the courtyard the Company had made camp in. Lord Elrond – ever the gracious host, Thorin thought with a scowl – had offered them all rooms, of course, but they'd declined. It was their own rebellion, in a way; one that Thorin relished whenever he saw the distasteful looks on the faces of the elves who brought them food and supplies.

The Company had gathered in the courtyard to meet with Kate so she could explain her deal with Mahal and the truth about where she came from. She'd arrived only a few minutes ago, escorted by two elves that had looked Thorin over coolly and a human child that had seemed quite loath to leave Kate and attend his afternoon lessons, as he'd heard the elves saying to the boy when they'd departed. Thorin had given Kate a questioning look about her choice in companions, but she'd only offered him a half-hearted shrug, as if to say I couldn't tell you.

Thorin frowned at her. She seemed relaxed, lounging against the pillar with her hands in her pockets and her foot nocked behind her against the stone. She was much smaller, he realized, without her layers of leather and fur. The sun kissed her honey-blonde hair, turning it golden, and her hazel eyes seemed to shift with the dappled light whenever a breeze rustled the leaves above them. He knew enough about the customs of Men after laboring in their villages for years to know that she would be considered comely by their standards – perhaps even beautiful.

"Why would I be nervous?" he asked her.

She shrugged – too casually. "Dunno. I'm assuming you have your reasons, though." When he continued to frown at her, she nodded to him. "You've been staring at the floor for the past five minutes as if it'd personally offended you." She tilted her head. "Though knowing your displeasure of elves, it probably has. And not to mention that your jaw is doing the thing."

He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, the thing." She tapped her cheek, grinding her teeth together until the muscle in her jaw began twitching. "It always happens when you're overthinking something and you become anxious. It's like your tell."

"Like how you're keeping your hands in your pockets to refrain from fidgeting," he said. She opened her mouth to object, but he smirked. "You have your tells too, Kate."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

It was strange, seeing her so…informal. Casual. Bantering with him like they were two normal people, not a king with a doomed quest hanging over his head and the key to his salvation standing across from him. It seemed that removing the pressure from her, allowing her to be honest to the Company, had also removed any guard she'd put around herself to keep them from asking too many questions, from getting too close.

He wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

She sighed. "Standing out here isn't going to do anything. You ready for this?"

He inclined his head to her. "Lead on, Mahal's chosen."

"Ugh, God, please don't call me that," she said, making a face before walking into the courtyard, her back straight and her chin high. Thorin found himself staring after her, a small smile on his face, before he shook his head and followed.

The Company stared at her like she'd grown a third arm out of her head.

She supposed she couldn't blame them. It wasn't everyday someone claimed to be from another world and ended up in their own pretty much by sheer accident despite whatever god claimed the prophecy had chosen them specifically. She felt so bad for the load of shit she'd dumped on them that she didn't even mention how their quest was already written in a book that she'd read before. She was afraid Dori would keel over from a heart attack, the poor dwarf. Yes. The book could wait. Right now, they just had to believe her own story.

She'd explained it all: the star she'd wished on in her own world; her deal with Mahal to help them on their quest so she could go home; the five years she'd spent wandering Middle-earth, waiting for them – all of it. She'd even told them about the mystery regarding the prophecy, and Mahal calling her the Heart, hoping one of the dwarves or Bilbo had some information that could help her. But so far, they'd all remained silent. Shocked. Disbelieving.

"I have proof," she said quietly. She rolled up her sleeve to reveal Mahal's mark and gestured to the dwarves standing behind her – Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin – who'd already heard her story and touched the mark. Her eyes sought Óin. The healer dwarf was staring at her, his face ashen. He'd touched her mark yesterday, after the warg bit her. It was to him she spoke. "Mahal gave me this as a message to all dwarves; to convince them that I am who I say I am. Touch it, and you will hear him."

After a tense moment, Óin stepped forward. Glóin hissed something under his breath to his brother, but Óin ignored him. He approached Kate warily, as if she might lunge and attack him.

But she simply stood, holding out her arm. His dark eyes flicked up to meet hers, full of questions, and she tried for a reassuring smile. After a moment, he took her arm in his hands and pressed his palm flat to the mark.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Kate held her breath, wondering if Mahal had decided not to help her after her outburst. But then Óin stiffened, his fingers clutching her skin, just below her bandages. A faraway look entered his eyes, followed by awe, and then wonder. Kate heard Mahal's words as clearly as if he were standing next to her.

"Your portents and faith are true, my child. Believe her as you believe me. She is the Heart, and you will need her before your task is done."

"Durin's beard," Óin whispered, hoarse. "It's true."

He looked to Thorin, tears filling his eyes. The king only gave him a solemn nod of confirmation. Óin staggered back into the group of dwarves, talking so quietly Kate could not hear, but after a few moments, Glóin approached her, his brows heavy with skepticism.

"I don't know what witchcraft this is, but—" He didn't finish as he touched her mark, and his jaw went slack as Mahal spoke again, his voice reverberating through her.

"Temper the flames in your heart, Glóin son of Gróin. They will serve you well on your journey, but save them for the challenges ahead. Trust that she is the Heart. Let her be the flame you forge your courage in."

And to Kate's utter terror, the redhaired dwarf before her – so gruff and so callous most of the time – burst into tears. He mumbled something in the dwarven tongue, reaching up to kiss both her cheeks before he returned to the others, leaving her gaping. She turned to Thorin and found him smiling. It was only because of Bofur's approach that she looked away from Thorin and that rare smile of his.

On it went. The dwarves touched her mark and heard Mahal speak to them. Some gazed to her reverently, while others trembled or laughed or wept (Ori being the latter). When Fíli strode to her, cynicism limning his very being, she took his hand and guided it to wrap around her forearm.

"Be open," she said to him. His gray-blue eyes bored into her intently, only widening slightly when Mahal's voice coursed through her again.

"Hail, lionhearted son of Durin. Your courage and fierce loyalty will be a light to those trapped in the darkness. Believe that she is the Heart – your equal. Together, you will blaze a path for all those who follow you, in life and in death."

Fíli's hand trembled on her arm before he released her, his face pale.

"It's true," he whispered. She nodded.

"Well, budge over, you great lump," Kíli said to his brother, shoving him out of the way with his hip. Fíli stumbled to where Thorin stood as Kíli scanned Kate from head to toe thoughtfully. Without a word, he touched her mark.

This time, Mahal's voice rocked through her chest, grinding against her bones as he spoke to the young prince.

"Never before has a wolf been born to the Line of Durin but you, Kíli son of Víli. The blood in your veins flows true, Heir of Durin. Trust your instincts, and they will never lead you wrong. Even now, they tell you that she is the Heart, and that her story is true. You will find your place in the world before the end. Trust in that, young prince."

Kíli blinked, the only sign of surprise he showed. As the last dwarf to touch her mark, all eyes were on him as he released Kate's arm, his face blank.

Until he grinned at Kate, mischief lighting his dark eyes, and said low enough that only she could hear, "I'd love to see if you have any more secret marks hidden elsewhere on you."

"Of course you would," she purred.

With a wink and suggestive grin, he went to join his brother and uncle, leaving Kate alone in the center of the courtyard. Under the heavy stares of the dwarves, she felt quite faint, and it wasn't until then that she realized she was sweating, and a faint trembling had started in her fingers.

Perhaps being a vessel of the Valar was a lot more draining than she initially thought.

"Well." She swallowed, her throat dry. "Any questions?"

"Indeed," said an ancient voice from behind her.

Kate and the Company whirled to see a tall elf standing at the courtyard entrance, a gold circlet resting upon his brow. Lord Elrond.

The Lord of Rivendell's eyes sought her out and pinned her in place. "Come, Miss Miller. We have much to speak about."

Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts!

A few notes:

I've decided to play around with the elves a bit and their "otherworldly" attributes. Since they are so different from Men, I wanted to try and get that across. I enjoyed writing them and tacking on some more features and characteristics besides the usual "beautiful, wise, immortal" thing. They have an edge to them that marks them as other creatures, and I really wanted to bring that out, especially since Kate had never interacted with an elf before.

I couldn't resist having some canon characters besides Elrond and the White Council make an appearance. Perhaps they will have a role to play in the future?...

We still have a map to read and a council meeting to be had, so maybe we'll spend one or two more chapters in Rivendell? I don't know. I plan one thing and then my characters do another. So we'll see :)

xx